Page 61 of Fragile Twisted Vows

But, here I am now.

The forbidden and unthinkable happening before me.

He starts to twitch when I swirl his cock with my tongue, shaking harder when I start to gag and let saliva pool from my mouth. It’s messy and unlike me, but he makes me defy all odds. Us together, right now, is defying all odds. And judging by the heated look in his eyes when he gazes into my own, I can tell he likes me like this.

He’s fucking obsessed with me like this. I can see it all over his beautiful, contorted face. But just when I think he’s about to come, he pulls away. It all happens fast, I don’t have time to protest or question his motives because he’s unbuckling the rest of my belt and ripping it from my jeans. He lays it on the bed and pushes me backwards.

“Lay down,” he barks, a rushed command. It sounds needy. He looks needy.

I do exactly what he says and he stalks me then, his knees touching the bed as his own hand circles his cock. I start to grow unbearably wet from the sight.

“Touch yourself. Show me how you please your body,” he growls and I start to grow nervous, but an excited kind of nervous.

I’d rather have him do this, but the thought of Damien stroking himself to the image of me playing with myself has me unbuttoning my jeans and sliding my hand inside. He frowns and his free hand pulls on my jeans, lowering them to where my boots stop at my knees. I move my thong to the side and circle my clit, gathering enough wetness to start playing before him, just as he asked.

He watches me the entire time. His length somehow continues to extend and his muscles bulge in his arm as he strokes harder and harder. I’m speechless from the sight, from the sensation of it all.

He’s leaning forward, gripping my bare thigh as my feet dangle off the bed with my jeans and boots slipping down to my ankles. He’s bent over and stroking his cock furiously as he watches me play with myself, as I moan and gasp and arch my back from the intensity of this moment.

“Tell me what you think of when you touch this pussy,” he growls and I shudder from his rough voice.

I don’t know why I grow shy then, but I do. Maybe because I don’t want to admit the truth to him. Maybe because he already knows. He knows I’m both guilty and pathetic for lusting after him for so long when I shouldn’t have.

“Tell me, Lucy,” he barks and I bite down on my lip as an orgasm threatens to overtake me.

I shake my head at him, but it doesn’t last long because his hand moves from my thigh to wrap tightly around my throat. My mouth gapes open as he presses against my pulse, as he leans closer so that his cock is now touching my circling fingers.

“Say it. Now,” he growls and for some stupid reason, tears form in my eyes.

“You!” I shout. My bottom lip is wobbling in defeat and he looks at me so intently, so thoroughly, I might turn to ash right here from the fire of his gaze.

“I think about you. I always have. Every time,” I admit, feeling hopeless. Feeling embarrassed and young and stupid.

I don’t know what I was thinking.

I’m not some strong and empowered woman. I am still that same stupid girl lusting after a man that’s been with supermodels. That’s been with her older sister.

I just admitted that he’s been my fantasy for the last seven years and I’ve never felt more pathetic.

My hands stop and I try to pull away from him, but he pins my wrists down above my head with his other hand as he clasps tighter around my throat.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re mine now, don’t you get it?” He growls, sounding possessive, sounding pleased.

I can feel his power fill the room. I definitely feel it when he grabs my belt and loops it around my wrists so that he can release me. And when he does, he stands tall and drops his pants to the floor, his cock still hard and pulsing. He rips his shirt from his body and the evening sun that peeks through the penthouse window of my bedroom illuminates his tan, muscled torso. He’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.

He tears my boots away from my legs and throws them on the floor before he rips the jeans clean off my body. For a second, he bends down, retrieving something from his pants. When he stands back up and leans over me, I see the gleam of a knife before he starts to cut my shirt, and then my lace bra away from my body.

I inhale sharply, daring not to move.

He watches me.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, and I shake my head at him.

I’m not. I’m not afraid.

In fact, I’m strangely excited.

“Every time, huh?” he whispers, dragging the knife lightly up my sternum before he brings it to my lips.

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