Page 53 of Property of Chux

I arch against him, heat pooling low in my stomach as he pushes my thighs apart, stepping between them. “Oh, Iamhungry,” I whisper, nipping at his jaw. “For you.”

He growls, lifting me off the counter effortlessly and carrying me toward the bed, his mouth never leaving mine.

Dinner can wait.

Because right now?

Right now, all I want is the man in front of me.

Damian lays me down on the bed, his weight pressing me into the soft mattress, but it’s not just his body that surrounds me—it’s his entire being The heat of his skin, the scent of him, the way he looks at me.

Dark eyes, full of something I don’t think he’s ever put into words.

And I feel it.

This isn’t like the other times.

It’s not frantic or desperate. It’s slow. Intentional.

His lips brush over mine, not demanding, just present, giving He kisses me like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s trying to show me something I haven’t yet realized for myself.

I slide my hands up his bare chest, over the ridges of muscle, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. He leans into my touch, inhaling sharply as I graze my nails down his sides.

“Ally…” His voice is rough, but there’s something soft here, too.

He lifts my cami, pulling it over my head, his gaze never leaving mine as he tosses it aside. Then he runs his hands down my body, tracing the curve of my waist, my hips, my thighs. He’s not in a rush. He drinks me in, memorizing me.

I suck in a breath as he kisses his way down my neck, his lips hot and slow, his tongue flicking over my pulse before he moves lower, teasing, exploring, learning every reaction he pulls from me.

I arch into him, my body aching for more, but he takes his time

Pushing my shorts down my legs, he leaves me bare beneath him. I should feel vulnerable. But I don’t.

I feel desired.

I feel safe.

I feel protected.

I feel like I’m his and he is mine.

He kisses me again, pressing himself against me, and I can feel the heat of him, the hardness pressing between my thighs. But he doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. He’s covering me down to my soul.

When he finally moves, sinking inside me, it’s delicate and slow. A deep, unhurried stretch that has my breath hitching, my fingers digging into his back. He groans low in his throat, his forehead dropping to mine as he stills, as if he’s trying to keep himself together.

“Jesus, baby,” he rasps. “You feel so fucking good.”

I slide my hands into his hair, holding him to me. “So do you.”

His lips brush against mine as he starts to move, each slow roll of his hips sending waves of pleasure through me. It’s different this time—not just heat, not just need.

This is something more

Something real.

I lift my legs, wrapping them around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. His hands slide under me, lifting me into each thrust, his breath ragged against my lips.

I feel him in every inch of me. Not just physically, but in a way I can’t explain.

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