Page 51 of Dirty Little Secrets
“So bad,” I cry out, rotating my hips against his touch.
“Beg for it, Emery,” he grunts, pressing the melting cube harder against my clit. “Fucking beg for it.”
“Please!” My hoarse, desperate voice permeates the air. “Please, let me come!”
“Please, what?”
“Please, sir!”
“Good girl.” With a final stroke, he growls, “You may come.”
My eyes roll to the back of my head, my toes curling, my entire fucking body vibrating as wave after wave of release washes over me, drowning me in satisfaction and greed.
“Flip over.” Unable to process his demands, he raises his voice, “I said flip over. Head down.”
“I need a?—”
Break. But I get none.
Damon wraps his arm around my waist, forcibly flipping me over like I weigh nothing at all. Pushing my head against the silk sheets, he slaps my ass. Hard.
“Damon—”
“Hands behind your back,” he grunts, locking my wrists together. I whimper, feeling his cock grazingagainst my pussy, my cheek planted firmly against the bed. “Fuck, you’re dripping.” He teases me with his tip, sliding his cock along my slick folds, and I arch my back. His chest rumbles as he laughs. “Needy little slut, aren’t you?” He lines up against my sex, tugging on my arms as he pulls me against his chest. “You’re going to take all of me, Emery,” he whispers against my ear, brushing his nose against the shell. “All of me, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I breathe out, mouth gaping open as he surges forward, stretching me open, nearly splitting me in half. “Oh, God!”
“God can’t help you now,” Damon grunts, pushing my back down. I collapse forward, bucking as his firm palm beats against my ass with every thrust. “Fuck…” He quickens his pace, tightening his grip around my wrists, unyielding and merciless as he pounds me, fills me, fucking annihilates me. “You feel so fucking good, mami. You feel so fucking good.”
“Harder,” I whimper, biting down on the comforter, pressure building in my core. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”
“You’re taking me so well,” he growls, placing his hand in the middle of my ass, his thumb massaging my hole. I tense up, gasping as he slips inside. “So tight, baby. We’re gonna have to fix that.”
“Holy shit.” My mind blanks, lights and dots filling my vision as he continues his assault on all my holes. His breathing turns heavy, ragged, primal, and raw, and I know he’s close. So am I. “Plea?—”
Before the word can reach his ears, Damon thrustsforward and tips me over the edge. He lets out a ferocious groan, pulling out, hot cum shooting on my back as he releases my arms. He slumps over beside me, gasping for air.
“Do you feel powerful yet, Miss Jones?” he asks through deep, forced breaths as he combs my damp hair out of my face.
I muster up a soft chuckle. “Maybe just a little.”
He smiles at me, so warm and gentle, a complete turn from the beast that once was. “Come here.” He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a small towel. “Let me clean you off.”
I don’t object. I let him wipe away the evidence. I let him apply the cream on my red and sore ass and, despite my deeply rooted reservations, I let him hold me in the aftermath of the comet’s collision.
“You’ve had surgery,” he whispers, tracing the faded scar on my chest. A scar I’ve paid a fortune for plastic surgeons to remove, to erase, but it’s impossible to eliminate completely.
“Surgeries,” I say, resting my head against his sweaty chest. “Multiple.” Sighing, I follow his roaming finger as he outlines my past. “It’s hideous, I know. It used to be worse. Now it’s…bearable.”
“It’s not hideous,” he says, kissing my shoulder. “It’s a part of you. It’s beautiful.”
“Don’t,” I state, turning slightly to my side as I glance up at him. “I don’t need another person telling me that my scars are beautiful.” Damon stiffens. “Tom used to tell me that scars are marks of a warrior, of a survivor.” My gaze travels across Damon’s naked body,stopping on his own scattered wounds. “Are those from the helicopter crash?”
“Some,” he says in a hushed and pained tone. “Not all.”
“And when you look at them…” I run my finger down a line of healed scar tissue on his forearm. “Do they remind you that you’re a warrior?”
“No, they don’t.” He swallows. “They remind me of what I lost.”
