Crossing The Line

Chapter 10: Crossing the Line

The silence after Damien hung up on Alex was deafening.

My body was still trembling from the orgasm he’d forced out of me while his son listened on the other end of the line. Shame burned through me like wildfire, but it was mixed with something darker — something addictive and terrifying.

I pushed against Damien’s chest, trying to create distance. “What the hell was that?” My voice cracked. “You answered my phone… while you were… while we were…”

Damien didn’t let me pull away. He kept his fingers buried inside me, slowly stroking through the aftershocks, his stormy gray eyes locked on mine with ruthless calm.

“He needed to understand,” he said simply. “You’re not his anymore, Isla. You haven’t been for a long time.”

Tears pricked at my eyes. Three years. Three years of loving Alex, supporting him, forgiving him. And now his own father had me spread open, fingers deep inside me, claiming me while Alex listened.

The guilt was crushing.

And yet… I was wetter than I’d ever been in my life.

Damien must have felt it too, because a low, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest. He withdrew his fingers and brought them to my lips.

“Open.”

I obeyed without thinking, tasting myself on his skin as he pushed them into my mouth.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, voice rough with desire. “Look at you. Still dripping for me even while you’re crying over him.”

A sob escaped around his fingers. He pulled them out and replaced them with his mouth, kissing me deeply, possessively, like he could erase every memory of his son from my body.

When he finally pulled back, I was breathless.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered, even as my legs wrapped around his waist. “It’s too wrong.”

Damien’s eyes flashed. In one smooth motion, he flipped me onto my back and pinned my wrists above my head with one large hand.

“It stopped being wrong the moment he let you drown,” he growled. “The moment he chose her over you. You belong to me now, little one. And tonight, I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

Damien stripped off the rest of his clothes, revealing every hard inch of his powerful body. His cock was thick and heavy, already leaking at the tip. He settled between my thighs, rubbing the head against my soaked entrance, teasing me mercilessly.

“Beg me,” he commanded.

I shook my head, tears slipping down my temples. “I… I shouldn’t…”

“Beg.” His voice dropped into that dangerous register that made my core clench. “Tell Daddy what you need.”

The word broke me.

“Please, Daddy,” I sobbed. “Please fuck me. I need you inside me. Please…”

Damien thrust into me in one powerful stroke.

I cried out at the stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being completely claimed. He was bigger than Alex, deeper, and the way he moved — slow, deliberate, then brutally hard — destroyed every last piece of my resistance.

He fucked me like he owned me. Because he did.

Every thrust drove the guilt deeper and the pleasure higher. I wrapped my legs around him, nails digging into his back as he pounded into me.

“Say it again,” he demanded, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside me.

“Daddy!” I screamed. “Fuck, Daddy, don’t stop—”

He groaned, the sound primal. His hand wrapped around my throat — not squeezing, just holding, reminding me who was in control. The pressure sent me spiraling.

I came hard, clenching around his cock, vision blurring as wave after wave of pleasure tore through me. Damien followed moments later, burying himself deep and filling me with hot pulses of his release.

But he wasn’t done.

He flipped me onto my stomach, pulled my hips up, and took me again from behind. Harder. Deeper. Filthy words spilling from his mouth as he claimed every inch of me.

By the time he finally collapsed beside me hours later, I had come so many times I’d lost count. My body was boneless, marked with his fingerprints and love bites, dripping with his cum.

Damien pulled me into his arms, pressing soft kisses to my forehead, my tear-stained cheeks, my swollen lips. The contrast between the brutal way he’d fucked me and the tenderness now made my heart ache.

“You’re mine now, Isla,” he whispered against my hair. “Completely. No more hiding. No more guilt. Just us.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to.

But as I drifted off in his arms, the ghost of Alex’s voice still echoed in my mind.

---

I woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows and an empty bed.

My body ached in the most delicious, filthy ways. There were bruises on my hips in the shape of Damien’s fingers. My thighs were sticky. I blushed just thinking about last night.

A small cream box sat on the pillow beside me.

I sat up slowly, wincing at the soreness between my legs, and picked up the box. No note. Just a simple pregnancy test inside.

My stomach dropped.

I stared at it for a long time, heart hammering. We hadn’t used protection last night. Not once. Damien had come inside me over and over again like he wanted to mark me permanently.

Was this… intentional?

The bedroom door opened. Damien walked in wearing only black sweatpants, carrying two cups of coffee. His eyes immediately went to the box in my hands.

“You left this for me?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He set the coffees down and sat on the edge of the bed. His expression was calm, but there was a possessive heat in his gaze.

“I did.”

I swallowed hard. “Damien… we just started this. I’m not even sure what we are yet. And after last night…”

He cupped my face with one hand, thumb brushing my lower lip. “I know exactly what we are, little one. You’re mine. And if you’re carrying my child, I want to know immediately.”

The intensity in his voice both terrified and aroused me.

“What if it’s… what if the timing makes it complicated?” I whispered, thinking of Alex.

Damien’s eyes darkened. “It won’t be complicated. Because this baby — if there is one — will be mine. Not his. Never his.”

He leaned in and kissed me slowly, deeply, like a promise and a claim all at once.

“Take the test, Isla.”

My hands shook as I clutched the box.

Last night I had crossed every line. I had let Damien Voss — my ex-boyfriend’s father — ruin me in the most delicious ways. I had called him Daddy while he fucked me senseless.

And now this.

I looked up at him, heart racing, body still marked by his touch.

This wasn’t just sex anymore.

This was dangerous.

This was forever.

And as I stood up on shaky legs, heading toward the bathroom with the pregnancy test in my hand, I realized something terrifying:

I didn’t want to go back.

I wanted to see those two lines.

I wanted to be completely, irrevocably his.