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She took his hands and rolled his fingers between hers, imitating his actions. The touch set off a fire in his stomach. In his core. His heart. His eyes drifted shut, and he wanted to drop at her knees, put his arms around her, and beg her for it.
He wanted to feel her tongue on him, to sink inside her, to take something she had meant for another man and which was now the only thing, the only thing, Damien wanted.
He groaned when she rubbed his thighs over his soaked pants, and he was so dangerously close to snapping, he knew he had to stop her, he had to. He’d promised her he wouldn’t fuck her, and he’d been the one to approach her today. Now he needed for her, desperately, to want him to, so that she would let him. So that she would beg him.
He grabbed her wrist. “Stop—I can’t…” He trailed off, his throat tight, then he pulled her out, his slacks dripping on the marble floor as he grabbed a towel and started drying her.
He watched her face, cloudy blue eyes watching him as he knelt at her feet and dried her toes first, then up her legs, her pussy, her breasts, his heart a kettledrum in his ears. Poom, poom, poom.
“And you…” she then said, motioning in his direction.
“I’ll be right out, get comfortable, grab one of my shirts if you like.”
She wrapped the towel around herself and padded outside, the door closing behind her, and Damien yanked off his pants, slid back into the water, and grabbed his cock, knowing what he had to do. He couldn’t think. He could hurt her if he didn’t calm this down…he had to calm down…calm the fuck down…
Calm down, man, she’s yours. She’s going to be yours.
She would not give her virginity to Court, Damien wouldn’t allow it. And still, he groaned in pain as he fisted himself and moved, imagining her red hair, her mouth beneath his…He groaned and murmured her name, getting closer…
Sydney slid into a white dress shirt from Damien’s enormous closet and then she glanced around his bedroom, dragging her finger along the furniture wistfully. He’d only been here a week, from what she’d heard, and yet she could tell he’d sent his belongings beforehand, and that an expert had probably accommodated them.
She loved his apartment. His style.
This penthouse was far bigger than the one she’d visited when she’d been a stupid smitten fifteen year old, and he had enough space to fill it with souvenirs from each and every country he’d visited for years. She could tell that he was trying to make it home, and she wondered if he felt like he was succeeding.
When they’d entered, she’d spotted African masks hanging on the wall of the living room, next to wooden boomerangs from Australia. His bedroom boasted carvings from what she supposed were the Fiji Islands or perhaps Bali, and all around the furniture, she had spotted carved gemstones in half rocks glinting from every corner. Quartz on the tables, Amethysts on the bookshelves…And what bookshelves.
They’d run from side to side of one wall in his living room, and his bedroom boasted another enormous bookshelf that ran wall to wall; something that surprised her. She’d never expected a bad boy like him to read so much. And yet, she supposed when you travelled long hours, reading was the best way to escape the reality of traveling.
The lamps to both sides of the bed were made of gold onyx, each with a light bulb glowing warmly at the center, transferring through the onyx in an incredibly elegant way. The bed had a black comforter and several big black pillows adorned with silver buttons. Sitting at the edge of the bed, she lifted one pillow and smelled it, trying to determine which side he slept on. They both smelled faintly of him.
He came out with a towel around his waist, and she dropped the pillow, feeling caught like she’d been sniffing something even more private.
He looked at her sitting on his bed, and something passed across his face, a wistful kind of longing that made her own yearning slice her up in quarters. His lips curled slightly then, and he started for her. The sight of his piercings glinting in the lamplight, his slick, wet dark hair, that amazingly intricate black tattoo curling up his side, around one shoulder, to almost touch his nipple, sent her hormones in a turmoil. It angered her, confused her. She didn’t need to be lusting after him! Why was she lusting after him?
“Your clothes will dry in a couple minutes. I’d like to take you to dinner after,” he said, softly.
She scowled. “That’s all you want to do. Feed me.”
“That’s not all,” he said, his lips curving.
There was a sudden change in him. He seemed…calmer. He was almost flirting. Was he flirting?
“What else do you want from me, other than stuffing me with food?”
He sat down at her side, almost gentle. “I’m not stoking the fire inside you so someone else gets to put it out.”
Her breathing hitched at his nearness.
He turned her to face him and placed a hand on the side of her face. “I’m not caressing you, readying you for another man.”
A hot ache grew in her throat and it spread to her midsection.
His thumb caressed her cheek so tenderly, her eyes blurred. “You’re a diamond in the rough, Sydney, and if I cut you up and polish you, it will be because you belong to me.” He lowered his hands and started to unbutton his shirt, the one she now wore, and she watched helplessly as button by button, he eased the parting open, until he brushed the shirt over her shoulders. “Only me,” he repeated warningly.
A bead of remaining water from her loose hair slid down her cleavage and he slowly brushed it away with his tongue, sliding in a sensual twirling motion up to the source at her nape. The heat fired up in the room and in her system.
She clutched his damp head to hers, her fingers tightening when he moved his mouth down to her nipple. He captured it in the heat of his mouth, and her entire body went up in flames. He feasted from her, and he did it for longer than she could bear.
