THE GOLD IN HER SKIN

Gave It All

The suite was quiet except for the hush of waves beyond the open terrace, their rhythm echoing the tension between two bodies trying not to devour each other too fast. Damian stood across from her, shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes fixed like a man watching his reason for breathing step toward him—barefoot, barefoot and brazen.

Zina’s silk robe slid halfway off her shoulder as she approached. Her lips parted, her breath shallow, but her steps steady.

She hadn’t come all this way to hesitate.

Damian didn’t touch her at first. His chest rose and fell as though he was anchoring himself. Then he reached out and caught the edge of her robe. His fingers were trembling slightly—not from nerves, but reverence.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

Zina’s eyes met his, blazing. “So are you.”

She let him pull the robe apart slowly. No resistance. No flinching. Beneath it, her skin shimmered like honeyed bronze under moonlight, and the sharp lines of her collarbone, the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist—they demanded worship.

He stepped closer, eyes dark and drowning, and kissed her—not with gentleness, but with need.

Raw, aching need.

The kiss spiraled into hunger, hands running over skin that had been hidden too long. She pushed his shirt off. He tugged her robe from her arms. And in seconds, the air between them turned feral.

But Damian paused. He looked into her eyes again. His voice broke.

“Tell me if I go too far.”

“You won’t,” she whispered. “I want all of it. All of you.”

He growled, actually growled, and swept her into his arms. The bed caught her weight as he laid her down like a treasure too sacred to drop.

Then he knelt over her, staring. His hands traced over her thighs, up her sides, over the softness of her breasts.

“You’re so—f**k—Zina, you’re killing me.”

Her lips curled. “Then die right.”

He dove back in, kissing down her neck, down her chest. His tongue circled her n****e, his hands gripping her hips like they might disappear if he let go.

She gasped when his mouth moved lower.

“Damian—”

“I need to taste you.”

She arched her back. He spread her legs, kissed the inside of her thighs so tender it made her toes curl.

Then his mouth found her.

And Zina shattered.

He devoured her slowly at first, like he was learning every sound she made, every twitch and sigh. His tongue licked and lapped, teasing her folds, flicking her c**t, driving her wild.

She cried out, hands in his hair, hips lifting to his mouth as her thighs clenched around his head.

No one had ever touched her like this.

No one had dared to worship her body like it was made of lightning.

She was shaking when he finally pulled back, face slick with her arousal, eyes black with lust.

“I want you now,” she gasped.

“Are you sure?”

She grabbed his face. “If you don’t f**k me right now, I’ll kill you.”

He didn’t need more. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and positioned himself over her, brushing his c**k against her entrance, watching her eyes the whole time.

“You’re still a virgin?”

She nodded once. “I’m not afraid.”

“Good,” he growled, voice thick with restraint. “Because I’m going to make you remember this night for the rest of your life.”

And then—he entered her.

Slow. Deep. Careful.

Zina gasped, not from pain, but from the intensity.

He was thick. Hard. Stretching her open in a way that made her feel owned.

He didn’t move at first. Let her breathe. Adjust. But the moment her nails dug into his back and she whispered “Move,” he began to thrust.

Gently. Then harder.

Each stroke pushed moans from her lips. Each roll of his hips sent sparks down her spine.

And then it snapped.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and flipped him over.

Damian blinked. “Zina—”

But she was already lowering herself onto him again, taking him in with a slow grind that made both of them curse.

Her hands pressed to his chest. Her eyes locked to his. She rode him with control. With purpose.

With vengeance.

For every man who ever tried to break her.

For every time she thought she’d never be safe enough to open her legs without flinching.

Damian just lay back, completely at her mercy, groaning her name like a prayer.

“You feel—f*****g—perfect.”

“Of course I do,” she whispered, rolling her hips. “I was made for this. Made for you.”

He sat up suddenly, wrapped his arms around her, thrust up into her while holding her to his chest.

Zina gasped, head thrown back. Her orgasm was building again—tight, sharp, unstoppable.

And when it broke—she screamed. Loud. Raw. Unapologetic.

Her body shuddered. Her arms clung to him. Her thighs trembled.

And when she came down from it, Damian flipped her again and f****d her through his own climax—growling her name, biting her shoulder as he emptied into her.

They collapsed into the sheets, tangled, sweaty, speechless.

The silence stretched for minutes.

Until Damian whispered, “That was… holy.”

Zina exhaled. “That was mine.”

He looked at her then, dazed and tender. “You gave me everything.”

She nodded, brushing his face. “And I’d do it again.”

………….