Page 92 of Just The Way You Aren't

His sharp intake of breath is deeply satisfying. I work him with my hand and mouth together, alternating between long strokes and focused attention on the head. His hand finds my hair, not pushing, just holding on like he needs an anchor.

"Fuck, Willow," he groans. "Just like that."

I hum around him, taking him deeper, loving the way his hips jerk in response. I can tell when he's getting close—his breathing changes, his grip tightens in my hair, his muscles tense beneath my free hand.

Suddenly, he pulls me away, panting hard. "Not yet," he says, his voice husky with desire. “I have another idea.” He sits up against the headboard and guides me to straddle him, but facing away from him. I sink down onto him, feeling his hard length stretching me like never before. "Yeah, like this," he murmurs, positioning my back to his chest.

This is new—we've never done this position before. I feel suddenly vulnerable yet incredibly intimate as I move atop him, taking him deep inside me. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me securely against him while his other hand explores my body.

"Look at us," he whispers in my ear, and I realize we're facing the large mirror on his dresser. I can see us—me with the diamonds glittering at my throat, him behind me, his eyes watching me over my shoulder. The visual is startlingly erotic.

"I want to see your face when you come," he says, his eyes meeting mine in the reflection. "I want to watch what I do to you."

I reach back to touch his face, turning my head to kiss him over my shoulder as we begin to move together. The angle isincredible, hitting spots that make me gasp. But what's more intense is the connection. We can't look away from each other, locked in the reflection as we move in perfect tempo with each other.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my ear. "Not just your body, all of you, Willow..." His words trail off as his movements intensify, but his eyes never leave mine in the mirror.

The intimacy of it all—his words, our reflected gaze, the way our bodies move together—pushes me toward the edge again. When his fingers find my clit, circling with perfect pressure, I shatter, crying out his name. But this time, I watch it happen, see his expression of awe as he witnesses my pleasure, our eyes locked in the mirror.

The intensity of our shared gaze seems to affect him too. His rhythm falters, and he instructs me to turn until we're face to face, my legs wrapped around his waist, our foreheads pressed together. In this new position, we're impossibly close, breathing the same air, unable to look anywhere but into each other's eyes.

"I need to see you—really see you," he whispers, his thumb stroking my cheek. The vulnerability in his voice makes my heart ache.

We move together more slowly now, our bodies rocking in gentle waves. The physical pleasure is incredible, but it's the way he's looking at me that threatens to undo me completely. I've never felt so seen, so known by another person.

"Stay with me," he murmurs, his gaze never wavering from mine. "Right here, with me."

I know he means more than just this moment, and the realization sends a fresh wave of emotion through me. "I'mhere," I promise, my voice breaking slightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

His movements become more urgent, and I can feel myself building toward another peak. This time when I fall, he follows immediately, our bodies pulsing together as we maintain that unbroken eye contact, sharing something far deeper than physical release.

We collapse against each other, breathing hard but still holding on tight. He pulls me against him, my head resting atop his shoulder.

"That was..." I trail off, unable to find adequate words. I swallow past the knot of emotion suddenly lodged in my throat. "This whole evening has been like a fairy tale, Damien. The fundraiser, the dancing, this... You've made me feel like Cinderella at the ball."

"You deserve it," he says, his hand sliding down my body. "But it's not midnight yet. And I'm nowhere near done with you, princess."

His fingers find me again, already building me toward another climax. Maybe fairy tales are real after all. One thing's for sure. Prince Charming's got nothing on Damien Langley.

CHAPTER 29

DAMIEN

Willow dozes in my arms, her breathing soft and even, but I can tell she's not quite asleep yet. Her body is warm against mine, her hair tickling my chin, one hand resting lightly on my chest. The digital clock on my nightstand reads 2:17 AM. We should both be exhausted after the fundraiser and several rounds of thoroughly satisfying sex, but I'm too wired to sleep. Too aware of her, of us, of this moment that feels significant in ways I can't fully articulate.

I trace idle patterns on her back, enjoying the way she occasionally shivers when I hit a sensitive spot. Her skin is impossibly soft, a stark contrast to the diamonds and pearls still at her throat—the only thing she's wearing.

"You're extraordinary," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She makes a small sound, half laugh, half dismissal. "You’re not so bad yourself. I don’t know how I’ll ever keep up with your stamina."

"I'm not talking about the sex," I clarify. "Though that wasextraordinary too. I'm talking about you, Willow. Who you are."

She props herself up on one elbow, looking at me with a mixture of amusement and confusion. "Right. Perpetually disorganized, too many rescue animals, can't match my socks most days. Extraordinary is definitely the word."

I frown at her tone. It's not the first time I've noticed this—the way she deflects compliments, turns them into self-deprecating jokes. For someone who radiates such confidence when helping others, she's surprisingly quick to dismiss her own worth.

"Why do you do that?" I ask.

---