Dirty (short stories)
But his touch said otherwise, it was urgent, almost reverent, like he was memorizing every gasp she made.
She challenged him right back, rolling them so she straddled him, her nails raking down his chest. Power shifted between them with every kiss, every thrust, hate and hunger tangled so tight she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
He drove into her hard, whispering filthy promises against her ear, and she gave as good as she got, biting his shoulder when the pleasure crested sharp and overwhelming.
After, they lay tangled in his sheets, breathing hard. Rain lashed the windows. Damien’s arm stayed draped over her waist, heavy and warm.