Page 71 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Slow down,” he says, stepping closer and using his feet to kick out my ankles, sidling in between my knees while he continues to loom. “Think. What did I tell you from the very start?”

Slow down?

How the fuck am I supposed to do that, when he’s got me bare from the waist down, and the cool ocean breeze is making me painfully aware of just how arousing I find this entire scenario? Gods, I’m... drenched. And he isn’t even looking at me there. His eyes are soldered to mine, like he isn’t even aware of my sensitive pussy open before him.

“You’re so evil,” I whimper, looking away.

He clicks his tongue in a tutting, scolding way as he pinches my chin between his fingers. “Answer. The question.”

He says it so lightly—almost lilting. But when he tilts my chin up to meet his eyes again, they are strangely dull in the warm light of my apartment. There’s an almost frenzied quality to his stare, like there is something feral hiding just beneath the surface. Something sadistic.

It’s fucking thrilling. He’s fucking starving, but he’s playing with his food. Playing with me.

“What did I say, Lillith? Don’t make me ask again. You won’t like the punishment if I have to ask again.”

Oh... hells. Wow. I really, really like this side of Damien. I like it so much that I almost go fully ‘blue screen of death’ in my brain. I almost forget to answer—almost forget that this isn’t some Damien x Reader fanfic I’m reading and that I’m actually an active participant in this. I blink rapidly, trying to remember his words verbatim.

You know you can tell me whatever, right? And I’m not going to think poorly about you?

“Y-you said that you won’t think poorly about me, no matter what I tell you,” I say.

He gives a curt nod. “That’s right,” he says. “And did you believe me, Lillith? Did you listen to me when I told you how serious I was about you?”

This feels like entrapment. It also feels like I have no other choice but to walk right into it. I can feel myself teeter over the edge of being good and being in trouble, and I would do anything to be good for Damien. I feel the shift into this submissive headspace as easily as stepping into the stream of a shower. There is something soothing about being here. Something that loosens the knots in my muscles and lifts some burden off of my shoulders.

“I didn’t believe you,” I confess on an exhale.

“And you made me suffer for that, Little Bird,” he says, his expression dark and oddly serious.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I know you are,” he says. “And I know you’re going to show me just how sorry you are, aren’t you?”

I nod, eagerly, as I shift forward on the couch and reach for the button on his jeans. He grasps both of my wrists and pries them away from his fly, holding my hands above my head as his voice takes on a sharpened edge that I’ve never heard before.

“Did I ask you to touch me, Lillith?” Mean. Cold.

My blood cools. “I thought—I thought that you—”

“It’s not your job to think right now. It’s your job. To listen. To obey. And to keep these greedy little whore hands to yourself.”

I flinch and shrink back at the harsh words and a see little crack in the facade of this dark alter ego Damien has slipped into. He drops to his knees in front of me, but continues holding onto my wrists, pinning them at my sides.

“You didn’t like that, did you, little bird?” he asks, light returning to his eyes despite his tone still being stern.

“It’s fine, I deserved it,” I say, my voice warbling.

“Hush,” he says. “None of that. This isn’t about breaking you down, Lillith. I need you to be honest with me. No more lies. Not by omission, or anything else. You’re being punished, but that doesn’t mean I want you to think I feel anything but the desire to worship you from head to toe.”

To my complete horror, my eyes prick with tears. I try to lift my hands to hide my face, but Damien holds them firmly at my sides, and I have no choice but to let them fall onto my face.

He clicks his tongue again, but this time it’s more indulgent. Tender, even. He gathers both of my wrists in one of his large hands before using the newly freed one to wipe away the wetness from my cheeks.

“Words, little bird,” he says, gently.

I sniff and force them out. “I don’t like degradation.”

“Good girl,” he says, and if feels like a balm over the abrasion he just gave me. “I won’t do that again. I took a shot in the dark and I missed. I’m sorry. Do you want to stop?”