Chapter 1: Whispers On the Balcony

!!!!Trigger Warning:

This story contains adult (18+) content and themes that may be sensitive or disturbing for some readers. It includes mature situations, strong emotional elements, and subject matter intended only for a fully mature audience. Viewer discretion is strongly advised. Please proceed only if you are comfortable engaging with explicit or potentially triggering material.

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Warm and heavy with the aroma of jasmine rising from the courtyard below, the evening air clung to the balcony like a lover's whisper.

Hours before, the gallery had been empty, and the distant sound of the city fading into darkness had taken the place of the clinking of glasses and the hum of conversation.

With his large form filling the doorway, Damian Thorne entered through the French doors and moved with the serene assurance of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

The material of his fitted charcoal suit stretched just enough to reveal the strength below as it clung to his strong shoulders.

His strong jawline was shadowed by the smallest stubble, just enough to promise a delightful burn against delicate flesh, and silver ran through his dark hair, catching the last golden light of dusk.

The sound of his approach did not cause Sarah Reynolds to turn. Her wild reddish curls tumbled over her naked shoulders as she continued to lean against the wrought-iron railing, her fingers wrapped around the stem of an empty wineglass.

The delicate lace of her bra, a soft pink that contrasted obscenely with the redness rising up her throat, was just visible through the loose white blouse she was wearing.

The short skirt she wore with it clung to the contour of her ass and rode high on her thighs whenever she moved. Her mind was still racing from the chaos of the day as she stood there for twenty minutes, allowing the breeze to calm her hot skin.

Although the gallery opening had been a success, she was restless and her body was buzzing with an uncontrollable energy due to the adrenaline, attention, and the way men had stared at her.

Damian stopped just behind her, close enough that the heat of his body radiated against her back.

He didn’t touch her. Not yet. Instead, he reached past her, his arm brushing hers as he set his own glass on the railing, the scent of aged whiskey and cedar wrapping around her. 

“You look like you could use something stronger than whatever swill they were serving downstairs, Sarah right?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, the kind that vibrated straight between a woman’s legs.

Sarah exhaled slowly, her pulse jumping when his fingers grazed her wrist as he pulled away. She turned her head just enough to meet his gaze, her lips curling into a smile that was all teeth and hunger. 

“Are you offering, señor? yes, and you are?” 

His dark eyes flickered with amusement, but there was something far more dangerous lurking beneath—something that made her stomach clench. 

“I am, anyways, Damian” he said, stepping back just enough to gesture toward the door leading inside. 

“Unless you’d rather stand out here all night, letting every man on the street imagine what’s under that skirt.”

Sarah’s breath hitched, her nipples tightening against the lace of her bra. She should’ve been offended. Should’ve told him to go to hell.

But the way he looked at her—like he already knew exactly how wet she was, like he could smell it—made her thighs press together. 

“Lead the way,” she said, her voice huskier than she intended. She didn’t miss the way his gaze dropped to her mouth, the way his tongue flicked over his lower lip before he turned, his suit jacket pulling taut over his ass as he moved.

The gallery’s second floor was deserted, the halls dimly lit by sconces that cast long shadows against the walls.

Damian didn’t speak as he guided her toward a door at the end of the corridor, his hand resting at the small of her back, his touch possessive, his fingers splayed just wide enough that his pinky brushed the top of her ass.

Sarah’s skin burned where he touched her, her breath coming faster, her mind already spinning with images of what would happen once that door closed. She should’ve been nervous. She was nervous.

But the way her body responded to him—her p*ssy already slick, her br*asts heavy and aching—drowned out any hesitation.

The room was a sanctuary of dark wood and deep crimson, the heavy drapes drawn against the night.

A king-sized bed dominated the space, its sheets turned down, the mattress still pristine.

Damian shut the door behind them with a quiet click, the sound final, irreversible. Sarah barely had time to turn before he was on her, his hands gripping her hips, spinning her until her back hit the wood, his body pressing her into it.

His mouth crashed onto hers, his kiss brutal and demanding, his tongue sweeping past her lips like he owned them.

She moaned into him, her fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, her body arching against his. He tasted like whiskey and sin, his stubble scraping her chin as he deepened the kiss, his teeth nipping her lower lip before soothing the sting with his tongue.

Sarah’s skirt rode up as she wrapped a leg around his thigh, the fabric bunching at her waist, her bare skin meeting the rough wool of his suit.

She could feel how hard he was, his c*ck a thick ridge pressing against her stomach, and she ground against him instinctively, a whimper escaping her when his hands slid up her ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts.

“Fuck,” he growled against her mouth, his voice rough, his breath hot. “

You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?” His fingers found the lace of her bra, teasing the stiff peak of her n*pple through the fabric, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until she gasped.

Sarah’s head fell back against the door, her hips jerking forward, her pussy throbbing with need.

“Damian—” His name came out as a plea, her voice trembling.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her throat, his teeth grazing her pulse point before he sucked hard enough to leave a mark.

His hands dropped to her ass, squeezing possessively, lifting her just enough that she had to lock her legs around his waist to keep from sliding down. 

“I’ve got you.” The words were a promise, a threat, and Sarah’s entire body shuddered in response. She could feel his c*ck twitching against her, the heat of him even through his pants, and she rocked her hips, desperate for friction.

“Please,” she whispered, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers. “I need—”

“I know what you need,” he interrupted, his voice a dark chuckle as he carried her toward the bed. He didn’t gentle his hold, didn’t slow down as he tossed her onto the mattress, her curls fanning out around her, her blouse riding up to expose the lace bra, her n*pples hard and aching.

Damian loomed over her, his tie already loose, his top button undone, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

His eyes burned as they raked over her, lingering on the way her thighs pressed together, the damp spot already darkening the crotch of her panties.

“Spread your legs, cariño,” he commanded, his voice a whip-crack in the quiet room. “Let me see how wet you are for me.”

Sarah obeyed without hesitation, her knees falling open, her skirt pooling around her hips.

The cool air hit her exposed panties, the lace already soaked through, the scent of her arousal thick between them.

Damian’s nostrils flared, his hands going to his belt, the leather hissing as he pulled it free. 

“Fucking perfect,” he growled, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties, yanking them down her thighs.

Sarah lifted her hips, helping him strip them off, her breath coming in short gasps when his fingers immediately found her p*ssy, sliding through her folds with a groan.

“So fucking slick,” he murmured, his thumb circling her cl*t, his middle finger pressing inside her.

Sarah’s back arched, her hands fisting in the sheets, her moans filling the room as he fingered her, his touch relentless, his fingers curling just right to hit that spot inside her that made her see stars.

“Damian, please—” she begged, her hips bucking against his hand, her body coiled tight, her orgasm already building.

He added a second finger, stretching her, his thumb still working her clit in tight circles. 

“You’re going to cum for me first,” he said, his voice a dark promise. 

“And then I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name.” Sarah’s eyes rolled back, her p*ssy clenching around his fingers, her breath stuttering as the pleasure crested.

“Yes—fuck—” she cried, her body trembling, her juices coating his hand as she came, her walls pulsing around his fingers.

Damian didn’t give her time to recover. He stripped off his jacket, his shirt following, his chest broad and dusted with silver hair, his muscles defined in a way that made Sarah’s mouth water.

His pants were next, his cock springing free, thick and veined, the head already glistening with pre-cum. Sarah’s breath hitched, her p*ssy fluttering at the sight of him, her body already craving more.

“Condom—” she started, but Damian shook his head, gripping the base of his cock, stroking himself once, twice, his eyes locked on hers.

“No,” he said, his voice a growl. “I want to feel you. All of you.” Sarah should’ve argued. Should’ve insisted. But the way he looked at her—like he’d die if he didn’t bury himself inside her now—made her nod, her legs spreading wider in invitation.

Damian didn’t hesitate. He crawled onto the bed, his body covering hers, his c*ck pressing against her entrance.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice rough, his forehead pressing to hers.

Sarah wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his ass, pulling him closer. 

“F*ck me, Damian,” she demanded, her voice a whisper, a prayer. “Now.”

He thrust inside her in one smooth motion, filling her completely, stretching her around his thickness until she was gasping, her nails digging into his shoulders. 

“F*ck—” she whimpered, her body adjusting to the intrusion, her p*ssy clenching around him. Damian groaned, his hips pulling back before slamming into her again, his balls slapping against her ass.

“You take my c*ck so well,” he growled, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her to meet each thrust. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard knocking against the wall, the sound obscene in the quiet room. 

“Harder,” Sarah begged, her voice breaking. “F*ck me harder.”

Damian snarled, his control snapping. He flipped her onto her stomach, yanking her hips up, her ass in the air, her p*ssy dripping around his c*ck as he drove into her from behind.

“You like that, you filthy little artist?” he taunted, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp crack. Sarah cried out, the sting only making her wetter, her body trembling as he pounded into her, his cock hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. “

Yes—God, yes—” she sobbed, her fingers clawing at the sheets, her orgasm building again, her body coiling tight. “I’m close—I’m close—”

“Cum for me,” Damian demanded, his voice a guttural growl, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise. 

“Let me feel you milk my c*ck.” Sarah’s vision whited out as she shattered, her pussy clenching around him, her screams muffled against the mattress as her release crashed over her. Damian groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic, his cock swelling inside her before he buried himself to the hilt, his cum shooting deep inside her, his hips jerking as he emptied himself. 

“Sarah—” Her name was a prayer on his lips, his body trembling as the last of his orgasm wrung him dry.

They collapsed onto the bed, Damian’s c*ck still buried inside her, his chest heaving against her back. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him, his lips pressing to the side of her neck. Sarah’s body hummed, her skin slick with sweat, her p*ssy still pulsing around him. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them needed to.

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Hours later, Damian woke to the faintest hint of light creeping through the curtains, his body aching in the best way.

He reached for Sarah automatically, his hand finding only cool sheets. His eyes snapped open.

The room was empty. No note. No trace of her except the faint scent of her perfume lingering on the pillow and the ghost of her touch on his skin.

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair, his c*ck already stirring at the memory of her—her wild curls, her tight p*ssy, the way she’d screamed his name.

A smile tugged at his lips, even as his chest ached. 

Forty six years, he thought, his fingers brushing the indentation her head had left on the pillow. And I’ve never felt anything like that.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his gaze drifting toward the balcony where it had all begun. The gallery was quiet, the city beyond just beginning to stir.

And somewhere out there, Sarah Reynolds was gone.