CHAPTER 4

Morgan POV 

Matured Audience 

The world had narrowed to the space between his sheets, to the scent of his skin and the crushing weight of a need so profound I felt like dying.

I was on all fours, my body bowed and trembling. The air was cold on my heated skin, but the fire he stoked within me was an inferno.

He brought his palm to my skin for the nth time. I had lost count with all pleasure clouding my mind. 

"Ahhhhh...!" The sound tore from my lips. The sting had my body begging for me as I pushed back against the digits in me. 

He had his fingers buried. They were long and thick pressing against my core, delving into the wet, aching heat of me. 

It was too much. We'd been like this for the past hour. Him using my body like an instrument tuned solely to his touch, and I gracefully accepting each chord he pulled in me. 

“Damien, too much…” I pleaded, tears pouring my eyes. I couldn't count how long I'd been begging. I wanted the release he was so desperately prevented me from having. 

He didn't answer as my every nerve ending was screaming, my muscles clenching around the digits that were making me lose myself. 

They were too good.

If his fingers could do this, what would the main course feel like. I wanted him. I wanted every inch of him. I knew I sounded like a slut but I couldn't care less beca—

“Nhg…!” I moaned again when I felt his fingers hit that particular spot again. “Damien!” 

My climax built high and high, ready to shatter me upon the shore.

"Please," I begged, my voice a broken thing. "Please, Damien."

"No." The word was a lash, cold and absolute. His fingers stilled, denying me the release that was so desperately within reach. "Not yet. You don't come until I allow it. Until I'm buried so deep inside you that you forget your own name."

He moved then, his hands turning me with an effortless strength that stole my breath. I was on my back, pinned by the weight of his gaze, by the sheer, terrifying beauty of him. His cock, thick and veined and glistening with the lubricant he'd smoothed over its length, pressed against my entrance. 

He lowered himself, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that was not about passion, but possession. It was a claiming. And as his tongue plundered, he pushed forward, filling me with a slow, inexorable pressure that stole the air from my lungs.

"So tight," he groaned against my lips, his body trembling with the effort of his control. "So perfect for me."

He began to move, a slow, deep, maddening rhythm. Each withdrawal was a sweet agony, each thrust a lesson in ownership. He was branding me from the inside out, and the slowness of it was a new form of torture.

"Faster," I pleaded, my nails digging into the hard muscles of his back. "Damien, please, I can't... I need more." 

"No." He captured my wrists, pinning them above my head, his hips never breaking their languid, devastating pace. "This is for me. Your body is for my use. I will take what I need, at the speed I choose."

He was a glacier, and unstoppable, and I was burning up in his path. The pleasure was a coil, winding tighter and tighter, a scream trapped in my throat. I thrashed beneath him, but his hold was absolute.

"I can't contain it," I sobbed, the feeling too immense, too powerful for my body to hold. "Please!"

For a moment, his control seemed to fracture. A dark, feral light ignited in his eyes. The civilized man vanished, and the primal beast beneath was unleashed.

"You want it hard, little one?" he snarled, his voice guttural. "You want to be fucked until all you know is me?" 

"Yes! God, yes!"

He was silent for a while before he moved again. He released my wrists, hooked his hands behind my knees, and drove my legs back, opening me completely. The change was instantaneous, brutal, and exactly what I craved.

He slammed into me, a piston of pure, unrefined need. The slow, worshipful rhythm was gone, replaced by a frantic, pounding pace that stole my breath and my sanity. The bed rocked, my cries mingling with the slick, savage sound of skin slapping.

He was so good. 

Our bodies moved together, our lips locked. I could feel my orgasm building again, could feel my body tensing. He sped up, his cock slamming into me harder and faster.

"Fuck, Noxon," I gasped. "I'm close. So close."

His words sent me over the edge. My body convulsed, my pussy clenching around his member as my orgasm washed over me.

"Look at me," he commanded, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate.

I did as told. Tears brimming in my eyes. 

“You look so beautiful with my cock in you, don't you agree. Do you like how I make you feel.” 

“Y-yes.” 

“How do I make you feel?” 

At this point my sweet spot was taking a direct hit to his assault. I couldn't think clearly, my mouth barely forming words. 

“G-great.”

“I'm giving what you asked, aren't I?” 

“Yes, you are.” I cried out, words barely forming. 

I closed my ears, my heart about to burst out. Couldn't understand why I felt like this. This connection feels like more than just sex, just physical skin. 

I couldn't explain the feeling but there's one thing clear. And it was that I wanted it. I didn't want this feeling to go away. Ever. 

"Come for me, Morgan. Come all over my cock."

I forced my eyes open, meeting his stormy gaze as he poured into me, his own roar of release a primal echo of my shattered scream. My world detonated as I released around him. 

Pleasure, white-hot and absolute, ripped through me, convulsing my body around his, milking him until the last, shuddering spasm had passed.

He collapsed atop me. Our breaths harsh. He was still buried inside me.

Fuck, why am I like this? I didn't want Damien to go. I know after this encounter we were good as strangers again. Pathing ways. 

I felt him move beside me and I caught him staring at me. He had a serious face on that had me worried. 

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

What? My body felt boneless as I tilted a little to see him properly. 

"Damien—" I started.

"I know what you're going to say." He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at me properly. "That this is crazy. That we just met. That we barely know each other."

All of those things were true.

"I'm only here for two weeks," I said quietly. Reality crashed back in, cold and unwelcome. "I have the modeling job, and then I'm going home. Back to my real life."

Something flickered across his face. Pain, maybe. Or frustration.

"I don't care."

"You should care. This isn't—we can't—"

"I want you, Morgan." His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "Two weeks. Two months. Two years. I don't give a damn about timelines. I just know that I want you."

My heart was doing dangerous things in my chest. Stupid things.

"We're strangers," I whispered. "You don't even know me."

"Then let me know you." He leaned down, pressed a kiss to my forehead. So different from the way he'd just taken me apart. "Let me learn everything. Every scar. Every secret. Every part of you that you think isn't worth knowing."

Tears pricked at my eyes. When was the last time someone had wanted to know me? Really know me?

"Two weeks isn't enough time—"

"So give me two weeks." His voice turned fierce. "Give me every second you have here. Be mine, Morgan. Let me be yours. And if at the end of those two weeks you decide you don't want this, don't want me, then you walk away."

He kissed me again. This time on the lips. Slow and deep and achingly tender.

"I'll never contact you again," he continued against my mouth. "I'll let you go back to your life and pretend this never happened. But give me the chance to make you want to stay."

It was insane.

Reckless.

Everything I'd told myself I wouldn't do.

But lying here in his arms, his heart beating against mine, I couldn't think of a single reason to say no.

“Okay, Damien. I'll be yours.”

“Really yes.” He looked exhilarated. He kissed me again. Deeper this time. Hungrier.

And as my body responded like it was made for his touch, I felt something shift in my chest.

This was more than lust.

More than a vacation fling.

This was real.

And I was falling.

Fast and hard and completely out of control.

God help me, I was falling for Damien Cross. Falling for the stranger on the plane. 

**********

It's been three weeks since Damien asked me to be his girlfriend.  

And exactly a week since Damien had also stopped reaching out.

No calls. No texts. Nothing.

At first, I told myself he was busy — meetings, travel, the kind of life a man like him lived. But as days stretched into nights and my phone stayed silent, that small, trembling hope started to die.

I wanted to tell him.

I needed to tell him I was pregnant. 

I was sitting in the hotel bathroom, staring at the test clutched in my shaking hand, whispering his name like it could make this less terrifying. “Damien… what do I do now?”

I thought of how I was going to break the news to him but what would I even say? ‘Hey, surprise, I’m pregnant.’

I couldn’t do it. Not over the phone. Not without seeing his face.

The TV was on. I'd left it playing this morning for background noise. Some morning news show I hadn't been paying attention to.

But now the anchor's voice cut through my spiral.

"—exciting news for the Cross family this morning—"

I looked up, Damien's face filling the screen.

He was standing outside some building I didn't recognize, his arm was wrapped around a woman.

She was stunning. Blonde hair cascading in perfect waves with a dress that screamed old money, and a diamond ring on her finger.

Her hand, perfectly manicured, rested lightly on her hip as cameras flashed around her.

“Billionaire Damien Cross just tied the knot with his longtime girlfriend, Anastasia Cross,” the anchor announced, her voice bright with that practiced cheer only news anchors had. “The surprise wedding took place at a private estate in the Hamptons, with close friends and family in attendance. Sources close to the couple say—”

He was married.

The room tilted.

I grabbed the edge of the bed to keep from falling.

He’d had a fiancée. While he was kissing me.

While he was asking me to be his girlfriend.

While he was inside me, whispering promises against my skin. He was planning on leaving. 

The screen showed them kissing. Damien's hand on her stomach. The smile on his face that I'd thought was reserved for me.

It had all been a lie.

Every word. Every touch. Every promise.

A lie.

I was the other woman.

The stupid, naive girl who'd believed a man like Damien Cross could actually want someone like me.

A sob tore from my throat. Then another.

I collapsed onto the bed, my body shaking so violently I thought I might break apart.

He'd used me.

Played with me like I was a toy he could pick up and discard whenever he got bored.

And now I was pregnant.

Pregnant with the baby of a married man who'd just erased me from his life like I never existed.

I curled into a ball on the bed, clutching my stomach.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the tiny life inside me. "I'm so sorry."

Because I'd failed already, and I had no idea how to fix this.

No idea how to survive this.

I just knew that Damien Cross had broken me. And I didn't know if I'd ever be whole again.