Page 46 of Client Privilege

“More than okay,” I assured him, running my fingers through his hair, marvelling at its softness.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and slowly, reverently, drew the fabric down. Cool air hit my heated skin, making me shiver as my cock sprang free, already hard and leaking. I fought the instinct to cover myself, to hide from his gaze.

“Alex,” he breathed, looking up at me with something like awe. “ You’re exquisite.”

Before I could respond, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my hip bone, then the other, then the sensitive skin below my navel. Each touch of his lips was like a brand, marking me as something precious.

“Damian,” I gasped when his breath ghosted over my cock. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, looking up at me with darkened eyes. “If you’ll let me.”

I nodded, unable to form words as he wrapped one hand around the base of my cock. The first touch of his tongue against the sensitive head sent a jolt of pleasure through me so intense my knees nearly buckled.

“Oh god,” I moaned as he took me into the wet heat of his mouth.

His other hand steadied me, splayed across my hip as he worked me with exquisite precision.

He took his time, exploring what made me gasp, what made me moan, what made my fingers tighten in his hair.

When he hollowed his cheeks and took me deeper, I had to close my eyes against the overwhelming sensation.

Just as I felt myself approaching the edge too quickly, he pulled back, pressing a final kiss to the tip before rising to his feet. His lips were reddened, his hair dishevelled where my fingers had clutched it, and he had never looked more beautiful.

“I don’t want this to end too soon,” he explained, his voice deliciously rough.

I reached for the waistband of his boxers, suddenly desperate to see all of him. “My turn,” I said, surprised by my own boldness.

He helped me push the fabric down his legs, and when he straightened, I couldn’t help but stare.

Damian naked was a revelation—all lean muscle and elegant lines, his cock thick and heavy between his legs.

I reached out, wrapping my fingers around his length, marvelling at the velvet-soft skin over rigid hardness .

“Fuck,” he breathed, his composure slipping for the first time as his hips jerked involuntarily into my touch.

The raw need in his voice sent a thrill through me. I stroked him slowly, watching his face as pleasure transformed his features. His breathing grew ragged, and he reached down to still my hand.

“If you keep that up, this will be over embarrassingly quickly,” he admitted with a strained laugh.

He guided me onto the bed, his weight settling beside rather than over me. His hands explored my body with careful attention, as if memorizing every curve and plane. When his fingers brushed over my nipples, I gasped at the sharp spike of pleasure.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against my skin before lowering his mouth to replace his fingers.

The wet heat of his tongue made me arch off the bed, a moan escaping my lips. He circled one nipple slowly, deliberately, before drawing it between his teeth with the gentlest pressure. My hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as I held him closer.

“Damian,” I breathed, my voice hardly recognizable to my own ears.

He looked up, his eyes dark with desire but still attentive. “Too much?”

I shook my head quickly. “Not enough.”

A smile curved his lips before he turned his attention to my other nipple, lavishing it with the same exquisite care. His hand drifted lower, tracing the ridges of my ribs, the hollow of my navel, before settling on my hip. His thumb traced circles there, each one sending shivers across my skin.

I’d forgotten it could be like this—unhurried, attentive, a conversation between bodies rather than a demand. Or perhaps I’d never known it could be this way at all.

Damian worked his way down my body, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites that had me writhing beneath him. He paused at my hip bones, nuzzling the sensitive skin there before glancing up at me, a question in his eyes.

“May I taste you again?” he asked, his breath hot against my inner thigh.

The formal phrasing, so characteristic of him even now, made me smile even as desire pooled heavy and urgent in my belly. “Please,” I managed to say.

The first touch of his tongue was like lightning striking through me.

He traced the length of my cock with agonizing slowness before taking me into his mouth once more.

This time, his fingers joined the exploration, tracing patterns on my inner thighs, cupping my balls with gentle pressure, drifting lower to circle my entrance with teasing lightness.

When his fingers traced the scars on my ribs—reminders of that final, terrible night with Marcus—I tensed involuntarily. Damian immediately stilled, lifting his head to meet my eyes.

“We can stop,” he said again, his voice gentle despite the flush of desire on his skin.

I shook my head. “No. I want this. I want you.” I took a deep breath. “It’s just… the scars…”

“Are part of you,” he finished. “Part of your strength.” He leaned down and pressed the gentlest of kisses against the largest scar. “You survived. You fought back. You won.”

Tears pricked my eyes at his words, at the reverence in his touch.

I pulled him up to kiss him deeply, pouring everything I couldn’t yet say into the connection between us.

I tasted myself on his tongue, and rather than finding it strange, there was something profoundly intimate about the mingling of flavours.

Without breaking our kiss, he reached toward his nightstand drawer and retrieved a bottle of lube. The small, everyday sound of the cap clicking open made this moment real in a way that sent a fresh wave of desire through me.

“How do you want this?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against my lips.

The question—so simple yet so profound in its respect for my agency—nearly undid me. “I want to feel you inside me,” I whispered. “I want to see your face.”

He nodded, his expression solemn despite the flush of desire on his cheeks. “Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good, or if you want to stop.”

“I will,” I promised, and meant it.

His hand slid between my legs, fingers circling my entrance with careful pressure. The cool slickness of the lube made me gasp, but his touch was so gentle, so patient, that any momentary discomfort quickly faded.

He slicked his fingers and the first one slid inside me with careful precision. I gasped at the intrusion—not from pain but from the exquisite care he took. He watched my face intently, gauging my reaction, adjusting his approach based on the smallest change in my expression.

“More,” I encouraged, pressing down against his hand.

When he added a second finger, stretching me slowly, I moaned his name. The slight burn gave way to pleasure as he worked me open with maddening patience.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rough with desire. “Let me hear you.”

His fingers curled inside me, finding that spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids. “Oh god, Damian—there, right there.”

He stroked over it again and again, each pass sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. My cock leaked against my stomach, untouched but achingly hard. When his thumb pressed against my perineum while his fingers stroked inside me, I nearly came undone.

“Please,” I begged, past pride or hesitation. “I need you inside me now.”

He withdrew his fingers and reached back toward the nightstand drawer. “Should I use a condom?” he asked, his voice strained but still focused on my comfort and safety.

I caught his wrist, stopping him. “No,” I said, surprising myself with my certainty. “I want to feel all of you inside me. I want nothing between us.” The words felt significant, loaded with meaning beyond just the physical act.

His eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide with desire. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I whispered. “I trust you, Damian.”

The weight of those three words hung between us, both of us knowing how monumental it was for me to say them.

He nodded, visibly moved, and slicked his cock generously with lube before positioning himself between my legs. He hooked one of my legs over his arm, opening me further, and used his other hand to guide himself to my entrance.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

I met his gaze as he pressed forward slowly, the blunt head of his cock breaching me with careful pressure. The stretch and burn made me gasp, but it was a welcome sensation—a reminder that this was real, that I was choosing this.

“Still okay?” he whispered, his arms trembling with the effort of holding back.

“More than okay,” I breathed, wrapping my legs around him to draw him deeper.

He sank into me inch by inch, pausing whenever my breath hitched to let me adjust. When he was fully seated, our bodies joined completely, he remained still, his forehead pressed against mine, our breath mingling .

“You feel incredible,” he murmured. “So tight, so perfect around me.”

The fullness was overwhelming—not just physically but emotionally. To be joined this way with someone who saw me, who respected me, who wanted me as I was rather than what I could be moulded into—it was almost too much to bear.

“Move,” I urged, rolling my hips to encourage him. “Please, Damian.”

When he began to move, it was with long, deep strokes that made me feel every inch of him. The drag of his cock against my inner walls sent sparks of pleasure up my spine. I clutched at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as the sensation built inside me.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed against my neck. “So beautiful like this.”

His words, the reverence in his voice, heightened every physical sensation. Each thrust seemed to reach deeper, touch something more fundamental within me. When he shifted slightly, changing the angle, he hit that spot inside me that made my vision blur.