Page 135 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

I’m gonna come, I want to tell him.

For a moment, I think he knows I want to speak. His fingers slide, hooking behind my teeth again. But, no: he’s going to come too.

“Fuck, Lillith,” he whimpers, his voice soft and reedy. “You feel so fucking good.”

His hand leaves my mouth, and he shifts pulling me by my thighs so that he can fuck me even deeper, somehow.

“Damien,” I whimper. “Oh, fuck, Damien.”

“I know,” he says, meeting my eyes. That forbidding, dark part of him has given way to something else. Something tender.

“Come with me? Please,” I beg.

He can only manage a nod, his jaw hanging loose and his eyes closing.

It’s just three more thrusts before I’m curling my toes and bowing my back.

He fucks me faster, harder, for just a few more seconds as I cry out into the empty night air. Then he comes, his release spilling impossibly out past the seal of his cock, down the curve of my ass and the backs of my legs. He pants and bows over me, his forehead damp with sweat as he presses it to mine.

“Holy fucking shit,” he says.

I can’t speak yet, but I nod in agreement.

He kisses me, slow and gentle and kind. He peels his gloves off without breaking the kiss and his skin feels so sweet as he gently coaxes my ruined tights off of my legs. When he breaks the kiss, I touch my hand to his eye and he huffs a soft laugh as the bruise there heals under my magic

“Thanks, that would have been embarrassing to explain to the guys,” he teases.

“You would have loved explaining that to the guys,” I say.

“You’re right,” he says, grinning widely and nuzzling his nose against mine. “Maybe I’ll just have you deck me in the face so I can tell them I got to chase you through a forest and fuck you like a beast.”

“You can do that without a black eye, Damien,” I remind him, brushing some hair away from his eyes.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asks.

He gets his pants back on and reaches behind him, producing... oh.

“Is that a shirt?” I ask.

“Yep, I had it tucked in my belt,” he says. “I... kind thought I might accidentally tear off all your clothes.”

“Accidentally?” I ask. “Sir, that seems pretty premeditated to me.”

“Whattt? No way. This is at most dress-slaughter. You definitely can’t get me for dress-murder in the first degree. A jury would never buy that. I mean, you did half the work before I even got to it with those thorns.”

He tugs me onto his lap and pulls the shirt over my head. It’s large enough that it’s practically a dress on me, falling all the way past my hips when he tugs it down. It’s nice to have something on my body again, but it doesn’t exactly guard me from a sudden chill. It’s after dark, and it’s fucking cold.

“Sorry,” he says with a frown. “Good thing I brought blankets, right? Let’s get back to the car.”

“Ah, yes, the blankets for stargazing,” I say, pinching his nose shut between my thumb and index finger.

“Well,” he says, his voice cartoonish. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure you had ample opportunity to look at some stars while I fucked you into the dirt.”

“I was a little distracted,” I say.

“Oh? By what?”

I laugh, releasing his nose as he stands and lifts me up into his arms with an ease that is never not impressive. His expression falls into something soft when he looks down at me and starts walking us back to the car. Something about it makes me feel self-conscious, like he’s cataloguing everything on my face—the mess my hair must be—a smudge of dirt on my face, my wrecked lipstick and running mascara.