Chapter Three

I don’t know how long we stay on the couch like that—me curled in his lap, naked except for the slip dress bunched around my waist, him fully clothed but holding me like I’m the only thing that matters in the world. His hand strokes slow circles on my back, his lips brush my temple every few minutes, and every time I start to drift, he whispers something soft: “You did so well,” or just my name.

Eventually, he shifts. “We can’t stay here,” he murmurs against my hair. “Emily could wake up. She’s a light sleeper when she’s drunk.”

I tense. “Where—”

“My room.” He kisses my forehead. “Come on.”

He helps me stand, my legs still shaky, my core still pulsing with aftershocks. He smooths the dress down over my hips, buttons his shirt halfway, and takes my hand. We move quietly down the hallway, past Emily’s closed door. My heart is in my throat the whole way, but he moves like this is routine, like sneaking his daughter’s best friend to his bedroom at 1:30 a.m. is just another Tuesday.

His bedroom door is heavier. Dark wood. He opens it, ushers me inside, and closes it behind us.

The room is huge—a king bed with charcoal sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the same glittering city, a sitting area with two armchairs, and a walk-in closet the size of my living room. It smells like him, but warmer. He doesn’t turn on the overhead light. Just the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

“Lie down,” he says.

I hesitate. “On the bed?”

“Yes.” He smiles—small, patient. “On your back. Legs open.”

My stomach flips. “You’re going to—”

“No.” He steps closer. Cup my face with both hands. “Not tonight. Tonight I want to hold you. Feel you fall asleep in my arms. But first…”

He kisses me, and  I melt into it, hands clutching his open shirt. When he pulls back, his voice is low.

“I want to taste you again. Properly this time. No rush. No interruptions. Just my mouth on you until you can’t think straight. Can I do that, little one?”

My knees nearly give out. “Yes. God, yes.”

He smiles against my mouth.

He guides me to the bed. Lays me down gently. Slide the slip dress up and over my head, leaving me completely bare. The sheets are cool against my overheated skin. I shiver.

He kneels between my legs. Spreads me wider with careful hands. Looks at me like I’m something precious.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “So fucking beautiful.”

Then he lowers his head.

The first lick is a slow flat tongue dragging from the entrance to clit. I arch off the bed with a choked sound.

“Shh,” he says against me. “Let me take care of you.”

He licks again. Circles my clit. Sucks gently. Then harder. His hands pin my hips when I start to buck.

“Stay still,” he orders softly. “Let me enjoy you.”

I try. I really try. But every swirl of his tongue, every gentle scrape of teeth, every time he groans against my pussy like he’s starving, I lose a little more control.

He slides two fingers inside—curling, stroking that spot again. My mouth never leaves my clit.

“You taste like heaven,” he growls between licks. “So sweet. So wet. All for me.”

I’m whimpering now—continuous, broken sounds I can’t stop.

He pulls back just as I start to tighten. Kisses my inner thigh. “Not yet.”

“Please— I'm stunned by how well  he knows my body.”

“I decide when you come, remember?” He kisses my other thigh. “And I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

He dives back in—slower this time. Teasing. Edging me mercilessly. Fingers stroking. Tongue flicking. Sucking. Licking. Bringing me right to the brink over and over until I’m crying again—quiet, desperate tears.

“Damien—sir—please—”

He lifts his head. Lips glistening with my wetness. Eyes dark with hunger.

“Ask me properly.”

“Please let me cum. I need it. Please”

He smiles a wicked, knowing smile. “That’s my girl.”

He lowers his mouth again. Fingers curl harder. Tongue flicks faster.

I’m right there, my thighs shaking, hips grinding, begging.

“Please—sir—I’m gonna—”

He stops.

I cry out in frustration.

Before I can protest, he flips me over—strong hands on my hips, turning me so I’m straddling his face. My knees sink into the mattress on either side of his head. My bound hands are still behind me, forcing my back to arch, breasts thrust forward.

He grips my ass, pulls me down until I’m sitting fully on his mouth.

I gasped out loud, shocked.

He groans against me, the vibration sending a shockwave through my clit.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice muffled but thick with hunger. “See how you’re dripping all over me? Soaking my face, my chin, my tongue. You’re making such a fucking mess, kitten.”

I whimper, hips jerking involuntarily.

He licks a long, slow stripe up my center, making me quiver.

“Ride me,” he orders. “Use my mouth. Fuck my face like the greedy little thing you are.”

I hesitate—just for a second. And then He spanks my ass once it stung.

“Move.”

I move.

I grind down—slow at first, then faster. His tongue spears inside me, then flattens against my clit. His hands grip my ass, guiding me, controlling the rhythm even though I’m on top.

“You’re so wet,” he groans between licks. “Dripping down my throat. I can taste how close you are. How bad do you need it?”

I’m sobbing now—broken, desperate sounds.

“Please—sir—I can’t—I need—”

“You need to cum?” he asks, voice rough. “Then beg properly. Tell me who decides.”

“You,” I gasp. “You decide. Please—sir—let me come. I’m yours. Please.”

He growls.

“That’s my good girl.”

He sucks my clit hard, his tongue flicks fast, and his Fingers dig into my ass, pulling me down harder.

“Come for me, kitten,” he says against me. “Don’t hold back. Drench my face. Let me feel you explode. Come all over my tongue. Now.”

I shatter.

The orgasm hits like a tidal wave—back arching, thighs clamping around his head, bound hands fisting the sheets, scream muffled into my own arm. Wave after wave, pulsing, shaking, sobbing his name. I’m dripping everywhere—on his chin, his cheeks, his tongue—and he drinks me down like he’s starving.

He works me through every tremor. Gentle licks. Soft kisses. Until I’m limp, trembling, completely spent.

Only then does he lift me off his face. Flips me gently onto my back. Crawls up my body. Kisses my stomach. My breasts. My collarbone. My neck. My mouth—slow and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

I reach for him, my fingers brushing the hard length straining against his pants.

“Please,” I whisper. “Let me taste you.”

He catches my wrist. Kisses the pulse point.

“Not tonight.”

I pout—needy. “Why?”

“Because tonight is about you.” He pulls me into his arms, tucks me against his chest. “I want you to fall asleep feeling safe. Cherished. Owned. Not because you think you owe me anything.”

I open my mouth to argue.

He kisses my forehead. “Sleep, little one.”

I want to fight. Want to push. Want to taste him so badly my mouth waters.

But his arms are warm. His heartbeat is steady under my cheek. And for once, I don’t want to fight.

I close my eyes.

He pulls the sheet over us and holds me tight.

I fall asleep faster than I have in years.