Elara's POV
Warmth flooded my chest, and I nodded with soft eyes. His tied hands found mine, our fingers linking.
Even bound like this, his touch still managed to spark that familiar heat that pooled low in my belly.
Wrong place, wrong time: yet my stupid p***y clenched at the memory of his fat c**k owning me.
One of the goons noticed both of us and snarled: "No talking."
We went quiet, but Damien's fingers still held mine, blocked from the goon’s view, tracing my palm slowly.
The teasing touch built tension and a dark romance in the danger. My thighs began to rub together, still slick from earlier f**k mixing with new want.
Minutes dragged by with us like that until Marcus finally returned. “Smile for the camera,” he said. Then, he took a picture of us with his phone.
“What was
