Page 151 of The Contract

“Good girl.” He nips at my jaw and I melt at the richness of his deep voice.

His other hand slides beneath the thin lace of my panties, and the moment his fingers brush against my swollen, aching heat, his breath stutters.

“Goddamn, baby,” he rasps, his voice wrecked with arousal, like the feel of me is choking him. “You’re fucking dripping.”

I whimper as he drags his fingers through my slickness, teasing, testing, spreading me open with slow, torturous strokes.

He circles my clit, his touch featherlight at first, then firmer, a slow, devastating rhythm that has me gasping, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“Tell me you missed me, Trouble.” His voice is low, rough, coaxing.

I can barely think, barely breathe, too lost in the steady pulse of pleasure building between my legs.

He knows exactly how to touch me.

How to drive me insane with nothing but his fingers and his voice.

“Damien—”

His fingers press deeper. “Tell me, Elena.” His voice tightens, thick with need. “Because I was fucking dying without you.”

I shudder, rolling my hips against his hand, chasing friction, chasing pleasure.

His fingers stroke that devastating spot inside me, flicking my clit in fast, precise strokes.

And I shatter.

“Yes.” I pant as my head falls back.

A sharp cry rips from my throat, my body locking around his fingers, pleasure crashing over me in violent waves.

He doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t slow.

He works me through every last pulse, every last tremor, his other hand gripping my hip, holding me steady, grounding me.

The sounds of the city fade beneath the thunder of my pulse, the high-pitched whimpers spilling from my lips, the rough, wrecked curses Damien whispers against my skin.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, biting my jaw, licking over the sting before kissing his way back to my lips. “Fucking beautiful when you come.”

I clench around his fingers as the pleasure slowly ebbs, my body trembling, too sensitive, too desperate for more.

He grins against my mouth, withdrawing his fingers.

And then—he sucks them clean.

Groaning.

Tasting me.

His tongue swirls over his knuckles, lapping up every last drop.

The sight alone has me clenching around nothing, my thighs squeezing him instinctively.

He hums in satisfaction.

His lips brush mine in featherlight kisses, teasing, coaxing. “Tell me what you want, Elena.”

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