Damien Thorn South Park Novels & Stories

Sitting deep within the plush leather seats, completely bathed in the soft, ambient amber light of the cabin, was Damian Thorne. He did not wear his velvet gala jacket anymore. He sat with his white dress shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar, a silver glass of amber liquid resting loosely in his hand. His dark, piercing eyes looked out through the open door, scanning Viviennes soaked, shivering form, her mud drenched hospital scrubs, and the small, raw scratch on her cheekbone. There was no pity in his gaze. There was no mockery. There was only a deep, intense mixture of absolute calculation and raw, undisguised interest.

He clearly was trying so hard to hold back but he was failing at it miserably. "I just a trying to sit comfortably." "Don't give me that b.s, you are enjoying torturing me. Is that it?" "I don't know what you are talking about." Raven feigned fake innocence. Damien smirked, and his hand went to her thigh as her dress was short. He started to caress her up and down. Slow and deliberate. A/N: Hey all I hope you enjoyed this chapter Xxx :P

My asshole still burned from the brutal pounding he’d given it, my throat raw from choking on his cock, and my cunt throbbed with the constant reminder that he had used me like a worthless set of fuckholes all night. Damien loomed over me, his powerful 6'4" frame glistening with sweat, silver-streaked hair messy, dark bourbon eyes blazing with unquenched obsession. His heavy cock—still semi-hard and slick with our filth—rested against my swollen pussy lips as he read Sophia’s latest text aloud in a mocking tone.

Sophia The email from Hart Global sat in my inbox like a ticking bomb. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the final line again. Mr. Damien specifically requested your attendance. Not Bennett Accounting, not one of our executives. Me! I didn't know why that bothered me so much. Maybe because I'd spent years watching powerful men use influence like a weapon. Maybe because Damien Hart have looked straight through me during our first meeting, as though he already knew things I hadn't discovered yet.

"You didn't eat breakfast." "How do you know I didn't eat breakfast?" "I've been here since seven-thirty. You arrived at seven-forty-five. You didn't have time." Damien stared at her for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed a short, sharp sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised her. "You're very observant, Ms. Davenport." "I'm very good at my job, Mr. Thorn."

By the time she reached the campsite, the sun was higher. Damien was crouched by the fire, turning strips of squirrel meat over low flames. The smell of smoke and charred flesh filled the air. He didn’t look up when she approached. “You’re alive,” he said casually. “Barely,” Soren replied. “If that’s your cooking, I might reconsider survival.” There was a small pause, then Damien snorted. Soren allowed herself a small grin. “It’s protein,” Damien muttered. “You should try appreciating effort.”

"Cornelius isn't built for that. I know, because I’ve watched that park change every person who steps into it. It happened to Eleanor. It happened to you. It will happen to him, and I need to know he has the capacity to receive that kind of innocence without trying to manage it." Damien looked at her, his gaze intense, direct, and completely unmasked. "He sat on that bench for forty minutes," Damien reminded her softly. "He crouched in the dirt. He listened to a four-year-old explain the brachiosaurus hypothesis. And when he left, he used Eli's name." He paused, letting the words sink in. "He isn't the same man who threatened you on cream-colored letterhead. Not entirely. He isn't the man he

It was a rare gem. Kieran and Adrian stared at each other for a moment, neither of them said anything. Adrian looked like he was going to explode, while Kieran looked calm and composed as ever. I patiently waited for the final verdict — order for Damien's head. Damien burst out laughing mockingly. “You guys should get a room or something.” He dragged his body to the wall, and sat up. He lets out a deep sigh, clutching his side. He was clearly in pain. And I was nothing less but satisfied.

I replied unsure of how he knew it was my birthday. Just then one of the doors opened and Damian came in holding a beautiful birthday cake. I couldn't tell which was more beautiful him or the cake. he was wearing a blue jeans and an unbuttoned short sleeve white shirt. clearing revealing his broad chest and abs. seeing him standing made me have a flash back of all the times we have cuddled. He looked like he has just been dipped into a hot sauce. how I want long kiss those thick full lips and be wrapped up in his strong steady hands.

Damien “Jesus Christ, Damien, you’re disgusting,” I muttered, but I didn’t put them back. Instead I sat down heavy on the bed again and brought the fabric up to my face. I took a long sniff, deep and slow, and his smell hit me like a punch. Sweat and that faint soap he used and something warmer, more him. My dick twitched in my jeans just from that. Pathetic. I laughed at myself, short and mean. “Look at you. Got slapped, called Satan, and now you’re sniffing his dirty undies like some creep in a movie. Real winner.”