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Straining.
Until I finally release...
I let out another cry of delight as all the tension melts away from me and I lose myself utterly in the feel of Damon’s lips around my yearning pussy.
All because of the man between my legs and his expert tongue.
I can’t believe it. Damon Penmayne – one of the most powerful men in the country - just gave me head.
And I fuckinglovedit.
20
AVA
Damon leaves the office,completely stark naked.
“Where are you going?” I ask him, admiring his muscular toned body. His ass is a thing crafted by the gods, and I can’t take my eyes off it.
“Shower.”
It’s his one word reply, delivered without even a look behind at me.
When he closes the door after him, I slump down on his office chair, the man’s shirt draped around me like a massive towel.
And I shake my head at myself. This...thinghas evolved way past paying for my dad’s debt and into something else entirely. I can’t deny that the gangster who just left this room brings me pleasure. Ahellof a lot of pleasure. He does things to me completely unprompted that somehow arouse me to a breaking point. Stuff that no man has ever done before to me. It’s like he knows my body inside and out and can turn me on with just a flick of his finger.
I drag myself up from Damon’s chair and start scanning the room. Might as well seize the opportunity while he’s occupied in the shower, right? I doubt I’ll ever have another chance like this.
Hm. Damon’s a seriously private guy; there’s hardly a trace of his personal life in this room. No photos, no diaries, nothing that gives a glimpse into his inner world. It’s all just so... dull and corporate - strictly business. The only things in sight are some handwritten notes from mundane meetings related to his alcohol company. Nothing here seems to capture his true essence, no hints of his innermost thoughts.
And that’s what I’m looking for: an insight into this strange, gorgeous man and what might be going on inside that handsome head of his.
Seems like Damon’s gotta keep things super hush-hush in his world. I bet the constant fear of rival folks or even some fed agency busting in is probably a real concern for him.
I make my way over to the bookshelf behind his desk. There are some real famous classics on here. He’s a smart man indeed if he’s read these books.
I bite my lip as I peruse the spines of the books. So... he’s anintellectual.
I smirk at that.
It’s completely out of left field.
It seems like I’m constantly discovering new things about this man every day.
I hear movement outside the door, and I quickly dart back to the office chair in time for Damon to come back into the room.
His hair is wet. His towel is hanging loose around his lower hips. I can see all of his glistening tattoos. All those inked stories from a dark past. I really wonder where theycome from and what is the tale whispering behind each of them. What secrets do they represent?
I take a moment to savor the black ink on display. There are Roman numerals across his shoulders – I’m guessing it’s the date of his birthday. On his chest is a name in bold:Arthur. That would be in memory of his late brother. I’ve heard the stories about his passing. There must be a lot of hidden grief there for Damon. I notice there’s a quote running down the length of his right tricep:embrace pain. His entire left arm is a sleeve full of various tattoos.
Yeah, it’s a hell of a lot of stories that he has inked on himself. A lifetime of experiences that he has on display.
Damon’s body is a sculptured masterpiece - a canvas of masculine power and excellence radiating both strength and sensuality.
His eyes lock onto mine with a savage intensity. He stands there, at the doorway, for a long, languid pause.
Looking at me. All his focus is on me.
