When his gaze lifts back to mine, a deep growl rumbles from his throat, vibrating through the air between us. It’s primal, raw, and it sends a fresh wave of wetness between my thighs.
“Damon,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
He shakes his head, those gray eyes stormy. “Amara will kill us. You know that.”
“I know,” I reply, the words tasting like truth and temptation all at once. My best friend’s annoying older cousin—the onewho’s been off-limits since forever. The thought twists in my gut, a reminder of the line we’re about to cross, but it only makes the pull stronger.
His finger presses against my lip, firm and insistent. I part my mouth without thinking, and he slides it inside, the salt of his skin exploding on my tongue.
Our eyes lock, his pupils blown wide with hunger.
I suck gently at first, then harder, swirling my tongue around the digit, tasting the faint bitterness of his day mixed with something uniquely him. The heat in the room presses in, making every breath feel thick, every sensation amplified.
He watches me, transfixed, his chest rising and falling faster. I pull back just enough to speak, my lips brushing his finger. “You taste amazing.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, the word rough and broken. Then his mouth crashes down on mine.
It’s happening.
Finally, it’s happening.
His lips are hot and demanding, tongue thrusting past my teeth to claim every inch. I kiss him back with everything I have, hands fisting in his shirt as the world narrows to this—to him. The warning bells in my head scream about Amara, about how wrong this is, but desire drowns them out.
Damon breaks the kiss just long enough to shove me backward. My back hits the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. He’s on me in an instant, his body covering mine, solid and unyielding.
The hard line of his belt digs into my hip, and lower, the thick bulge of his cock presses right against my center through our clothes. I rock up instinctively, grinding against him, the friction sending sparks up my spine.
“Caroline,” he groans into my neck, his breath hot against my skin. His hands roam, one sliding under my shirt to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple until I arch into him.
I tug at his shirt, desperate to feel more. “Please, Damon. I need you.”
He pulls back slightly, gray eyes searching mine, filled with that tangled mix of want and regret. “This is a bad idea. We shouldn’t?—”
“I know,” I cut in. I’m trembling, but I don’t stop. My fingers fumble with his belt, yanking it open. He doesn’t resist; instead, he helps, shoving his pants down his thighs. The black cotton boxers hug his hips, the fabric stretched taut over his erection. I press my palm against it, feeling the heat and the rigid length beneath. He hisses, hips jerking forward.
I lean up, mouth watering as I nuzzle the outline of his cock through the thin material. The scent of him—musky and aroused—fills my senses. I suck at the fabric, tasting the salt of his pre-come seeping through, my tongue tracing the thick vein I can feel pulsing. His hand fists in my hair, not pulling but holding, guiding me as I worship him like this.
“Fuck, Caroline,” he rasps. His dominance surges, that instinctive Alpha control taking over. He cups my pussy, fingers pressing into me. “You’re so fucking slick. Dripping for me already.”
The words hit like a spark to dry tinder. I moan around the cotton, my hips bucking into his hand. He rubs me there, slow circles over my clit that make my thighs quake. The pressure builds, heat coiling tight in my belly.
“Yes,” I gasp when he finally peels the boxers down.
His cock springs free, thick and heavy, the head flushed dark and glistening. Veins wrap around the shaft, leading to a base that’s already swelling with his knot. I wrap my hand around it,stroking from root to tip, feeling it twitch in my grip. He’s huge, the kind that promises to stretch me to my limits.
We move in a frenzy, clothes flying off. My shirt goes first, leaving me bare and exposed. He sheds the rest, his well-defined body coming into full view—broad shoulders tapering to a chiseled chest, abs rippling with every breath, thighs powerful and corded.
I reach for him again, but he bats my hand away gently, fist pumping his length as he stares down at me.
We can’t think. Not about Amara, not about consequences. Only this—the raw need consuming us both.
Damon climbs back over me, his cock nudging my entrance. He rubs the head along my folds, coating himself in my wetness, teasing my clit with each pass.
I whimper, legs spreading wider. “Please.”
He pushes in then, inch by inch, stretching me open. The burn is exquisite, my walls clenching around his thickness. He bottoms out with a groan, hips flush against mine.
“So tight,” he mutters, starting to thrust, slow at first, then harder, the bed creaking under us.
