Page 19

nineteen

Lucy

I really was studying marketing. As soon as I got back from the university, I opened my laptop and tried to refresh myself with my old Powerpoints and essays, but my mind was still reeling from my run-in with Megan.

The only thing that could quell both my anxiety and nausea was thinking about Damien. Thinking about fucking Damien. Thinking about how to please him because I feel guilty about having to lie to him about talking with my older sister.

Oddly enough, finding ways to give him the perfect blow job was both distracting and arousing.

Look, I’ve watched my fair share of porn. A lot of it actually.

But then I met Damien when I was eighteen.

And then I bought a vibrator.

And then I didn’t need porn anymore because pleasuring myself to the thought of my sister’s current husband at the time was enough for me. It was risky, forbidden, taboo. Everything that porn couldn’t really provide.

And it’s been enough for me for nearly seven years.

But after today, I realized that apart from the actual act of fucking, or really even that, I’m inexperienced. This man is both rich and gorgeous. He’s probably been with countless beautiful women before and after my sister. And although that knowledge fills me with a jealous rage, it also fuels me.

To do better. To be better, for him.

Even though I have every reason not to be.

But with the way he’s looking down at me now, with his thumb tracing the outline of my lips, I want to be every perfect thing for him. I want to make him forget every woman before me, including my sister.

Especially my sister.

I’ve been ignored my entire life, until now. Feeling ignored can leave a deep, aching emptiness. It’s as if your presence doesn’t matter, your voice is lost in the void, and your value is overlooked. When you start to believe you’re not good enough, it’s like carrying an invisible weight that drags your spirit down. The pain of thinking you’re not worth anyone’s attention or respect cuts through the core of your self-esteem. It’s a harsh, isolating experience that can make even the strongest person question their worth. I’ve been questioning my worth since I was a little girl.

Which can be an intense inner battle. Doubt creeps in and whispers that you don’t measure up, despite your accomplishments and strengths. I’ve always found myself comparing everything to my sister, amplifying feelings of inadequacy. I wasn’t thin like Megan. Wasn’t smart like Megan. Wasn’t good like Megan. And every attempt I made to measure up to her was worthless.

My parents never cared. No one did.

It’s as if every effort was met with skepticism, and every success felt like a fluke. This constant internal questioning overshadowed the unique talents and qualities I could’ve had, I should’ve had.

But right now, I don’t feel like a comparison to my sister, oddly enough.

I feel seen, I feel desired.

And when Damien unzips his pants, when he unveils his hardened length that now presses against my lip, when he tilts his head back and moans just from that small movement, I don’t feel inadequate. I’ve succeeded in one thing.

I’ve driven Damien Reed wild.

He cups my jaw still and I can’t help but smile before I open my mouth and drag my tongue slowly up and down his length. He hisses in response, which only makes me do it again and again. I don’t follow what any of the articles said or what the porn showed, I just feel the moment. I feel him.

So when I wrap my hand around his hard length and suck him slowly into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat, I know all I can do is lean into his hold. I can only feel his body, and listen to what he likes. I can let him guide my movements and please him in the way that I feel is appropriate.

“Fucking good girl,” he hisses and I beam beneath him as I start to suck him harder and faster, drinking down his essence for all it’s worth,.

Years of longing can create a powerful, almost palpable tension. For me, every moment without knowing what his touch would be like felt like an eternity. Would he moan for me? Would he tilt his head back and sigh my name because my own touch felt too good?

He is right now.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t dream about moments like this with Damien Reed. I have. I’ve dreamt of the day when I could finally feel the warmth of his skin, the strength of his hands. The taste of his cock. Each passing year only deepened my desire, making the thought of him almost unbearable.

But, here I am now.

The forbidden and unthinkable happening before me.

He starts to twitch when I swirl his cock with my tongue, shaking harder when I start to gag and let saliva pool from my mouth. It’s messy and unlike me, but he makes me defy all odds. Us together, right now, is defying all odds. And judging by the heated look in his eyes when he gazes into my own, I can tell he likes me like this.

He’s fucking obsessed with me like this. I can see it all over his beautiful, contorted face. But just when I think he’s about to come, he pulls away. It all happens fast, I don’t have time to protest or question his motives because he’s unbuckling the rest of my belt and ripping it from my jeans. He lays it on the bed and pushes me backwards.

“Lay down,” he barks, a rushed command. It sounds needy. He looks needy.

I do exactly what he says and he stalks me then, his knees touching the bed as his own hand circles his cock. I start to grow unbearably wet from the sight.

“Touch yourself. Show me how you please your body,” he growls and I start to grow nervous, but an excited kind of nervous.

I’d rather have him do this, but the thought of Damien stroking himself to the image of me playing with myself has me unbuttoning my jeans and sliding my hand inside. He frowns and his free hand pulls on my jeans, lowering them to where my boots stop at my knees. I move my thong to the side and circle my clit, gathering enough wetness to start playing before him, just as he asked.

He watches me the entire time. His length somehow continues to extend and his muscles bulge in his arm as he strokes harder and harder. I’m speechless from the sight, from the sensation of it all.

He’s leaning forward, gripping my bare thigh as my feet dangle off the bed with my jeans and boots slipping down to my ankles. He’s bent over and stroking his cock furiously as he watches me play with myself, as I moan and gasp and arch my back from the intensity of this moment.

“Tell me what you think of when you touch this pussy,” he growls and I shudder from his rough voice.

I don’t know why I grow shy then, but I do. Maybe because I don’t want to admit the truth to him. Maybe because he already knows. He knows I’m both guilty and pathetic for lusting after him for so long when I shouldn’t have.

“Tell me, Lucy,” he barks and I bite down on my lip as an orgasm threatens to overtake me.

I shake my head at him, but it doesn’t last long because his hand moves from my thigh to wrap tightly around my throat. My mouth gapes open as he presses against my pulse, as he leans closer so that his cock is now touching my circling fingers.

“Say it. Now,” he growls and for some stupid reason, tears form in my eyes.

“You!” I shout. My bottom lip is wobbling in defeat and he looks at me so intently, so thoroughly, I might turn to ash right here from the fire of his gaze.

“I think about you. I always have. Every time,” I admit, feeling hopeless. Feeling embarrassed and young and stupid.

I don’t know what I was thinking.

I’m not some strong and empowered woman. I am still that same stupid girl lusting after a man that’s been with supermodels. That’s been with her older sister.

I just admitted that he’s been my fantasy for the last seven years and I’ve never felt more pathetic.

My hands stop and I try to pull away from him, but he pins my wrists down above my head with his other hand as he clasps tighter around my throat.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re mine now, don’t you get it?” He growls, sounding possessive, sounding pleased.

I can feel his power fill the room. I definitely feel it when he grabs my belt and loops it around my wrists so that he can release me. And when he does, he stands tall and drops his pants to the floor, his cock still hard and pulsing. He rips his shirt from his body and the evening sun that peeks through the penthouse window of my bedroom illuminates his tan, muscled torso. He’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.

He tears my boots away from my legs and throws them on the floor before he rips the jeans clean off my body. For a second, he bends down, retrieving something from his pants. When he stands back up and leans over me, I see the gleam of a knife before he starts to cut my shirt, and then my lace bra away from my body.

I inhale sharply, daring not to move.

He watches me.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, and I shake my head at him.

I’m not. I’m not afraid.

In fact, I’m strangely excited.

“Every time, huh?” he whispers, dragging the knife lightly up my sternum before he brings it to my lips.

I nod and I feel his groan as it leaves his lips.

He likes it. He likes that I’ve touched myself to him for years. He doesn’t find it immature or laughable or ridiculous, he finds it hot.

I want to ask him too, but I know he won’t answer. I don’t bother wasting the words.

He presses the blade to my bottom lip and I feel the blood pool out, only slightly. My breath catches in my throat when he leans forward, his hazel eyes locked with mine as he licks the blood from my lip and swallows it down.

I don’t have to ask him if he’s thought of me too, if he stroked himself to the image of me. I don’t have to because I can see it on his face. Right there, I see it.

I’ve thought of you too, Lucy.

You’ve plagued me too,

Maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe I’m so caught up in the moment or so fucking delusional that I’m imagining his need for me, but I don’t want to face this very probable truth.

I want to live in this fantasy world with him. Where I feel seen, where I feel wanted.

He brings the knife down to my throat again, resting the tip of the blade near my pulse. I don’t move. I just let him kneel on the bed and drag my knees open so that I’m open and bare to him. The cool air hits my wetness and I sigh. He bites down on his lip as he watches me.

“You’re mine, you know,” he growls, his cock touching my inner thigh. It’s wet too. He’s wet for me too.

“You have been. Well before you signed that contract. You’ve been mine since the first night you touched this pussy to the thought of me, Lucille Fairchild,” he growls, and I gasp.

He’s right.

He’s so fucking right and it hurts.

“You keep ruining my clothes,” I say as he snaps my thong in half.

He shakes his head with a smirk, his knife still at my throat as he settles between my bent legs.

“I’ll buy you new clothes,” he says.

He sinks into me with one big thrust. I’m so wet that he slides effortlessly. He grabs my knee and wraps it around his pumping waist with one hand while he continues to press the knife to my throat with the other.

I’m going to come hard and fast, and that should make me feel sick.

This kind of thing should terrify me. It should be flaring my PTSD from that awful night he saved me from years ago, but it doesn’t. Instead, it frees me.

Because Damien is the one tempting me, pushing me, pleasing me. He brings the ache just enough to soothe it. And he will not do anything to injure me or cause me physical harm.

Because even though he’s got a knife pressed to my throat, even though he’s threatened to kill me, I know I’m safe. I know he won’t hurt me.

Because he beat a man to death for me. He killed a man for me. He licks me to completion every night before I fall asleep and he fucks me like I’m the last woman on Earth.

This man would never do anything to harm me. Not physically.

No, Damien Reed is going to kill me by heartbreak. And that’s the only thing that I have to worry about.

“I’m going to come,” I whisper, my breath shaky as it comes out in puffs.

He fucks me harder.

“Come all over this cock, baby,” he growls, his hips stuttering. I know he’s seconds away from coming too.

“Tell me it’s mine. Tell me I fucking own it,” he growls out and I start to shake uncontrollably as I cry out.

“It’s yours!” I say as I start to gush all over him, my heart pounding in my ears as I come with an intensity I’ve yet to discover. “It’s always been yours,” I sob.

Tears start to pool in my eyes as millions of emotions start to flood through me, I turn my head to bury my gaze in my arm so he doesn’t see. All the while, he continues to thrust into me. Until he drops the knife to the floor. Until he drags me up by my lower back with one hand, my shoulders still against the bed as I slink like a cat. Until his other hand places itself over my pounding heart. Until he roars my name and comes inside of me with a force I’ve never known.

He was right after all.

He owns me.

But he doesn’t just own my body or my heart.

Now, he owns my soul too.