Taken

I leave the door unlocked again.

I tell myself I am only doing it so he will not force it open. The truth is uglier and simpler: I want him to come. The ache he left under my skin this afternoon has not faded. It has only grown sharper with every hour Adrian stays at the office and the house remains quiet.

By the time the clock passes midnight, my body is restless and oversensitive. I am still wearing the soft cashmere sweater and thin sleep shorts Damien told me to choose. No underwear. The air against my bare skin feels like a constant reminder of what is coming.

Footsteps finally approach.

The door opens and closes softly. Damien does not speak at first. He simply walks toward the bed where I am sitting, stops in front of me, and looks down.

“You left it unlocked,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

The words send an unwanted pulse of heat between my legs. He reaches out, takes my hand, and pulls me to my feet. His hands slide under the sweater, palms warm against my waist, then higher until he is cupping my bare breasts. His thumbs brush over my nipples, already tight, and I bite back a sound.

“No more teasing tonight,” he murmurs. “I’ve waited long enough.”

He pulls the sweater over my head and drops it. The shorts follow. I stand completely naked in front of him while he remains fully clothed. The imbalance makes my pulse race.

Damien’s eyes move over me slowly, thoroughly. Then he reaches down, cups me between the legs, and finds me already wet.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “You’ve been like this since I left your room, haven’t you?”

I don’t answer. He doesn’t need me to.

He walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. I sit. He undoes his jeans, pushes them down just enough, and frees himself. He is already hard, thick, the sight of him making my mouth go dry.

“Lie back and spread your legs.”

I obey.

Damien kneels between my thighs, hooks his hands under my knees, and pulls me closer to the edge of the bed. He rubs the head of his cock through my wetness once, twice, coating himself, then pushes inside in one slow, relentless thrust.

The stretch is intense. I gasp, fingers clutching the sheets. He holds still for a moment, buried to the hilt, letting me feel every inch.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re tight.”

He starts to move—deep, measured strokes that force soft sounds out of me with every thrust. One hand stays on my hip, the other finds my clit and circles it with precise pressure. The dual sensation builds fast.

“Look at me,” he orders.

I force my eyes open. His face is tight with concentration and dark pleasure.

“You’re going to come on my cock,” he says, voice rough. “And when you do, you’re going to say his name. Just like last night.”

I shake my head, but the protest dies when he angles his hips and hits a spot that makes my back arch.

“Say it, Aria.”

The orgasm crashes over me hard. My walls clench around him as I break.

“Adrian—”

Damien’s rhythm falters for half a second, then he fucks me through it harder, dragging the climax out until I am shaking and oversensitive. Only then does he slow.

He pulls out, flips me onto my stomach with easy strength, and pulls my hips up. He enters me again from behind in one smooth thrust, deeper this way. One hand fists in my hair, the other grips my hip hard enough to bruise.

“Again,” he demands, voice low against my ear as he drives into me. “I want to hear it again.”

I am already close. The new angle, the way he fills me, the filthy command—it all crashes together. The second orgasm hits even harder. I sob Adrian’s name into the mattress while Damien keeps thrusting, chasing his own release.

He comes with a low, rough sound, buried deep, hips pressed tight against me. For several long seconds neither of us moves. The only sound is our uneven breathing.

Eventually he pulls out. I feel the loss of him immediately. He steps back, adjusts his clothes, and looks down at me still collapsed on the bed, naked and marked and trembling.

“You’re mine to use until you stop wanting him,” he says quietly. “Or until he finally takes you himself. Whichever comes first.”

He leans down, presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to the back of my shoulder, then walks to the door.

“Same rule tomorrow night,” he says without looking back. “Leave it unlocked.”

The door closes.

I stay exactly where I am, face pressed to the sheets, body still pulsing with the aftershocks, the name of my stepbrother still raw in my mouth, and the scent of Damien all over my skin.

The secret is no longer only a fantasy.

It is happening.

And I have no idea how to stop it—or if I even want to.