Call You Mine (Servite Academy)

Chapter Fourteen

WYNTER

“ C ome out, come out wherever you are,” he taunted, slowly creeping through the hallway toward my bedroom. His feet dragged along the hardwood floor, the heels of his boots clicking as they approached my door. Like nails on a chalkboard his fingers screeched along the walls of the hallway, warning me of what was to come. “You can run but you can’t escape me, Snow. I own you carina. Every inch of your marvelous body, every part of your sad and pathetic little mind.”

My blood ran cold in fear at the sound of his voice. It was different this time. No sign of the dark humor which laced his playful warnings. No, this time he sounded cold, worse than that, there was an eerie emptiness to his tone. Monotone and dark. Enzo was never this volatile toward me. He never lashed out without reason. It was usually because I pushed, or in his mind did something that warranted a punishment such as refusing to play his twisted little games. The one silver lining in all of this was the fact that Enzo never laid a hand on me. Not sexually, not by force. But tonight felt different.

The look in his eyes when he’d arrived back from the casino, haunted yet held an aura of danger beneath the dark brown that outlined his irises, was terrifying. They were lifeless. Devoid of any kind of emotion. Something happened tonight which made him so cruel and unforgiving.

He demanded all the house staff leave, practically throwing them out the door himself. Fear crippled me at the thought I was alone with him, a monster who showed no mercy to those who’d wronged him. What had I done to receive his wrath tonight?

My mind reeled, teetering off the edge of madness as I tried and failed to come up with anything I could have possibly done. I obeyed him, it’d been months since I tried to push back and taunt him with my disobedience, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight would change everything.

I’m startled awake, my last night in New York replaying in my mind like an old horror film. The kind that is so gruesome and cruel yet you can't look away. Like a fatal car wreck you pass on the highway and although you know it will scar you, forcing you to never get behind the wheel again, you look anyway as you slowly drive by.

My hands are shaking vigorously when I remember the package delivered on Damon’s doorstep two weeks ago. The note, neatly folded and placed inside the box, which made the whole thing more terrifying. Because the blood smeared on the white piece of parchment wasn’t the blood of the poor little bird who lay lifeless inside. Because the bird wasn’t bleeding. Its neck had been snapped, but there wasn’t a drop of blood on it. No, the blood had to be his.

There were only two explanations for the texts, the packages, the taunting. Either Enzo was alive and tormenting me, or he was indeed dead and someone had discovered what I’d done.

Both theories are terrifying, the latter least likely since they were pretending to be Enzo and had made no threats, so blackmail was out of the question. Maybe Enzo had somehow survived the attack—although not likely—and was torturing me, making me sweat before showing up to enact his revenge. The thing is, out of these two scenarios, I’m not sure which is worse.

They are both equally horrifying and keep me up at night, forcing me to look over my shoulder whenever I leave the house. I can’t sit here and contemplate the what if’s? I can’t live in fear of what might come next although it’s all I think about. That isn’t living at all. No, I need to go on with my life, face one monster at a time. One of those being Willa herself, who hasn’t stopped texting me since the day we walked out on her at the restaurant. The day Damon told her to fall off the face of the earth and never come looking for us.

Sad to say she didn’t heed his warning. I never thought she would although she looked utterly terrified. But before I even think about dealing with my mother—who is surely going to keep digging until she finds a flaw in Damon and I’s relationship and then force me to comply with her demands—I need to fix things with him. At this point he won’t even look at me.

I need to make things right between us, and even though he’s clarified that the only way to do so is by being honest and truthful about why I’m back—why I’m being so jumpy and secretive—I won’t do things his way.

I’ll fix this the only way I know how. By making it impossibly difficult for him to stay away from me. He wants me, it’s the one thing I’m certain of. I just need to get the man to break, and I know just the thing to do so.

He’s held on to his word for two weeks. Three weeks of watching him from across the dinner table as we dined in the city three out of seven nights a week and played the part of doting couple.

Regardless of his cold and hurtful attitude that day when he deposited me back at the house and drove away, only to come back home hours later at dawn, smelling way too much like liquor and smoke, I sent him more photos. I even went as far as printing them out and hiding them all around the house in places I knew he’d find them, and yet nothing.

The man has the restraint of a fucking saint. That or he isn’t interested, which he admitted but I refuse to believe. His actions speak louder than his words, and the look in his eyes as they roam over every inch of skin on display in the provocative dresses I’ve worn since, in a ploy to seduce him, tells a different story.

Enough is enough. I have a game plan and it’s time to set it in motion. There’s no turning back now. I am determined to make the man mine, and to force his hand in claiming mine. My body, my mind, every part of my being belongs to him and it’s about time to make him aware.

Ten, sixteen by twenty-four-inch frames are perfectly hung up on the dark gray walls of his bedroom. Ten black and white photos of me from that day at Kara’s studio with only one goal—to seduce him, entice him, and make his resolve crack. There’s no way Damon can ignore them now. Especially not when I’m in his bedroom, wearing the exact set of white lace lingerie I have on in the photos. The one I’m sure he’s dreamt about since the first time he saw it.

The man isn’t as sly as he thinks. I’ve caught the carnal glances my way when he thinks I’m not paying attention. The way his jaw ticks when I lean in close, when he inhales the scent of my perfume. The way he clears his throat when I bend a certain way, giving him a glimpse of skin I know he wants to taste, or how he adjusts himself when I coyly parade around in a satin negligee I disguise as pajamas.

Sitting in the middle of his bed, I lean back on my elbows, positioning myself against the pillows. I pull my legs back, bending one of my knees in a ninety-degree angle, high enough to show him a small glimpse of ass, but keeping enough hidden to entice him.

I wait, anxiously counting the minutes for him to come home, gripping the satin sheets under my fingertips as the bedside clock ticks, taunting me with what’s coming. I texted Damon earlier today asking what time he was planning on coming home. We’re supposed to go to some dinner he has scheduled with an investor, and apparently having me on his arm will be beneficial to the deal he’s trying to make.

The deal to make him a majority owner of Kingsman Enterprises.

After nearly thirty minutes of waiting, thirty minutes after the allotted time he was supposed to arrive, I hear the front door alarm. The anticipation sends a wave of shivers up my spine.

It’s time.

This can go one of two ways. Damon either finally gives in to his desires, or shamelessly sends me to my room for even suggesting what I have in store. I’m not sure what I’ll do if he rejects me once more.

Footsteps echo right outside the bedroom door before completely disappearing. Silence drums in my ears, except the hum of my heartbeat thrumming. He’s coming in three, two, one.

I take a sharp inhale and hold it, suddenly deathly afraid of what his reaction will be.

The door handle turns, the wood creaking open as Damon appears underneath the doorway before stepping inside. Bold green eyes immediately connect with mine before they drop low, roaming over my body laid out for him to admire.

To devour, to indulge in.

His eyes wander around the room, taking in the large framed photos of me in many sensual positions. On my knees, on all fours, lying back on the bed with my legs hung open, sitting back against my feet with my head thrown back.

Before I can even say anything, he turns away reaching for the door handle to exit but before he can turn it I shout at him to stop.

“Stop,” I say, unsure what to follow up with. All I know is I can't let him just walk away from me again. I won’t be humiliated again. Slowly crawling to the edge of the bed, I stand and make my way over to where he is, facing the door with his back to me.

“Hear me out before you walk out on me.” I pause but he doesn’t react nor says a damn thing. It’s infuriating. “I have a proposition for you.”

I sense his cocky smirk before I can see it. He’s stalling, afraid to turn around and look me in the eye, but I need to get this out before I chicken out.

I can’t figure out what it is about him that is suddenly making me so flustered in his immediate presence, but it’s like this aura that radiates off him that weakens me.

What did Superman call it, Kryptonite?

I’m weak, suddenly my body feels weightless, my mind numb, and my resolve is breaking. At least until something I can only describe as a sexual magnetic force-field pulls me in, which is frankly as equally irritating as it is captivating.

For some fucked up reason, I’m no longer immune to the damn asshole. I can no longer fight this attraction, nor am I interested in fighting it off. One look and I’m completely mesmerized by the sexy bastard, hence the idiotic proposition I am about to make him even though he’s made it pretty damn clear he won’t give in.

Is the universe trying to punish me somehow for what I’ve done? For God sakes Wynter, pull your shit together.

Damon is my friend, my fake boyfriend doing me a solid favor, God knows why since I’ve been nothing but a bitch to him. I swore to myself I’d never go there again, and in a matter of weeks, I’ve gone there, repeatedly, with no intention of ever stopping.

Not that sex with him wasn't good, because it definitely was. The best sex of my fucking life even if it was only once. His touch is electrifying. The way he knows exactly what to do, although we usually find ourselves past the point of making sane decisions. It’s as if his body was purposefully created to be the highest temptation, and I’m Eve prepared to withstand whatever punishment I deserve for once again indulging in the forbidden fruit.

For craving it, craving him.

That first night years ago, when we both woke up, sobered up, and came back to our senses, we realized what a huge mistake it had been. His ex-girlfriend was dating my brother, in what fucked up world was anything between us ever going to work? It couldn’t be more than one a night of the most insane pleasure I’d ever felt.

Only instead of completely walking away from each other, we found common ground, both angry with the people who’d brought us together, and from that day forward we swore history would never repeat itself.

Then he went and wrote it into our contract, yet he wasn't able to keep his hands off me. He was the first to break the rule, with the excuse of sealing the deal the only way it made sense given the type of deal we’d just made. That is until I fucked shit up by being secretive and avoiding the truth. By lying and hiding things from him.

Out of what, you ask? Fear.

Fear of him getting hurt. Fear of him judging me, hating me for what I’ve done. Fear of losing him, the only real friend I’ve ever had. The only unconditional love I’ve felt.

Yet here I am about to break the oath we made like some desperate and hormonal teenage girl who can’t keep it in her pants. I’m hot for the bastard and I’m tired of denying what I feel. It sounded insane a moment ago when I said it in my head, but now just as I am about to say the words out loud to him, it’s completely psychotic.

Have I finally gone mad?

I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s said madness is true freedom, unfiltered needs, unapologetic wants, our true form. Maybe this is what it’s like to feel free?

Slowly, and purposefully, Damon turns to face me, our bodies now merely inches apart. Dark green eyes watch me with a feral desire, but it’s their intention I can’t read, and I’m usually very intuitive. He reaches a hand out toward my chest, slowly strumming his fingers through the ribbons keeping my top together. My breath hitches, goosebumps covering my skin as his fingers slowly graze the space between my breasts.

“You already propositioned me, Princess, or did you forget who you’re currently paying to be your boyfriend .” Ouch, I guess I deserved that.

I silently curse myself for saying anything and going along with this idiotic plan. What the hell was I thinking?

Damon continues to advance and walks us backward until the back of my knees are crashing into the bed behind me. I breathe in a deep breath trying my best to hide my arousal behind a sassy remark before I fall against the mattress.

“Don’t be a dick, Damon,” I mutter, my voice croaking from the intensity of our proximity. He lowers himself to me, hands resting against the mattress on either side of me as he leans forward only making me lean farther back until my elbows are once again resting behind me.

Heat radiates off him in strong wave lengths similar to damaging ultraviolet rays which sear me with the most intense yet delicate touch. It’s almost painful. His nickname Dragon lives up to its meaning. The man is pure, carnal fire.

The smirk that crosses his lips in the next second forces a soft blush to spread along my flesh, but I hold myself together the best I can with whatever sanity in me remains. I need to seem sure of myself if I’m going to get him to agree to this. I have to sell it as something we both not only want, but need.

And I know for a damn fact he wants this.

It’s been weeks of pent-up energy, tension between us building until it has nowhere else to go but out. Shaking my thoughts away, I clear my throat ready to put it all out there. Luckily, I’ve always been a confident person, in tune with my sexuality and unashamed about indulging in all my darkest desires and pleasures. I’ve never been afraid of expressing myself through sex. I believe it’s the purest form of our true identities and the most genuine way to get to know someone.

Two bodies, giving and receiving with no expectations, and simply enjoying the feeling. An intimacy like no other.

That was until three years ago when it not only became my worst nightmare, but a recurring ghost haunting me every waking moment.

Now, here, with him, there isn’t anything that feels more natural.

The walls of his bedroom metaphorically close in on us, darkness entering through the window to our right, only the flickering lights of the outdoor balcony lighting up the space.

I thank the stars we’re in almost complete darkness, this way I can pretend he won’t notice my disappointment if he refuses, or worse, rejects me.

“What do you have in mind, Wicked?” he drawls, so fucking sexy and smooth. My thighs involuntarily clench together as my arousal pools at my heated core. God, this is going to fucking kill me, regardless of the answer he gives me.

I swallow the lump lodged in my throat and almost moan aloud from the sensation of hearing him call me Wicked has caused. Because what I have in mind is oh so wicked.

I don’t hesitate. No need to make this complicated. Just a simple statement, possibly even given as a command. Six words, one action, no questions asked. “I want you to fuck me.”

It’s simple enough.

My voice echoes in my mind, and I’m surprised to see his face remains completely stoic, his smirk slowly falling back into place. His eyes however tell a different story.

They’re bursting with desire, a wanton need mirrored in my icy blue irises.

I’ve never been one for emotion, never one to beg or even make the first move. When I did date, it was usually a casual hookup, which I put the effort into, but never really thought twice about after. They were few but enough for me to know what I wanted and how I wanted it.

Any other pleasure was self-inflicted, my fingers or toys were the only ones to hear my cries of ecstasy and feel the need aching between my thighs.

However with Damon, just a simple touch, a wanton glance, is more than I could have ever imagined, and he hasn’t even agreed to more.

Damon’s silence is slowly killing me. Did I misread the situation? I mean he touches me every chance he gets but refuses to take things further. Here I am giving him a way in, putting myself on a silver platter for him and he’s staring at me like it’s the most preposterous idea. I see the way he eye fucks me whenever we’re in the same room, not to mention he’s practically forcing me to stay with him, in his house, with only two walls and a door separating us every long and dreary night.

The tension that circulates around us is not only heated and heavy, but bursting with so much desire it has to be dealt with before we both internally combust.

“Say something, please,” I plead, practically moaning as his knee makes its way between my legs, nuzzling them apart.

He leans forward, our noses almost touching as he breathes in deep before releasing his breath. “What do you want me to say?” he murmurs against my lips. The smell of smoke and cinnamon kisses my lips and I want so badly to reach out for him.

“Yes.” The word escapes me like a moan and I feel him smirk against my lips. “No,” I continue, getting a grip on my emotions. “It’s not rocket science, Damon.”

“You want to have sex?” he asks, and now I know he’s amused by the whole situation. God, if he could just put me out of my misery with a rejection.

“No, I want you to fuck me.”

His groan is feral, unexpected yet all too familiar. The way my body reacts to having him so close. How I nearly lose my mind preparing for what it will feel like when I have his hands, his mouth, his entire body on mine again.

However, Damon continues to torture me by not saying or doing a damn thing.

“Princess,” he drawls, grazing my lips with his tongue and moving his lips to the back of my ear. “I warned you nothing would ever happen between us until you started being honest with me. Are you ready to tell me what I want to hear?”

I shake my head, unable to agree to what he’s asking of me. I knew it was a long shot, getting him to agree despite what he’d said to me the last time, but I’d hoped he’d feel the same need I do and forget what he’d asked of me.

Apparently not the case.

“I can’t, Damon. Please. Ask anything else of me, but I can’t talk about that.”

He laughs, dark and menacing as he pushes off the bed and away from me. But before I can say anything, his gaze is once again on me. Dark, menacing, no longer playful. “You came to me, without warning, and begged me for help. I gave it to you, letting you into my home. You proposed the ridiculous idea of me pretending to be your boyfriend, supposedly to appease your gold-digging mother. I agreed, with stipulations of my own, but regardless I played along. Yet I ask you to confide in me after all I’ve done for you, and you deny me. What the fuck are you hiding from me Wynter? It’s me. It’s us.”

I look away from him, tears building in my eyes from the hurt I hear in his voice. “It’s much more complicated than you can imagine. Nothing good will come of me telling you the truth. Why can’t you just accept that and let it go.”

A sharp growl escapes him as he once again heads for me. This time I’m quicker, using my legs to push myself further up on the bed, I crawl toward the headboard to get away from the wicked look in his eyes. The look I wanted, I craved but now, no longer understand.

“You don’t get to have both, Princess. It’s your secrets, or me.”

I shake my head, unable to accept it and do the only thing I know to do in a situation like this. A situation where my emotions are raw, taking over all sense of reasoning. I deflect, using my body, my sexuality as an escape, a tool of deflection when things get too overwhelmingly real.

Leaning my head back against the headboard, I let my legs fall open, his eyes immediately dropping to the thin piece of lace between my legs—the only thing shielding my arousal from him. Starting at the top, I insert two fingers into my mouth, sucking them and wetting them, his eyes never leaving mine.

Without a word I slowly reach down between my legs, my left hand cupping my breast as I push my fingers under the lace thong and glide them through my arousal.

A soft moan leaves my lips at the contact of my fingers against my sensitive and aching lips, my back arching off the pillows behind me.

“If you refuse to give me what I need, I’ll have to look elsewhere for it,” I tell him, my tone breathless and coated in seduction. “You can’t expect me to go months without the touch of a man. I’ve gone too long without it, I refuse to wait any longer.”

The man stands completely frozen, his dark gaze locked on mine, refusing to give me any sign of emotion. I can see his chest rising and falling in quick rhythms, his jaw clenched as tight as the fists at his side. But he doesn't say or do a damn thing.

It only pushes me further, egging me on to make him break his resolve and take me. To make me his. Throwing my head back against the headboard, I quicken my movements, sliding my fingers back and forth and applying pressure against my clit. My other hand continues to knead my breast as breathy moans continue to leave me. My legs fall open wider, as I insert two fingers inside me, fucking myself, pretending it’s him who’s touching me.

“Damon, please,” I moan, begging him to give me what I need. This isn’t enough, the feel of my fingers inside me nothing compared to what he would feel like. I haven’t had sex in over three years, not since him, since that drunken night we had at a party. I couldn’t. Not with Luke, or anyone else. Especially not with Enzo, who thankfully I wasn’t his type.

My fingers were the only thing to bring me solace on the endlessly lonely nights I lived away from him. Visions of him in my mind, on his knees for me, his body caging me in, making me feel wanted. I’d never felt that way with anyone else and I hated myself for allowing him so much power over me but I knew it would never be the same with anyone else. It would never feel so good if it wasn’t him.

Yet here I am, fucking myself in front of him and he doesn’t give a shit.

Tears prickle my eyes at the realization that I’m making a fool of myself in front of a man who doesn’t want me. Me, Wynter Servite—the stone-cold bitch, the ice princess, a condescending rich girl—am making a fool of myself for a man who refuses to admit he has feelings for me. Because I know he does. There's no denying our connection, but apparently my lies and reluctance to let him in for more than just a second, are too big to let go.

Call me selfish to want him to give me all of him when I refuse to do the same but there’s one big difference between the two. He wasn’t forced to marry a monster out of fear for his life. He wasn’t living in fear for three years, unable to talk to anyone outside of the walls of his prison.

I don’t owe him anything just because he’s doing me a favor. If I wanted to, I could leave, hide out anywhere else in the world but I’m choosing to stay here with him because I want to. Because I refuse to let him act like he doesn’t want the same thing.

I’ve spent too long hiding away from what I truly want. I won’t let him do the same.

But tonight, tonight the embarrassment is too strong.

Pulling my fingers out, I push off the bed to stand, rushing around him to the door. The worst part is he lets me. I slam the door shut before falling to the ground on the other side. Dropping my head in my hands, I let out a silent scream, tears falling down my cheeks as I try my hardest to breathe.

Shame consumes me. All I went through to get him to notice me. The photoshoot, the framed pictures, the lingerie, putting myself out there for him to reject—it’s all too much.

Minutes later the door opens, and I nearly fall back into the room but he’s there, crouched behind me. Cradling me into his arms he lifts me, carrying me over to his bed. I dig my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his delicious scent.

He sets me down on the bed but I don’t let go, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Wyn, please” he murmurs in a painful tone I’ve never heard before. I lift my head to look at him, finding an equally tormented look in his eyes as he takes in my appearance. Red-rimmed eyes, surely puffy from the tears that escaped them, mascara smeared along the edges.

“Just one night, Damon. Please, I just need you tonight.”

“One night won’t ever be enough, baby. You know that. And I can’t go there when there’s so many secrets between us.”

“Why? It’s never been an issue before.”

“This isn’t like before, Princess. You can feel it, I can feel it. Things will never again be the same between us. But this time, we have to do it right, and that means putting it all out there. Both of us. Until you’re ready to do that, I’ll be here for you, every step of the way. But please understand, after everything that’s happened…” He pauses and I understand what he’s failing to say with words. After the betrayal he’s faced in the past, he can’t go through it again. “I can’t live without knowing the truth. When you’re ready baby, I’ll be here. But until then…” He kisses me softly, his lips tasting the tears on mine. “This is all I can give you.”

We lay together silently for what feels like hours. The way he holds me in his arms, my head resting against his chest as it rises and falls with steady breaths. I fear he’s fallen asleep but I can still feel the tension in his body as his arm wraps around my body, his hand resting against my hip. It takes everything in me to not break down, to hold back the tears that ache to flow out like a broken dam, destroying everything in its path as it freaked havoc. Despite everything, I can understand where he's coming from but I can't accept that is our fate.

Gathering the courage to continue fighting for what I want, I run my fingers over his now bare chest.

“What if it’s not enough,” I croak out, trying to mask the worry in my voice.

“Wynter,” he pleads, and I can hear the sorrow in his tone. He’s begging me not to push, not to force his hand. It’s selfish of me to want this so badly when he’s got every right to deny me. In the one being dishonest, I’m the one lying to him and hiding more than I care to admit. Yet here I am asking him to give me everything I don’t deserve. If our roles were reversed, I wouldn’t give up until he was honest with me. I would fight the urge because I know I wouldn’t be able to give him all of me if I didn’t trust him.

But is it really that horrible of a sin to lie, to betray, to deceive when the alternative is so much worse. Discovering the truth wouldn’t just wreck him, it would completely and devastatingly destroy him. Destroy us. I’m not willing to take that chance. This isn’t a game, it’s a dangerous war that I’ve been fighting, one I was forced into and I won’t be the one to pull him in deeper and deposit him in the devil's clutches.

So he can hate me all he wants, but I can’t lose him.

“Damon, please. I need to feel wanted, desired. It’s been so long since I’ve felt worthy of anything. Years of living a lie, of feeling like I’m worthless. Your denial only cements that.” I push aside his worry and creep closer to me, feeling his erection against my core.

He groans, shifting beside me, yet also adjusting himself so he’s completely facing me now. Cupping my hand in his palm he says, “Baby, never think that I don't want you. Because I do.” I feel him grow against me and my pussy throbs in response. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before, but I can’t go there. Not like this.”

I hear him, I really do, but I can’t accept what he’s saying to be true. This feeling, whatever’s grown between us, it’s too much to ignore and set aside. I can’t take it, I won’t be the one to deny us of what this could be just because he suddenly has some morality clause to not fuck me because I’m not being one hundred percent honest with him. I know he’s never done the same for me, and I’m not asking him to be. I won’t put him in that situation because I know it will break him to confide in me. To tell me about his past, the secrets he keeps, the demons who torment him day and night. I’m not sure I even want to know the extent of the darkness that consumes him. I just want him to consume me. To rid me of this ache that intensifies with every heated look in my direction, with every heady breath we take.

Bringing his right hand to my chest, I place it over my beating heart and say, “One night, Damon, please. Just touch me, I’m begging you. It hurts so bad I can’t handle it.”

The pain written on his face intensifies, the battle he’s having with himself so visible now in the way his forehead creases, his lips shut, his jaw clenched tight.

“Princess, do you know how hard it is to deny you. To have you lying here in my arms looking like fucking sin and not able to taste you.” His fingers move higher, mine still over his, creeping across my collar bone before slowly trailing between my breasts till the stop at the waistband of my thong. “To touch you…” Each syllable elicits a moan from me as his fingers continue to move. “Tease you, please you in so many ways. All to hear your soft moans, just like that, to feel you come apart.”

“Then have me Damon. I’m yours to claim, yours to maim. All I need is to be yours. Please, I need to call you mine even if it’s in secret, even if it’s temporary…” I pause, my throat so dry I can feel the burn deep in my chest. Like a lump of coal that’s being ignited by the lighter fluid coursing through my veins. My eyes connect with his and I can see my reflection in the clear green of his irises. As if I’m staring into a mirror I can see the pain written on my face, mixed with a hopeful look in my eyes, but I’m equally terrified that all this pleading won’t be enough. I reach for him, gently running my fingers over the scruff on his chin. “Even if it’s a lie. Be mine Damon, just for tonight. Let me call you mine.”

Slowly he shifts us so that I’m lying flat on my back, my head resting against one of his pillows as he straddles me. I’m so turned on I’m practically coming apart with just the feel of his body over mine. God, I’m putty in this man’s hands. What is to become of me when he finally touches me?

Resting his hands on either side of my head, he lowers his lips to mine, softly grazing them without so much as a word. Just when I think he’s going in for a kiss, as I’m about to reach for him, he turns away, scooting lower and lower until his face leveled with my pussy.

Allowing my legs to fall open, he shifts between them, his arms scooping under my legs while his hands press against my thighs keeping them apart. He’s inches away from me, his hot breath tickling my skin as he leans forward and speaks against the flimsy fabric of my thong.

“One time, Wynter,” he whispers, deep and gravelly, “I’ll allow myself to break my resolve this one time and that’s it.” He licks his lips, barely grazing my center as he does and I nearly come apart, moaning into the air. Thick, tempting lips turn up at the corners, his smirk so wicked it makes me quiver beneath him. “Only because you look so fucking good in this,” he says, reaching for the bodice of my corset, “And I can’t handle the way you’re looking at me like I’m denying you the air you need to breathe.”

I shake my head, at least I think I do, but I’m currently floating amongst the clouds in the sky so I’m not entirely sure I even move. “I need you Damon, more than I need air to breathe.”

Reaching for the small strip of fabric covering my pussy, he pushes it to the side, his eyes going dark with desire as he stares at me. I’m wet, so fucking wet.

“What is this?” he asks, his eyes instantly gleaming with lust as he stares at the silver little barbell on my clit—the Isabella piercing I got a while ago but haven’t ever been able to experience properly.

Suddenly self-conscious, I turn away from his teasing gaze and that smirk that makes me weak. “I got it a few years ago after a drunken night out with a few girls I met in New York,” I say, feeling a warm heat creep up my neck. “One of them wanted to get it and she dared us to do it with her. Only both other girls dared me to go first and then they both backed out at the last minute.”

The way his eyes hungrily take it in, I know he's wondering why he didn’t feel it the last time he touched me.

“I had removed it about a month ago but it didn’t close. When I was out at the boutique a few weeks ago, I saw this one and I put it back in.”

Without warning, he pulls the center of my thong to the side. “You did this on purpose didn’t you, Princess? You knew the moment I saw it I wouldn't be able to resist.” I gasp when he plants a soft kiss on my aching lips.

The soft touch is enough to make me quiver once again, my body aching for more, begging him for more. For all he’s willing to give me this once. Lowering his tongue to my clit, he licks, massaging me with his tongue and working against my clit. I’m so wet, so ready for him but he’s enjoying himself, stroking me slowly before his movement quickens, only to once again slow down. It’s a teasing game he’s playing, one I’m not sure I’ll win. But his mouth is on me, his hands against my skin, so I’d call this a win.

Now that he knows the piercing is there he’s giving it attention, stroking his tongue against it and the sensation is exhilarating. I knew it would stimulate me even more, increase the pleasurable feeling of sex with a man and even by my hand, but it never felt this good. It’s why I took it out. I wasn’t sleeping with anyone, and when I’d get myself off it only hurt that much more to remember I would never have a man make me feel this good again.

But when I saw the cute little silver ring, Damon was the first thing to pop into my mind. His reaction to seeing it, I knew it would help my cause. And I’m so fucking glad I got it.

“Fuck, Damon,” I moan, my hips raising off the bed as I spread my legs further apart. He continues to stroke his tongue through my lips, tearing my thong from my body in a swift tug and tossing it on the floor behind him. He feels incredibly between my legs, his scruff rubbing against my inner thighs, hopeful marking them red, marking them his.

“You’re fucking perfect Wyn.” Now with full access to my bare pussy, he doesn’t stop indulging me as he sucks and laps, sucking my clit into his mouth as he eats me like I’m his last and favorite meal. Bringing his fingers down to meet my lips he inserts one as he takes my clit between his teeth and tugs.

I arch my back as I shudder. “Oh God, fuck, yes!” I cry out, “Please I want you inside me.”

His free hand moves up my stomach to grope my breast. Pulling my top down, he cups one in his palm, swirling his thumb around my nipple. Pinching them between his fingers, he tugs on the sensitive nub, his fingers moving faster inside me as his tongue works me to the edge.

“Oh my God, ahh. Damon, fuck. I…It’s too good, I won’t last,” I moan, unable to hold on much longer. It's been so long since he’s touched me, so long since anyone has touched me, been inside me. “God, I’ve missed this, missed you. Please, I need to come Damon, make me come.”

The sound that comes from deep within his chest is so raw and beastlike, I almost have to make sure it’s coming from him and now a wild animal that’s suddenly snuck into the room.

“I’ve fucking missed this pussy, Princess.” He kisses me, hungrily sucking and pushing to the edge me over and over till I’m there ready to come in his mouth, over his fingers, anywhere just for him.

“I’m, ahh, fuck I need to.”

“Come for me, Princess,” he demands between strokes, “I need to fucking taste you. Come on my fucking tongue, Wynter, now!”

I throw my head back in ecstasy, and his wish is my command. I come apart, my body trembling against him, my pussy clenching around his tongue as he sucks every bit of my arousal. I’m gone, my head in the clouds, my body levitating and reveling in euphoria. It’s at that exact moment, as my body shudders, my pussy immediately pulsating with need once again, that I realize it doesn’t matter what we do or don’t do. I’m already his and there’s no going back.

Instead of tugging his pants off like I hoped he would, thrusting his hard and throbbing cock into me like I ached for him to, he reaches over me, placing a soft kiss against my lips before standing and walking out of the room, leaving me there exposed, expecting, and so fucking exasperated.

A small crack in the resolve he’s wearing like armor yet he held back. Damon’s still not mine, and now, as I lay here alone in his bed, weeping like I wasn’t just the happiest I’ve ever been moments ago, I’m not sure he’ll ever be.