Chapter 5 No Turning Back

Elara

The chaise leather was cool against my back, but my skin burned everywhere he touched.

Blindfold gone, I could see him clearly now-Damian-kneeling between my spread thighs, shirt unbuttoned, chest rising and falling hard. Sweat glistened on his collarbone, silver hair at his temples damp. His cock was still hard inside me, thick and pierced, pulsing with the aftershocks of his release. The condom was warm, full. He hadn't pulled out yet.

He looked down at me like I was something he'd hunted and finally caught.

"You're shaking," he said quietly.

I was. My legs trembled around his hips, inner muscles fluttering around him in tiny, helpless spasms. I couldn't stop them. Couldn't stop anything.

"I-" My voice cracked. I didn't know what to say.

He leaned down, forearms braced on either side of my head, caging me without crushing me. His mouth brushed mine-soft this time. Almost gentle.

Almost.

"You came so hard," he murmured against my lips. "Screaming my name. Begging."

Heat rushed to my face. Shame and arousal twisted together until I couldn't tell them apart.

"I didn't beg," I whispered. Lie.

He smiled-slow, dark, knowing. "You did. And you'll do it again."

He shifted his hips-just enough to remind me he was still buried deep. The piercing nudged that sensitive spot inside, sending a fresh jolt through me. I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Sensitive?" he asked, voice rough with satisfaction.

I nodded, biting my lip.

"Good." He pulled out slowly-agonizingly slow-letting me feel every inch, every ridge of the barbell dragging along my walls. When he slipped free, I whimpered at the sudden emptiness. My pussy clenched around nothing, slick and swollen.

He peeled off the condom, tied it, tossed it aside. Then he stood-tall, naked, magnificent. Cock still semi-hard, glistening, the piercing catching the low light.

"Up," he said.

My legs didn't want to obey, but I pushed myself to sitting. The room spun for a second.

He offered his hand. I took it. He pulled me to my feet-steady, possessive.

"Walk to the window."

I hesitated.

"Now, Elara."

I walked. Naked. Heels still on. The marble was cold under my feet. The city sprawled beyond the glass-rain still falling, lights blurred, indifferent to what was happening thirty floors up.

He came up behind me. Pressed his chest to my back. His cock-hard again-nestled against the curve of my ass.

"Look at yourself," he ordered.

I did.

My reflection stared back: hair wild, lips swollen, neck marked with bites and hickeys, breasts flushed, nipples tight, thighs slick with my own arousal and his.

He slid one arm around my waist. The other hand cupped my breast, thumb circling the nipple.

"You're beautiful when you're ruined," he whispered in my ear. "And I'm going to ruin you again."

His fingers trailed down my stomach. Lower. Parted my folds. Found my clit-swollen, oversensitive.

I jolted.

"Too much?" he asked, almost tenderly.

I shook my head. Lie again.

He circled slowly. Teasing. Building.

My hips rocked back against him instinctively.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

I swallowed. "Touch me."

"More specific."

"Inside me."

He pushed two fingers in-deep, curling. His thumb stayed on my clit.

I moaned, forehead pressing to the cool glass.

"Look at the city," he said. "Imagine them watching. Knowing you're up here, naked, dripping, letting a stranger fuck you senseless."

The thought sent a dark thrill through me. Shame. Excitement. I clenched around his fingers.

"You like that idea," he growled. "Being watched. Being claimed."

"No-"

"Yes."

He added a third finger. Stretched me. Pumped slow and deep.

My breath fogged the glass.

"Come on my fingers," he commanded. "Show me how much you need this."

I did-fast, shattering-knees buckling. He held me up, fingers never stopping, drawing out every tremor until I was sobbing against the window.

When I went limp, he turned me around. Kissed me-hard, claiming.

Then he lifted me again. Carried me to the dining table-long, black, gleaming.

Laid me on my back. Spread my legs wide. Stepped between them.

No condom this time.

My eyes widened.

"Damian-"

"I'm clean," he said. "Tested last month. You?"

"I-yes. Birth control. But-"

He leaned over me. "I want to feel you. All of you. No barriers."

I should have said no.

Instead, I wrapped my legs around his waist.

He pushed in-bare, hot, thick, pierced.

The difference was immediate. Intense. No latex. Just skin on skin. The piercing rubbed deeper, hotter, more intimate.

I cried out-half pleasure, half overwhelm.

He groaned; low, broken. "Fuck... so good."

He started moving-slow at first. Letting me feel every inch, every drag of the barbell. Then faster. Harder.

The table creaked under us.

He fucked me like he was trying to imprint himself inside me-deep, relentless, hips slamming.

One hand pinned my wrists above my head. The other played with my nipples-pinching, twisting-sending sparks straight to where we joined.

I came again-screaming, clenching around him, milking him.

He didn't stop.

Kept going.

Until he buried himself deep with a guttural roar-coming hot and thick inside me, pulsing, filling me.

We stayed like that-panting, locked together.

He kissed my forehead. Soft. Unexpected.

"You're staying tonight," he said. Not a question.

I didn't answer.

I didn't need to.

Because when he finally pulled out-slow, careful-his release trickled down my thigh.

He looked at it. Smiled.

"Mine," he whispered.

And for the first time, I didn't argue.

I just closed my eyes.

Let the darkness take me.

Knowing-deep in my bones-that tomorrow morning, when I woke up in his bed, in his tower, marked and filled and claimed-

There would be no running.

No escape.

No turning back.