Page 8 of New Year in Kentbury
The abrupt change in tone hits me like a punch to the chest. Just moments ago, he was in complete control, commanding and relentless, and now he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing keeping him upright. It’s the way he always is—one second, he’s an emotionless bastard, the next he’s so open and vulnerable. In so much need of someone to care for him—for love. The sight of him almost breaks my heart.
The way he shifts from cold detachment to craving me like his next breath says everything about us, about what we are.
For a moment, I just stare at him, taking in the way his pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to hold himself together. His vulnerability is rare, a side of him he doesn’t show to anyone else, and it undoes me every time.
“Come here,” I murmur, my voice low and rough, thickened with a raw hunger that betrays every ounce of control I’m tryingto hold onto. I stand, pulling him close until our bodies are flush, my hands gripping his waist. He exhales shakily, his hands finding my shoulders as he leans into me, his usual confidence stripped bare.
“I want to feel you inside me,” he whispers, his voice a soft rumble, like the low hum of a cello—steady, resonant, and pulling at something deep within me. “Every inch of you claiming me. Reminding me I’m not alone. Not tonight—not ever.”
My hands slide down to his ass, squeezing firmly as I guide him backward, step by step, toward the room where the bed waits. When we reach the edge of the mattress, I ease him down gently, my hands steadying him as his legs part instinctively, creating space for me to settle between them. I pause, hovering over him, our breaths mingling in the charged silence. Then, unable to resist any longer, I close the distance and capture his lips with mine.
The kiss is raw, unrestrained—a feverish collision of mouths, all hunger and urgency, brimming with everything we’ve kept bottled up and everything we’re about to surrender.
When the kiss ends, I stare at him. The way he looks up at me, eyes wide and pleading, sends a thrill through my entire body. For all his strength and dominance, in this moment, he’s mine—completely, utterly mine. I lean down, brushing my lips against his in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, letting him feel how much I want this—want him. Though, I wish I could say I love him. I love him in ways I never thought was possible. But I don’t.
The fear of losing this moment, him, keeps me quiet.
Reaching over the nightstand I take the bottle of lube he must have dropped earlier. The soft click of the cap opening fills the quiet space between us, and I squeeze a generous amount onto my fingers, warming it before letting my hand glide downhis body. Damian’s breath hitches when my slick fingers tease between his cheeks, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t break his gaze from mine.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this, wanting, needed me,” I whisper, my voice husky but soft. “Let me take care of you, babe.” I want to say, let me love you. I don’t.
This shouldn’t make me angry. We have an agreement. I know how this works. Love isn’t part of our vocabulary, but I want to do it, love him. If not in front of others, at least when we’re together.
Focus on right now,I remind myself and I press my fingers gently against him, circling the tight muscle, coaxing it to relax. Damian’s head falls back against the pillows, his lips parting as a low groan escapes him.
“Breathe for me,” I murmur, my free hand resting on his thigh, stroking it soothingly. “That’s it, baby. Let me in.”
The first finger slides inside, slowly, and deliberately, and Damian’s whole body tenses for a moment before melting beneath me. His hands grip the sheets, his knuckles white as he adjusts to the intrusion.
“You’re doing so good,” I tell him, my voice steady and reassuring. “So fucking perfect for me.”
I move my finger carefully, easing him open, watching the way his body responds to every stroke. When I add a second finger, he gasps, his back arching slightly, and I lean down to press a kiss to his chest, my lips lingering against his heated skin.
“Relax,” I whisper, curling my fingers just enough to make him moan. “Let me make you feel good, babe.”
His breathing quickens as I work him open, my fingers sliding in and out with increasing ease. The slick sounds fill the room, mingling with his soft, desperate noises. I scissor my fingers gently, stretching him further, and the way he bites his lip, his chest heaving, nearly undoes me.
“Paul,” he breathes, my name falling from his lips like a prayer. “Fuck, you feel so good, but I don’t need your fingers. I need your cock. Give it to me. I’m ready for it.”
“Be patient, baby. Good things happen to those who wait,” I promise, my voice a low growl as I press a third finger inside. He cries out, but his cock is finally getting hard again for me.
The tension in his body dissolves as I continue, my fingers moving with precision, coaxing, and teasing until he’s trembling beneath me. I press kisses along his jaw, his neck, whispering soft, loving words against his skin.
“You’re mine,” I tell him, my lips hovering over his as I slowly pull my fingers out, leaving him empty but trembling with anticipation. “Every part of you, Damian. You belong to me.”
His eyes meet mine, glassy with pleasure, his lips trembling as though he wants to say something but can’t find the words. He doesn’t need to. The way he looks at me, the way his body arches toward mine, tells me everything. He’s ready. And he’s mine.
“Say it, Damian,” I command, my voice low and rough. “Say you’re fucking mine, or I won’t fill your tight hole with my dick.”
He shudders beneath me, his body arching like a bowstring pulled taut, every muscle trembling as if I’m the only thing anchoring him to this moment. His hands clutch the sheets with a ferocity that mirrors the storm in his chest, and his gasp is a broken prayer, a plea wrapped in devotion. “I’m yours,” he breathes, his voice fractured, trembling, thick with a desperation that’s both surrender and promise. “Always yours. Always.”
I arch a brow, leaning in until our faces are just a whisper apart. “I didn’t catch that,” I say, my voice slicing through the tension like a razor’s edge. “If you want my cock, you’ll have to beg for it. You’re going to tell me you’re mine, and you’re going to beg.”
Damian’s breath stutters, his chest rising and falling in jagged waves as he looks up at me, wide-eyed and flushed, hisvulnerability laid bare in the dim light between us. His lips part, trembling, the words spilling out like a confession he can’t hold back any longer. “I’m yours,” he whispers, the sound fragile and aching, yet threaded with an unmistakable fervor. “I’m all yours. Please,” he chokes, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. “Please, Paul. I want you. I need you. I need your cock. Please.”
“Not good enough,” I snarl, tightening my grip on his chin, tilting his head so he’s forced to meet my gaze. His wide, tear-bright eyes lock onto mine, and I can see the desperation quivering in every fiber of his being. “Say it louder,” I demand, my voice a low, dangerous growl. “Beg for it like you mean it.”
“Please,” he sobs this time, his voice cracking as his body arches toward me, trembling under the weight of his desire. “Please, Paul, I need your cock inside me. I can’t stand it anymore—please, fuck me. Fill me. Make me yours.”
