The Dark Glass

The dark cabin of the Maybach felt suffocatingly small, thick with the scent of leather, scotch, and the heavy, electric musk of our bodies. I was completely undone in his lap, my black coat falling off my shoulders, my underwear discarded somewhere on the floorboards, and my bare skin pressing flush against the rough weave of his trousers.

Damon looked down at me, his face a harsh sculpture of dark focus in the dim amber light of the car's footwells. He grabbed my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head back until my dark eyes met his.

"You left your bed at midnight to come down to a dark garage for me," Damon rasped, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that rattled through my chest. "Say why you're here, Robin."

"Because I needed this," I breathed, my hands sliding up his chest to grip the open collar of his shirt, my fingers tangling in the dark hair there. "Because I can't let him touch me anymore. Only you."

A dark, savage smirk cut across his features. "That's my girl."

He didn't waste another second teasing me. Damon reached down, unbuckling his heavy leather belt with a sharp, metallic clink that echoed in the quiet car. He unzipped his trousers and freed his hard, thick length. The sheer size and heat of him pressing against my wet, aching center made my breath catch in my throat.

He didn't use protection. He didn't ask. He grabbed my hips with broad, calloused hands that bruised my skin, lifted me slightly, and drove himself all the way inside me in one deep, agonizingly slow stroke.

"Ah!" I gasped, my head snapping back against his shoulder as my inner walls stretched tightly around his thick girth. The sensation was overwhelming—a hot, heavy fullness that instantly erased every thought of Ethan, every thought of the wedding, and every shred of my sanity.

Damon let out a low, guttural growl into the crook of my neck, his fingers digging into my hips so hard his knuckles turned white. He didn't move for three agonizing seconds, letting me adjust to the sheer stretch of him, his broad chest rising and falling heavily against mine.

"Look at the window, Robin," Damon growled near my ear, his voice dark and commanding.

I opened my heavy eyes, my vision blurred with pure pleasure. I looked at the pitch-black glass of the rear door beside us. All I could see was the faint, shadowy reflection of my own flushed face, my lips swollen, my hands clinging to his broad shoulders as he held me impaled in his lap. Just beyond that dark glass, fifty feet away, a security guard was walking his nightly rounds, the beam of his flashlight sweeping across the concrete floor of the garage.

The sheer, terrifying thrill of being taken in a semi-public space—where one slip of the dark tint would ruin us both—sent a wave of intense, liquid heat crashing through my lower stomach.

Damon felt the sudden, tight pulse of my core around him. His eyes narrowed, and with a low curse, he began to move.

He established a brutal, rhythmic pace, lifting my hips and slamming me down onto his thick shaft with relentless, unyielding power. The leather seat creaked beneath us with every hard thrust, the heavy Maybach subtly rocking on its suspension in the dark garage bay.

I buried my face in his neck, stifling my breathless, desperate moans against his warm skin. His body was a wall of solid, driving muscle, taking me with a raw, territorial authority that demanded complete submission. Every time he drove deep inside me, his thumb pressed hard against my swollen clitoris, grinding relentlessly against my center until I was sobbing his name into his shoulder.

"Damon... Damon, please—" I whimpered, my legs wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him even deeper.

"I've got you," he growled against my mouth, capturing my lips in a deep, filthy kiss that tasted of scotch and pure lust. "Take it, Robin. Let everyone upstairs know who owns this body."

His thrusts grew faster, harder, and more frantic, driving into me with a punishing precision that shattered my last thread of control. The tension at the base of my spine built to a terrifying, unbearable peak.

"Look at me when you break," Damon commanded, pulling back just enough to stare into my eyes.

I locked my gaze onto his dark, burning eyes as the orgasm hit me like a physical blow. My inner muscles clamped down on his length in violent, shuddering spasms, milking him so hard a low growl tore from his throat. I hid my face in his chest, my breathless screams muffled against his dress shirt as wave after wave of intense, shattering pleasure rolled through my body.

Damon didn't stop. Driven over the edge by the tight, pulsing grip of my release, he drove into me two more hard, desperate times before snapping. He held my hips pinned flush against his, his jaw locked, his body going rigid as he came deep inside me, spilling his hot seed inside my core with heavy, pulsing surges.

For a long, silent minute, the only sound in the dark cabin was the heavy, ragged breathing of two people clinging to each other in the dark.

Damon held me tightly against his chest, his large hands rubbing slow, possessive circles over my bare back as the trembling in my legs slowly subsided. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, surprisingly soft kiss to the side of my neck before slowly, carefully sliding out of my wet warmth.

I let out a soft gasp at the sudden emptiness, sinking back onto the leather seat beside him. My legs felt like lead, my core throbbed with a deep, satisfying ache, and my trench coat was ruined and rumpled around my waist.

Damon casually pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiping himself clean before zipping his trousers and adjusting his belt with total, unbothered composure. He reached over, cupping my flushed cheek in his large hand, his thumb stroking my lower lip.

"Fix your coat, Robin," Damon whispered, his obsidian eyes glinting with a dark, unhinged satisfaction as he looked down at my disheveled state. "I'll have my driver take you home in twenty minutes. And don't bother washing my mark off your neck."