Chapter 6: Oh God Damien!

Lyra set her phone down with shaking hands and stood up.

Her legs felt weak, her body hypersensitive. Every movement of fabric against her skin made her gasp.

She walked to the full-length mirror in her room and looked at herself.

Her hair was disheveled from the flight and the stress. Her face was flushed, eyes bright with unshed tears and arousal. Her nipples were clearly visible through her bra and blouse, hard points that ached for attention.

She lifted her shirt slowly and looked at her shoulders.

Light bruises were already forming where Damien's fingers had gripped her. Five distinct marks on each shoulder. Proof that he'd touched her. Proof that it had been real.

She touched one of the bruises gently and gasped at the sensation. Still so sensitive.

Her hands moved to her pants, unbuttoning them with fumbling fingers. She shimmied them down her hips and let them pool at her feet.

Her panties were absolutely destroyed. The light pink fabric was dark with wetness, clinging to her pussy. She could see the outline of her lips through the soaked material.

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down, stepping out of them.

The evidence of her arousal glistened on her inner thighs.

She unclasped her bra and let it fall, then pulled her shirt over her head.

Completely naked, she stood in front of the mirror and really looked at herself.

This was the body she'd been offering to a man who didn't want her. This was what she touched in the dark, pretending her fingers were his.

Would he find her beautiful? Would he want her if he could see her like this?

She turned away from the mirror before the shame could overwhelm her and walked to the bathroom.

The marble floor was cold under her feet. She turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to fill the room.

Then she stepped under the spray.

The first touch of water against her oversensitive skin made her cry out.

It was too much. Too intense.

The water hit her breasts and she jackknifed backward, gasping, her nipples screaming with sensation.

She stood there, breathing hard, letting her body adjust.

Then she stepped back under the spray.

This time, she moaned.

The water rushed over her body....her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, between her thighs. Hot and relentless and everywhere.

She closed her eyes and let herself imagine.

Damien's hands instead of water. Damien's mouth instead of heat.

His body pressing her against the tile wall. His height forcing her to arch her neck to look up at him. His strength overwhelming her completely.

Her hands moved without conscious thought.

One slid up to cup her breast, squeezing, kneading. Her thumb found her nipple and circled it the way his thumb had circled beneath her breast in the hallway.

She whimpered.

It felt good, but it wasn't enough.

She pinched her nipple hard, the way she imagined he would. Rough. Demanding. Taking what he wanted.

"Oh God," she breathed.

Her other hand slid down her stomach, over her hip bone, between her thighs.

She was so wet that her fingers slipped immediately through her folds. So slick and swollen and desperate.

She found her clit and rubbed it in tight circles, her hips jerking forward.

But it still wasn't enough.

She needed more.

She imagined Damien behind her, his massive body caging her against the wall. His hand replacing hers between her legs.

"Please," she whispered to the empty bathroom. "Damien, please."

She slid two fingers inside herself and gasped at the sensation.

Tight. She was so tight and so wet and clenching around her own fingers like she was trying to keep them inside.

She pumped them slowly at first, then faster, harder. Her other hand kept working her nipple, pinching and rolling and pulling.

"Yes," she moaned. "God, yes."

She imagined it was him. His fingers inside her, so much bigger than hers. His mouth on her breast, biting, sucking. His voice in her ear telling her what a good girl she was for taking him.

Her fingers moved frantically now, chasing the orgasm building low in her belly.

"Damien," she whimpered. "Oh God, Damien."

She added a third finger, stretching herself, and her thumb found her clit.

The dual sensation made her legs shake.

"Please, please, please," she chanted.

She imagined him spinning her around, bending her over. Imagined feeling his cock pressing against her entrance. Imagined him thrusting inside in one brutal stroke.

"Damien!" she cried out.

Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave.

Her whole body convulsed, legs giving out. She had to brace herself against the wall with her free hand to keep from falling.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around her fingers, so intense it was almost painful.

"Damien, Damien, Damien," she sobbed his name as she came, unable to stop, unable to think of anything but him.

It went on and on, longer and more intense than any orgasm she'd ever given herself before.

When it finally subsided, she slid down the wall and sat on the shower floor, water streaming over her, fingers still buried inside herself.

Her breathing came in ragged gasps. Her whole body trembled.

And then the shame hit.

Hot tears mixed with the shower spray as she started to cry.

What was wrong with her?

She'd just masturbated in the shower, screaming her brother's name, the man who'd raised her, protected her, took care of her family.

Not her brother, a voice whispered. Not related. Not forbidden.

But it still felt wrong. It still felt like a betrayal of everything they'd been to each other.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and let herself cry, the water washing away the evidence of her tears and her release.

Finally, when the water started to run cold, she forced herself to stand.

Her legs were still shaky as she turned off the shower and stepped out.

She dried herself mechanically, avoiding her reflection in the mirror.

Then she walked back into her bedroom, still naked, and headed to her walk-in closet.

She pulled out a silk nightgown.....pale blue, short, with thin straps. It barely reached mid-thigh.

She slipped it on, the cool fabric sliding against her oversensitive skin.

Then she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

DarkVeil: Sweet dreams, little one. Tomorrow changes everything.

She was too exhausted to question what that meant.

Her eyes drifted closed, and within minutes, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

****

Across the estate, in his temporary bedroom, Damien Nightbane sat in a leather chair by the window, staring at his phone.

He'd felt every word she'd typed. Heard every confession. Known the exact moment she'd stepped into that shower and given herself the release he'd been denying her for years.

He'd sat in this chair, hard and aching, imagining her under that water. Knowing she was crying his name. Knowing she was falling apart thinking about him.

He adjusted himself in his pants, still painfully hard.

His jaw clenched as he scrolled through the chat history....months and months of Lyra's confessions, her darkest fantasies, her desperate pleas for understanding.

All of it directed at him.

She just didn't know it yet.