Page 32 of Curvy Cabin Fever

ARIA

I barely make it off the stairs before Damien grabs me.

He doesn’t speak—he just grabs my waist and spins me to face him. His mouth crashes into mine, hard and hungry, his hands already sliding down my ass, squeezing hard, claiming and owning me.

I moan into his mouth, my fingers tangling in the front of his jacket. He kisses with raw purpose—no hesitation, no room to breathe, just pure need.

He breaks the kiss with a growl, lips slick and swollen, eyes wild.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he rasps, voice rough like gravel.

“Then do something about it,” I breathe, my audacity surprising even me.

I shouldn’t poke the beast.

Something flashes across his face, and I can’t work out if it’s that I’m a challenge, his hunger, or determination.

Then he grabs me again and hauls me up into his arms like I weigh nothing, which is difficult to do. My back hits the wall just outside the bedroom door. His mouth finds my throat, biting just hard enough to make me gasp, then soothing the sting with his tongue.

“You want it rough, baby?” His voice is low, threatening in the most delicious way. “You sure?”

“Yes,” I gasp, my head falling back against the wall. “Yes, Damien. I want you to lose control.”

That’s all it takes.

He kicks open the bedroom door and tosses me on the bed. Not gently. Not cruelly. Just…like he can’t fucking wait to have me. Like one more second of waiting might kill him.

I bounce against the mattress, breathless, watching as he tears off his jacket and throws it to the floor.

His flannel follows, then his shirt—muscle after muscle exposed in the flickering light from the window.

A roadmap of scars I want to trace with my tongue.

His body is a weapon. And it’s all mine.

“Clothes. Off. Now .”

The order sends a pulse through me, straight between my legs. I scramble to obey, stripping fast—my sweater, my leggings, everything tossed to the floor. My hands shake, fumbling with my bra clasp.

He’s on me before I’m even fully undressed, grabbing my thighs and dragging me to the edge of the bed. I feel the cool air on my heated skin, feel his eyes burning into every inch he uncovers.

“Lie back. Legs open. Hands above your head.”

His voice is pure command. No room for argument.

I do it.

Damien kneels between my thighs and just stares at me for a second. His eyes devour my body like he’s seeing me for the first time—drinking in every curve, every freckle, every goosebump. There’s something almost reverent in his gaze, despite the violence in his hands.

Then he spits into his palm and strokes his cock once—hard, thick, flushed, and angry. My breath catches at the sight. He’s bigger than I remember, or maybe it’s just the hunger in his eyes making everything about him seem more intense.

He doesn’t ease in.

He drives into me with one brutal, perfect thrust that knocks the air out of my lungs.

“Fuck,” I cry out, arching off the bed, my fingers clutching at nothing.

He doesn’t stop or give me time to adjust.

He pounds into me like he’s trying to ruin me for every other man alive.

And God, it works.

My body clenches around him, slick and aching, taking everything he gives and still begging for more.

“You think I didn’t hear you?” he growls, his hips snapping forward with each word. “Every fucking sound you made with them. You think I didn’t want to tear the walls down and drag you out by your hair?”

“Damien—”

“You’re mine , Aria. You understand me?” His hand finds my jaw, tilting my face so I have to look at him. “Say it.”

“Yes,” I whimper, tears blurring my eyes from the intensity, from the pleasure so sharp it borders on pain. “I’m yours.”

He slows for just a second, hips grinding deep instead of fast. His thumb brushes my cheek—one soft thing in a storm of sharp edges.

“I don’t share like they do,” he says, his voice a dangerous rumble. “I let you go because you want them. But right now?” His next thrust is punishing. “This is mine.”

He reaches down and wraps his fingers around my throat—not tight, just enough pressure to make my whole body light up with adrenaline and desire.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” I pant, my hips rising to meet his. “Harder.”

He squeezes a little, just enough to make the edges of my vision swim, dragging his other hand down between us to rub rough circles over my clit.

“I’m gonna break you,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.

“Then do it,” I challenge, and I feel him smile against my neck before his teeth sink into my skin.

His thrusts get harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes off the walls, but all I can hear is him—his breath in my ear, his voice like gravel and sin.

“I’m gonna fill this cunt,” he growls. “Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

I moan, clawing at the sheets.

“You want that, baby?” he pants. “You want me to come inside you, fill you?”

“Yes—yes, Damien?—”

“I’ll put a baby in you,” he snarls, hand tightening on my hip. “Make you mine in every fucking way. That what you want?”

More than anything in the world.

“Fuck—yes, yes, give it to me?—”

“Good girl. You’re gonna take all of it. Gonna carry my baby. Show everyone who you belong to.”

And then he comes, thick and deep and endless, groaning into my shoulder like he’s branding me from the inside out.

He fucks me with everything he’s got. No gentleness, no restraint—just sweat and skin and fire.

The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, the bed frame creaking beneath us.

A dark, primal part of me hopes Morgan and Rhett can hear us—I want them to know that right now, I belong to Damien alone.

I come screaming, my nails digging into his shoulders, my body shattering around him. The orgasm rips through me like a storm, tearing down every defense, leaving me raw and open.

But he doesn’t stop.

He flips me over without warning, yanking my hips up and slamming back into me from behind. One hand tangles in my hair, pulling just hard enough to arch my spine, while the other grips my hip with bruising force.

“Look how well you take me,” he groans, voice strained with the effort of holding back. “So fucking perfect. Made for this. Made for me.”

I sob into the pillow, overwhelmed by sensation, by emotion, by the way he fills me so deeply.

And then I come again—harder than ever before.

My entire body convulses, clenching around him, tears streaming down my face. I’ve never felt anything like this—this complete surrender, this total obliteration of self. It’s terrifying. It’s beautiful.

“That’s it,” he rasps, his rhythm faltering. “Give it all to me.”

He doesn’t stop until he’s done—until he’s spilled inside me again with a broken moan, his hands branding my skin, his teeth at my shoulder, his whole body shaking with the force of his release. I feel him pulse inside me, filling me, marking me as his in the most primal way possible.

For a minute, neither of us moves.

We just breathe.

Like we forgot how and are remembering together.

Then he collapses beside me and drags me into his chest, one strong arm wrapped around my waist, the other stroking my hair away from my damp face. His heartbeat thunders against my back, gradually slowing as we lie there in the aftermath.

“You okay?” he mutters into my hair, his voice gentler now, almost uncertain.

I nod.

Barely.

My whole body feels like liquid, like I might dissolve into the sheets.

“Was that too much?” he asks, quieter now, and I hear the vulnerability beneath the question.

“No,” I whisper, turning in his arms to face him. I trace the sharp line of his jaw with trembling fingers. “It was exactly what I needed.”

Something softens in his expression before he catches my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. Then he pulls the blanket over us both and tucks me tighter against his chest.

“You're still mine,” he states, and there’s no question in it this time, just certainty.

And I smile.

Because I never wanted to be anything else.