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Still, I find no tattoos.
I kiss one nipple, then the other, and he fists my hair in his hand, a groan escaping his lips as he stares at my tits. I’m about to unbuckle his belt when his fingers curl around my hand. It feels so small inside of his.
“Why not?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head. “Not tonight.”
I clear my throat to ensure my voice doesn’t wobble whenI ask him, “Are you going to reject me too?” He looks surprised by my comment.
I ask because it’s not the first time. Nor the first man. And I’m so emotionally and physically sick of the rejection.
“No, I want you... but tonight is all about you.”
I take a step out of his reach. “What do you mean?”
He cups the back of his head with one hand. “Gemma, you came over this weekend because of your fight. When you come to me...” He’s walking toward me, slowly, looking like a handsome wizard knowing his powers. “When I fuck you, I want you to be one hundred percent sure.”
He's caressing the side of my face, and I lean into the palm of his hand. My eyes close, and I exhale a deep breath before staring at him.
“I thought you didn’t care, Damon.”
He breaks eye contact and eyes my lips. “Always look at a man’s actions—not his words.”
What does he even mean? That he cares?
“Now.” He tugs on my nipple piercing, hauling my body to his. There’s a bit of pain, but mostly, oh God, mostly pleasure from the sting and especially from the hunger in his eyes.
When the backs of my legs touch the leather seat, he tilts his chin, and I follow his silent command, sitting down on the chair. I’m fully naked, the heat from the fireplace contradicting the cold leather beneath me.
Damon, shirtless and in dark jeans, leans forward and kisses my nipple, playing with and tugging on the piercing.
He groans. “I love this very, very much.”
Me too. Especially right now. It feels so good—what he does, what he says. I wonder if I could ever make him understand how he makes me feel—if I’ll ever understand it myself.
I sit comfortably while he towers over me, setting my lips on fire with his. He takes my mouth and I let him—I let him devour me.
He then drops to his knees and pushes out both of my legs. I’m spread like an eagle, my sex ready to be consumed. He kisses the insides of my thigh, the sides of my folds. Kissing and licking. Every kiss reminds me how long it’s been, how fast I’ll come.
I’m a quivering, whimpering mess. The words coming out of my mouth aren’t even words by the time he first strokes the lips of my pussy.
My nails are digging into the large armrest of the chair. It’ll scratch the leather—ruin it. And I don’t care.
“Damon...” My legs move but he puts them back in place. My head hits the chair, and I look up at the high ceiling, focusing on the feelings, on his tongue.
Damon won’t be rushed.
He savors the moment. Tastes every part of me that he can.
He wants to build me up and drive me nuts.
He doesn’t hurry to the finish line, but he’ll make me finish.
One hand skirts my thigh, sliding down my leg to my ankle, before my leg finally comes to rest over his shoulder.
“All opened up for me.” He thumbs my clit. I’m blushing and my body’s blushing, but not from embarrassment. I’m so warm. My body is thriving, bustling with intense energy.
I want his lips on me again.
