Page 85 of Curvy Cabin Fever
He’s on me before I’m even fully undressed, grabbing my thighs and dragging me to the edge of the bed. I feel the cool air on my heated skin, feel his eyes burning into every inch he uncovers.
“Lie back. Legs open. Hands above your head.”
His voice is pure command. No room for argument.
I do it.
Damien kneels between my thighs and just stares at me for a second. His eyes devour my body like he’s seeing me for the first time—drinking in every curve, every freckle, every goosebump. There’s something almost reverent in his gaze, despite the violence in his hands.
Then he spits into his palm and strokes his cock once—hard, thick, flushed, and angry. My breath catches at the sight. He’s bigger than I remember, or maybe it’s just the hunger in his eyes making everything about him seem more intense.
He doesn’t ease in.
He drives into me with one brutal, perfect thrust that knocks the air out of my lungs.
“Fuck,” I cry out, arching off the bed, my fingers clutching at nothing.
He doesn’t stop or give me time to adjust.
He pounds into me like he’s trying to ruin me for every other man alive.
And God, it works.
My body clenches around him, slick and aching, taking everything he gives and still begging for more.
“You think I didn’t hear you?” he growls, his hips snapping forward with each word. “Every fucking sound you made with them. You think I didn’t want to tear the walls down and drag you out by your hair?”
“Damien—”
“You’remine, Aria. You understand me?” His hand finds my jaw, tilting my face so I have to look at him. “Say it.”
“Yes,” I whimper, tears blurring my eyes from the intensity, from the pleasure so sharp it borders on pain. “I’m yours.”
He slows for just a second, hips grinding deep instead of fast. His thumb brushes my cheek—one soft thing in a storm of sharp edges.
“I don’t share like they do,” he says, his voice a dangerous rumble. “I let you go because you want them. But right now?” His next thrust is punishing. “This is mine.”
He reaches down and wraps his fingers around my throat—not tight, just enough pressure to make my whole body light up with adrenaline and desire.
“You like that?”
“Yes,” I pant, my hips rising to meet his. “Harder.”
He squeezes a little, just enough to make the edges of my vision swim, dragging his other hand down between us to rub rough circles over my clit.
“I’m gonna break you,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.
“Then do it,” I challenge, and I feel him smile against my neck before his teeth sink into my skin.
His thrusts get harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes off the walls, but all I can hear is him—his breath in my ear, his voice like gravel and sin.
“I’m gonna fill this cunt,” he growls. “Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days.”
I moan, clawing at the sheets.
“You want that, baby?” he pants. “You want me to come inside you, fill you?”
“Yes—yes, Damien?—”
