The weekend blurred into a haze of sex, sweat, and surrender. By Sunday night, I had lost count of how many times Damien had taken me. Against the windows. On the kitchen island. In the luxurious bathtub. Bent over his desk while he whispered filthy promises in my ear. Now, as the city lights twinkled below, I lay exhausted on the massive bed, my body marked with bites, handprints, and the evidence of his many releases still leaking from me. Damien lay beside me, propped on one elbow, tracing a finger slowly down my stomach. “You’re staying tonight too right,” he said. It wasn’t a question. I turned my head to look at him. “I have work tomorrow.” “Call in sick.” His hand slid between my legs, fingers gently stroking my swollen, cum-filled pussy. “Tell them you’re not feeling well. Because you won’t be able to walk properly after what I’m about to do to you.” He pushed two fingers inside me, curling them lazily. I moaned softly, my hips twitching despite how sore I was.
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