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“Dull. My fingers were itching to fuck you, and you weren’t there.”
“You’re so crass, Damon.”
“Am I?” He brings one of his hands under my jawline, tipping my head up so he can press his pink lips against my cheek. “I think you love it.”
“Do I?”
He drops his hand from my neck, gripping my ass instead. Then he shoves his hand at the front of my jeans, his fingers underneath my lacy underwear.
“I think about you all the time. It’s becoming a problem.” His teeth graze my ear. “I have work to do, and all I can think about is your cunt and those sweet, sweet lips.” He pauses before saying, “Close your eyes.”
The next thing I know something covers them and I’m bent down, my chest over the kitchen stools.
Damon’s behind me.
I can’t see anything; all I can do is listen to him. Listen to his words and his quiet gestures and feel his slacks press against me, showcasing his arousal.
My jeans slip down then come off, as does my lace thong, before the sharp smack of his hand makes contact with my ass. I moan, squirming against the chairs.
Am I addicted to sex with Damon? I think so. I’m afraid I’ll have withdrawal if we don’t do this.
Even through sex, he teaches me something new. I’m always learning with him. About myself—my wants, my needs, my desires.
I hear the rattling of his belt, and anticipation grows in the pit of my stomach. I don’t question it; I could jump off a building in a parachute and get off on it.
I was never meant to be normal, and maybe neither was Damon.
He cradles the leather belt against my ass. “You say stop, I’ll stop.”
I nod. I can’t speak. I can only feel.
That’s what Damon does. What started off as a depressing day is now ending in an evening I never want to forget.
The belt hits my ass—hard—and I whimper, the sound vibrating through the renovated kitchen.
“Okay, little rebel?” He leans over me, his lips tingling against the goose bumps on my neck. My mind is kept hostage in a dark abyss of desire. It’s too much to focus on his words.
Smack!
He smacked my pussy.
“Answer me.”
My mind is reeling in the murky sea, my body floating, feeling so much pleasure it numbs the pain. The stinging doesn’t last long, especially when he’s teasing my clit and my sex with his belt.
“You’ll—dirty your belt.”
“Every morning when I put it on and every night when I take it off ... ” He leans closer to my back again, using his belt as a torturing tool. “I can remember you like this.”
Smack.
Smack.
Smack.
I’m so wet I can hear the leather blow against my arousal. He’s going to make me lose my mind, like an addict going down the rabbit hole. I never knew sex to be so thrilling, and now I’ll never be able to let him go.
“Damon,” I beg, no longer feeling him towering over me. I want to take off the blindfold, but I’m not sure that I should. “Smack me—I don’t care. Just dosomething.” I’m out of breath.
