A smile curved his lips before he turned his attention to my other nipple, lavishing it with the same exquisite care. His hand drifted lower, tracing the ridges of my ribs, the hollow of my navel, before settling on my hip. His thumb traced circles there, each one sending shivers across my skin.
I’d forgotten it could be like this—unhurried, attentive, a conversation between bodies rather than a demand. Or perhaps I’d never known it could be this way at all.
Damian worked his way down my body, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites that had me writhing beneath him. He paused at my hipbones, nuzzling the sensitive skin there before glancing up at me, a question in his eyes.
“May I taste you again?” he asked, his breath hot against my inner thigh.
The formal phrasing, so characteristic of him even now, made me smile even as desire pooled heavy and urgent in my belly. “Please,” I managed to say.
The first touch of his tongue was like lightning striking through me. He traced the length of my cock with agonizing slowness before taking me into his mouth once more. This time, his fingers joined the exploration, tracing patterns on my inner thighs, cupping my balls with gentle pressure, drifting lower to circle my entrance with teasing lightness.
When his fingers traced the scars on my ribs—reminders of that final, terrible night with Marcus—I tensed involuntarily. Damian immediately stilled, lifting his head to meet my eyes.
“We can stop,” he said again, his voice gentle despite the flush of desire on his skin.
I shook my head. “No. I want this. I want you.” I took a deep breath. “It’s just… the scars…”
“Are part of you,” he finished. “Part of your strength.” He leaned down and pressed the gentlest of kisses against the largest scar. “You survived. You fought back. You won.”
Tears pricked my eyes at his words, at the reverence in his touch. I pulled him up to kiss him deeply, pouring everything I couldn’t yet say into the connection between us. I tasted myself on his tongue, and rather than finding it strange, there was something profoundly intimate about the mingling of flavours.
Without breaking our kiss, he reached toward his nightstand drawer and retrieved a bottle of lube. The small, everyday sound of the cap clicking open made this moment real in a way that sent a fresh wave ofdesire through me.
“How do you want this?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against my lips.
The question—so simple yet so profound in its respect for my agency—nearly undid me. “I want to feel you inside me,” I whispered. “I want to see your face.”
He nodded, his expression solemn despite the flush of desire on his cheeks. “Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good, or if you want to stop.”
“I will,” I promised, and meant it.
His hand slid between my legs, fingers circling my entrance with careful pressure. The cool slickness of the lube made me gasp, but his touch was so gentle, so patient, that any momentary discomfort quickly faded.
He slicked his fingers and the first one slid inside me with careful precision. I gasped at the intrusion—not from pain but from the exquisite care he took. He watched my face intently, gauging my reaction, adjusting his approach based on the smallest change in my expression.
“More,” I encouraged, pressing down against his hand.
When he added a second finger, stretching me slowly, I moaned his name. The slight burn gave way to pleasure as he worked me open with maddening patience.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rough with desire. “Let me hear you.”
His fingers curled inside me, finding that spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids. “Oh god, Damian—there, right there.”
He stroked over it again and again, each pass sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. My cock leaked against my stomach, untouched but achingly hard. When his thumb pressed against my perineum while his fingers stroked inside me, I nearly came undone.
“Please,” I begged, past pride or hesitation. “I need you inside menow.”
He withdrew his fingers and reached back toward the nightstand drawer. “Should I use a condom?” he asked, his voice strained but still focused on my comfort and safety.
I caught his wrist, stopping him. “No,” I said, surprising myself with my certainty. “I want to feel all of you inside me. I want nothing between us.” The words felt significant, loaded with meaning beyond just the physical act.
His eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide with desire. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I whispered. “I trust you, Damian.”
The weight of those three words hung between us, both of us knowing how monumental it was for me to say them.
He nodded, visibly moved, and slicked his cock generously with lube before positioning himself between my legs. He hooked one of my legs over his arm, opening me further, and used his other hand to guide himself to my entrance.
