Damon’s POV:
I wasn't thinking with my head. At least, not the one on top.
My d**k was as hard as a rock, straining against the fabric of my trousers with a relentless, throbbing pressure. I had tried to ease the tension—twice—but it was no use. The relief was a drop of water in an ocean of fire. My Ruts were usually bearable, but this? This was something else. It was unbearable.
Even from three stories down, before she’d even stepped foot near my wing, I’d been able to smell her. The lychee, damask rose and that underlying, sweet musk of a female in heat. It was so potent it felt like she was doing this on purpose.
How could she not be? She knew exactly what I was going through, yet she chose to walk right up to my door, dressed in almost nothing, spreading pheromones, basically screa
