Crossing The Line

Chapter 2: Crossing the Line

I stood frozen against the railing for what felt like forever, my champagne glass warm in my suddenly clammy hands. Damien Blackwood’s words kept echoing in my head low, filthy, and far too tempting.

Come find me.

My pulse was still racing. The good girl voice in my head screamed that this was insane. He was forty-two. I was twenty-two. He was my father’s ex-business partner, the man Dad had called “dangerous” and “toxic” more times than I could count. Going anywhere near his private booth would be playing with fire.

But my body wasn’t listening.

The ache between my thighs hadn’t eased. If anything, it had grown worse. Every time I remembered the way his steel-gray eyes had raked over me, the way he’d said “Daddy” like it was both a tease and a promise, heat pulsed through me again.

I bit my lip hard.

Sophia was gone probably having the kind of wild night I’d only read about in steamy novels. No one was waiting for me. No one would know if I just… looked.

Before I could talk myself out of it, my feet started moving. I left the rooftop lounge and took the sleek glass elevator down to the main club level. The music hit me harder here, deep and sensual, bodies moving on the dance floor under pulsing lights. I wove through the crowd, heart hammering, until I found the secluded VIP section.

Private booths lined a dimly lit hallway. Gold numbers glowed softly above each heavy velvet curtain. My steps slowed as I reached number seven.

The curtain was slightly parted.

I hesitated, breath shallow. This was my last chance to turn around. To be the responsible, careful Kira Holt my father raised.

Instead, I pushed the curtain aside and stepped in.

The booth was even more luxurious than the rooftop deep crimson couches, a low glass table with an ice bucket and expensive liquor, soft amber lighting that made everything feel intimate and forbidden. And there, lounging like he owned the world (which he basically did), was Damien.

He had one arm stretched along the back of the couch, legs spread in that confident, masculine way. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top now, revealing a hint of tanned, toned chest. When he saw me, his lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice like dark velvet. “Look who decided to stop being a good girl for a night.”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed even though I was still fully dressed. “I… I just wanted to see if Sophia was really here.”

Damien chuckled, the sound rich and low. “She’s not. But you already knew that.” He patted the spot beside him. “Come sit, Kira. I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely.”

My legs felt weak as I crossed the small space and lowered myself onto the couch, leaving a careful foot of distance between us. The leather was cool against the backs of my thighs.

Damien didn’t close the gap immediately. Instead, he reached for the bottle of aged scotch, poured two glasses, and handed me one. “Drink. It’ll help with those nerves.”

I took a small sip. The liquor burned smoothly down my throat, spreading warmth through my chest. “I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.

“And yet you are.” He turned toward me, his knee brushing mine. Even that small contact sent electricity racing up my leg. “Tell me why, little one. Be honest.”

I stared into my glass, cheeks burning. “I don’t know. You… you said things up there that no one’s ever said to me.”

“Like what?” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “Like how I want to fuck you so hard you forget your own name? Or how I’ve been wondering all night how sweet that pretty little pussy tastes?”

I gasped softly, nearly spilling my drink. The crude words should have shocked me, should have sent me running. Instead, they made my core throb and my nipples pebble tightly against my dress.

“Damien…” I breathed, using his name like a plea.

He set his glass down and finally closed the distance, his large hand settling on my knee. His touch was warm, firm. “Say it again. My name.”

“Damien,” I whispered.

“Good girl.” His thumb stroked slow circles on my skin, inching the hem of my dress higher. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say my name like that. All soft and needy.”

His hand slid higher, under the silk, fingertips brushing the edge of my lace panties. I trembled, thighs instinctively pressing together, but he gently pried them apart.

“Relax, Kira,” he murmured, lips now against my ear. “I’m not going to fuck you tonight. Not yet. I want you aching for it first. I want you soaked and desperate before I even think about sliding inside this tight little body.”

His fingers traced the damp fabric between my legs, pressing lightly against my clit through the lace. A soft moan escaped me before I could stop it.

“Fuck, you’re already wet,” he growled, sounding pleased. “Such a good girl, but your body knows exactly what it wants. It wants Daddy, doesn’t it?”

The word hit me like a spark on dry tinder. I whimpered, hips twitching toward his hand.

“Say it,” he commanded softly, circling my clit with torturous slowness. “Tell me whose little girl you are tonight.”

I was breathing hard now, head spinning from his touch and the filthy words. “Yours,” I managed. “I’m… I’m your little girl tonight.”

Damien rewarded me by slipping his fingers under the lace, stroking my bare, slick folds. “That’s right. And good girls get rewards.”

He pushed one thick finger inside me slowly, curling it just right. My back arched off the couch, a broken moan falling from my lips. He added a second finger, stretching me, pumping steadily while his thumb kept working my swollen clit.

“Look at you,” he rasped, watching my face with dark, hungry eyes. “So fucking tight. So responsive. I bet no one’s ever made this pretty pussy feel like this, have they?”

I shook my head frantically, unable to form words as pleasure built fast and sharp inside me.

“That’s what I thought.” His pace quickened, the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of me filling the booth. “Come for me, Kira. Let Daddy see how beautiful you look when you fall apart.”

The combination of his commanding voice, his skilled fingers, and the sheer wrongness of it all pushed me over the edge. My orgasm crashed through me hard, thighs shaking, a cry tearing from my throat as I clenched around his fingers.

Damien didn’t stop until I was whimpering and oversensitive, only then slowly withdrawing his hand. He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, eyes never leaving mine.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice rough with lust. “Just like I knew you’d be. But this is only the beginning, little one.”

He leaned in and kissed me for the first time deep, possessive, claiming. His tongue swept into my mouth like he already owned every part of me.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard.

“Go home tonight, Kira,” he said quietly, though his hand still stroked my thigh possessively. “Think about what just happened. Think about how much better it’ll feel when I finally bury my cock inside you and make you scream ‘Daddy’ while I ruin you for anyone else.”

I nodded shakily, legs still trembling as I tried to straighten my dress.

Damien stood and offered me his hand, helping me up. Before I left the booth, he pulled me close one last time, lips brushing my ear.

“Next time you come to me, I won’t be so gentle. Understand?”

“Yes… Damien,” I whispered.

He smiled darkly. “Good girl.”

I stepped out of the booth on unsteady legs, the taste of scotch and forbidden desire still on my lips, knowing I had just crossed a line I could never uncross.

And worse… I already wanted to cross it again.