~Damon~My shoes echoed across the floor. My slacks hung low on my hips. My cock was still hard behind the zipper, thick and unforgiving, and I made no attempt to hide it. “Was the cab ride too long?” I asked, tilting my head. “Did traffic keep my little whore away from her daddy? Or were you sitting back there with your legs spread and your fingers twitching, trying not to come because you wanted to be a good girl?” Her breath hitched. I saw it. The way her knees bent. The way her lips parted like she wanted to lie and couldn’t find the words. I smirked. “Oh, I know what it was.” Another step. I was close now. Inches away. My body towered over hers like I was made to pin her to every wall in this fucking penthouse. “You were wet before you even left the house, weren’t you?” She didn’t answer. I leaned in, my mouth brushing her ear as I whispered. “You were soaking when you called me” She shivered. “You were dripping when you saw my hard on picture” I tra
~Damon~ I lit the cigar slowly, letting the flame linger just long enough to burn the edge, then pulled in a deep drag as I leaned back against the counter. The penthouse was dark, save for the gold halo of city lights pouring in from the windows, painting long shadows across the marble floor. I hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights. Didn’t need to. I was too wound up. Too hard. Too goddamn restless to care about anything except the fact that she hadn’t arrived yet. I’d been pacing since I sent her the location. Every clock tick pissed me off. Every breath I took that didn’t smell like her skin made my fists clench tighter. My cock was already hard, straining against the front of my slacks, pulsing with a hunger that had been building for days. I hadn’t fucked anyone. Hadn’t touched myself. Not once. Not since the last time I fucked her, crying into her own arm while I shoved her deeper and deeper into the only goddamn role she was ever meant to play—mine. I di
My hands were shaking as I pulled the phone away just long enough to swipe down. New photo. Oh my God. My entire soul screamed. It was a picture of his cock. Hard. Huge. Veins popping. Thick, flushed, leaking. And in the background? My name. Written on a little torn slip of paper. Placed next to his cock like a fucking signature. Lyra. I gasped so hard I choked on my own breath. He was hard for me. He’d taken the picture for me. And he didn’t stop there. Another text came in immediately after. “I’m hard for you.” “Now be fast.” “Come suck it.” “Don’t waste my fucking time, Lyra.” “Unless you want to be punished the second you walk through that door.” I moaned again. I didn’t even try to hold it back. It came out loud. Raw. Like it punched itself straight out of my stomach and into the sky. Because my cunt was throbbing. My mouth was watering. My whole body was buzzing like it needed to be used. I lifted the phone back to my ear
~Lyra~ He was coming home. As in..here. As in this house. The same house where the music was still playing, where half the school was probably grinding in the living room. . He couldn’t see this. He would kill Tasha. Not figuratively. Not emotionally. Like, literally. We’d both be dead. Buried six feet under a fucking rose garden with matching tombstones that said, “Here lies Lyra and Tasha. They tried Damon Thornvale.” I started pacing again, the panic fully kicking in. Think, think, think, bitch. He could not find out. So I did what any emotionally unwell, freshly heartbroken, wildly overstimulated girl would do. I lied. “Nooo. The insect fumigants just left. Like just now. The house is fumigated and still smells like poison. It’s not safe to come in yet.” I held my breath. Sent it. He read it instantly. And then his reply dropped like a bomb. Ohh. So where are you? Oh God. Oh fuck. My brain was on fire. My thoughts were a hamster on cocaine. I didn’t e
She looked up at me, eyes wide, lips parted. “Yes, I would’ve been pissed. Yes, I would’ve screamed. I probably would’ve blocked you, cursed you out, ignored your texts, ripped up our photos, maybe even burned that stupid matching journal we made — but I would’ve forgiven you eventually.” Her lips quivered. “Because I loved you more than I hated what you did,” I said, breath shaking. “And the difference is, if you had told me — if you had trusted me — we could’ve crawled through it together. I would’ve gotten over it. I really, truly believe I would’ve. Because our friendship was that deep. That real.” I sniffed, the lump in my throat growing again. “But now? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever trust you again. And do you know the craziest part? The most insane part of all this?” She blinked at me, face soaked with tears. “I’m going to have to see your nasty face all year.” She froze. “What?” I took a deep, bitter breath. “Yeah. Surprise. My mum made a
~Lyra~ “Spare me the shaky voice and the tears, Tasha. I’m not ready to be comforted by the same hands that held him while I was crying about him to you. I’m not ready to hear your sad little redemption story about how it was a mistake and you’ve hated yourself ever since. You hated yourself in silence. Privately. While I hated myself out loud. While I drowned in it. While I doubted everything about me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Do you even know what it did to me?” I demanded, standing slowly like my legs were powered by rage and heartbreak and Red Bull. “Do you even fucking know what it felt like? Sitting in my room, sobbing over a boy who broke me, while you sat next to me — nodding like you cared, acting like my pain was safe with you — and you were the reason I was in pain the whole time?” She tried to speak. I cut her off with a raised hand. “No. No, you don’t get to talk yet. I need to say this. I need to get this out or I’m going to explode, and I swear to G