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I wiggle, trying to get him to kiss me again so I don’t have to hear the sound of his voice. He may sound like sex and sin, but his voice is only a reminder that what I’m doing is wrong. Unable to move in his firm grasp, I feel him move down, and his breath gently caresses the curves of my breasts. A soft kiss is followed by the sensation of my nipple being pulled between his lips, ghosting through the delicate fabric of my shirt.
He nudges it down to reveal my breast before greedily drawing it into the warmth of his mouth, his tongue lavishing it with wet strokes. My back instinctively arches, and an involuntary moan causes me to swiftly clamp my mouth shut for fear of his staff hearing me. I already feel ashamed enough to give in to my desires. I don’t need his staff giving me disgusted looks when they see me. That would make me feel even worse.
“I want to hear you, Isabella. Be as loud as you want. No one is going to hear you,” he says and moves to my other breast, sucking and driving me wild.
The soft fabric of my shirt is an infernal barrier, searing my skin with every moment it denies me the full contact of his flesh against mine. I want to tear it away, to allow the raw, unfiltered touch of him to consume me whole. Each flick of his tongue is a spark of madness, igniting a blaze that incinerates all semblance of my sanity, leaving me gasping and pleading for silent surrender. The sweet oblivion of this moment is a refuge, a haven from the harsh realities that await beyond the boundaries of this room.
As another wave of pleasure surges through me, a moan, louder and more desperate than the last, escapes my lips. It's an indication of the potency of the electric current coursing relentlessly through my veins. It has me trembling and helpless within his unyielding grasp. My core is a storm of desire, a torrent threatening to drown me, growing wetter, hungrier, screaming for any form of relief as the inferno within me blazes unchecked, ravaging everything in its path.
Driven by a primal need, I roll my hips forward, seeking solace in the hardness pressing against me. He doesn't yield to my silent plea and doesn't grant me the release I desperately seek. His refusal is a frustrating torture.
“We’ll get there, Isabella,” he says, his voice a soft murmur among the storm of my own vehement protests. “Let me enjoy this.”
I stubbornly shake my head, rejecting the sensations he's trying to enforce upon me. His hands, strong and adamant, enclose around my hips again, clenching with a pressure that I know will later blossom into an area full of bruises. In this heated moment, such considerations dissolve into irrelevance. His every caress, his every tender assault, deepens the increased yearning that's simmering at my very center.
He gives one last bite on my nipple before he positions me in the center of the bed. I watch as his mouth trails lower, leaving kisses on my exposed skin as he goes lower. His lips kiss my stomach, then my navel, periodically nipping my skin and leaving wet imprints in his wake. When he’s low enough, he moves my legs over his wide shoulders, making sure my shirt is pushed up so it's not in the way. His piercing blue eyes meet mine, and I suck in a breath at the intensity of his gaze. Such raw, sexual hunger stares back at me.
I feel hot, and the shirt feels rough on my skin. I sit up slightly and tug the offending piece of clothing off while his hot breath fans over my core right before he rubs his face along the inside of my thigh. A whimper slips free as he sucks on my skin, eliciting a moan from deep within me.
I lean back and enjoy the teasing sensations, but a part of me wants to tug his hair and bring his mouth to the center of my need. Yet, I hesitate, stopped by the allure of his next move. The moment he shifts his attention to my other thigh, nibbling at the skin, I can't help but hiss out from the sting and pleasure of it. My heels rub against the firm ridges of his back. This time, impulse overrides restraint. My fingers weave into the silken threads of his hair, guiding him with silent urgency to the very core of my aching, inflamed desire.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he says as he kisses my center through my panties, making me moan in pleasure and frustration. My need only intensifies, and he does nothing to soothe the ache.
“Stop talking, Damien,” I tell him with a groan. “You know what I want, so stop teasing.”
I grind against his face, but he chuckles against my center, slightly biting me through my underwear before kissing it.
“Say you want me,” he demands.
I remain silent as his breath tickles me and causes more waves of sensations to flow through my body.
He rubs his nose against my wet center. “You won’t get my tongue until you say it, Isabella. You want my tongue, don’t you?”
I nod, knowing he can’t see it. If he won’t relieve this all-consuming ache I have, then I’ll do it myself. I slide my hand to my core and slip my panties to the side before slipping my finger through my sensitive folds, moaning so loud I’m sure his staff can hear me, but I don’t care. I’ve lost all decency in my quest to relieve this ache. I slide my finger over my wet center again, enjoying the slight relief it gives me, and move to pinch my clit before rubbing it, moaning at the pleasure flowing through me.
If he wants to play games, then I can get myself off. I don’t need him. Especially if he continues to be stubborn. I hear him growl as a hand wraps around my wrist. He brings my fingers to his mouth and sucks my juices from them. I lift my head to find his gaze on me, and my breath hitches at the raw desire in it. My core clenches, wanting him inside me, awakening parts of me that have been neglected. My desire flares, and I know my fingers won’t be enough to relieve me of the throbbing need I have.
“No one is getting you off but me,” he says as he slides his hands under me and lifts my center to his mouth. “I’m going to show this pussy that it wants me, even if you won’t say it.”
He attacks my core, dipping his tongue inside me, causing me to arch my back and cry out as tiny pricks of electricity flow through me. My body is on fire as his tongue laps at my lips, making my body hunger for more of his touch. He pulls his tongue out only to slide back in again, swirling side to side and up through my folds.
I moan and whimper as I dig my heels into his back. I grab my breast, tweaking my nipples and grinding against his face in a silent demand for release. However, he only applies enough pressure to drive me crazier. He continues to flick his tongue up and down my pussy before sucking on my clit. I cry out again and thread my fingers through his hair, pushing him closer to my core. He continues licking, bringing pleasure that takes me higher and higher. I’m on the brink of orgasm. It’s almost within my grasp, but he slows his onslaught. I tighten my hold on him, shifting to get more friction, causing him to growl, sending vibrations through my flesh.
I groan in frustration. “Please, Damien.”
“Please what, Isabella,” he asks, giving me a slow lick.
I jerk in response and try to rub against him, but he grabs my ass to keep me in place.
“Make me come,” I reply and groan in relief when he returns to licking my pussy, swirling his tongue deeper and deeper. I roll my hips and grind against his tongue. I’m almost there when he pulls back again.
“Say you want me, Isabella,” he snarls, and I can tell that he’s reaching his breaking point.
“Please!” The word bursts from me, a concoction of frustration and a burning anger directed at my own vulnerability.
I despise the vulnerability he instills in me, this need to beg, yet find my body betraying my pride as my legs encircle him more tightly. The grip of my thighs against his face is both a plea and a chastisement, but it does little to sway the deliberate course of his actions. My trembles with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions.
"Say it," he commands, and the timbre of his voice slices through the fog of my desire as his hand trails deliberately to my core.
