Yours, Daddies!

Touch Me.

Chapter 2.

Damien stared down, his almond grey eyes hovering sternly across her face.

Thin doe eyes, brown-gold hair, a straight long nose, and lips that could fit perfectly around his c**k.

“Search for her.” The loud, hoarse voice came in, and Isadora looked in that direction.

Her heart skipped, and she stared up at Damian, contemplating between trusting him or leaving, but his large, thick palms gripped her up, spun her around, and slammed her back roughly against the wall, gripping her waist firmly while dropping his other arm on the wall to shield her face away.

Isadora’s breath hitched, noticing how his huge body caged her between himself and the wall, towering above her.

Damian stared down at her, his grip turning firmer around her small waist.

His body pressed against hers, hard and masculine, seeping into her already heated body—a desire she would not decline.

Her eyes dragged across his features. Broad shoulders, muscled chest, and thick, adroit fingers that would do freaking well between her messy thighs.

Damn it! He was hot! Too hot for her to desire.

His grip on her waist tightened and her body shuddered softly as a cold shiver ran down her spine.

Isadora’s palm twitched, itching to cup his hard jaws into her palm before slamming his lips into her mouth in one sweet kiss.

But the men suddenly ran past the hallway, their footsteps echoing loudly.

“You must find her,” the bleeding robust man said, running down the hallway while still gripping his bleeding head.

Isadora’s heart pounded and she hurriedly buried her face into his chest. His palm came against the back of her head, holding her face against his chest.

A single tear ran down her thighs and Isadora felt her knees buckle.

A feeling of embarrassment rose to her cheeks, burning deeper than the fear of being caught.

God! Shouldn’t her heart be thumping with fear? Why was her p***y leaking just because he was holding the back of her head?

Her body settled into his grip and for a moment she thought about what his grip would feel like when she was on her knees choking on his c**k.

Her thighs clamped instinctively, suppressing the burning ache.

Isadora let out a gentle exhale, deciphering the thought before it grew stronger.

Damian stared down at her, every breath she made against his chest had a bulge growing within his pants.

Damn! She reeked of alcohol and something he would love to devour.

His fingers curled tightly around her waist, restraining every urge to slip his hand down the slope of her fat ass and cup the flesh into his palm.

Isadora’s skin prickled, her already dripping p***y leaked again, tingling and pulsing with need.

When the sound of footsteps finally settled, she pulled away from his chest and glared up at him, feeling small against the broad, masculine 6’4 self.

“Thank you…” She managed a voice, knowing it was time to leave, but if he slipped his hand against her thighs now, she would gladly open them for him.

Damian let out an exhale, one so soft it barely existed.

The realization that she would be leaving burned, but he didn’t restrict it.

Because as much as he wanted to spring her already, yank her black dress up, and fill her hole with his shaft, he knew she wasn’t fit.

Aside from her ass… every other thing about her was tiny, so tiny he doubted she would ever be able to take his c**k.

He cleared his throat in the air, took a step away, and tilted his head sideways to ease his neck before nudging the elevator.

“Leave.”

Isadora blinked back, staring at the elevator with parted lips, then back at him.

The realization struck.

“Oh.” She mouthed, letting down a swallow.

Leaving suddenly felt like sin, but she had to regardless. So she took a step away, but in that moment, her legs wobbled and a raw, discomforting feeling crawled up her chest.

Her vision blurred for a second, and she hurriedly spun back, gripping his suit.

“What are you…” Damian’s words trailed off as she tightened her grip on his suit, emptying her mouth on him.

“Damn it!” he gritted beneath his breath.

His jaws clenched, and he stared down at Isadora, who wouldn’t stop emptying her mouth on his suit.

His fingers curled beside him, and every nerve in his body crawled with disgust.

But he stood still… unmoving.

Isadora trembled, looking up at him with weak, teary eyes.

She slumped to the side of his legs, gripping his pants tightly.

Heat, want, and desire—everything crawled against her skin, but Isadora knew that all this heat wasn’t just because she naturally desired him, but because something was burning deeper within her body.

“Boss.” The sharp voice came through the hallway, breaking the tension in the air.

Damien stood still. He didn’t turn, because he didn’t need to.

He had come here today with his assistant to gather a few pieces of evidence about a client, and nothing in his weirdest imagination could have prepared him for this moment.

Declan’s legs halted the moment they got closer to Damian and Isadora.

“Boss…” he stuttered again, glaring at the scene.

“Did you find anything?” Damian’s voice remained calm and collected.

“Yes… Yes, boss. I…” He stretched the file forward, but Damian just shot him a glare before shrugging his suit off and lowering himself to pick Isadora off the floor.

Declan hurriedly grabbed the suit, scrunching his nose in disgust as the smell of vomit filled his nostrils.

The moment Damian’s hand wrapped around Isadora’s body, his brows knitted, and he spared her forehead a glance.

Beads of sweat formed on her forehead.

She was burning up.

A sharp feeling tugged at his chest, piercing deeper than it should. So she was drugged? All the looks in her eyes were not because she desired him? It was because she was drugged? The realization tugged deeper at his chest, but he slipped his hand around her waist, lifting her into his arms.

Declan’s gaze remained on them, stunned and perplexed.

Not that he hadn’t seen a thing of such… but he had not seen his boss like this.

“Elevator,” Damian commanded, and Declan hurriedly pressed the elevator button, inputting Damian’s suite number while still glaring at the scene in confusion.

A soft hush fell over the elevator, and Declan spared Damian some side glances while throwing glances at Isadora, whose hand was trailing up and down against Damian’s hard chest.

Her body pressed into his, growing restless, burning, and itching to be touched.

By the time they got to the suite, Damian walked Isadora straight to the en suite, dropping her in the bathtub before turning the tap on.

Anyone in the world would have thought he had brought her to this suite because he cared, but he didn’t. He just wanted her to get sober, pay for his suit, and probably get mushy only when she was clear-headed.

He f****d girls. Yes… But only when they were sober and knew genuinely that they were getting themselves into.

The cold water seeped into her body and…

“Goodness…” Isadora gaped. Her eyes widened as he splashed some water into her face, eradicating every heat that was burning up her spine.

His brows arched and he asked,

“Sober?”

His thick voice filled the air, and her body froze in place.

She stared at him again like it was her first sight of him, but deep down, her p***y was dripping, and she knew it wasn’t just from the water. It was from the way he held her gaze with those beautiful almond grey eyes.

It was the way his shoulder sat in that crisp white shirt, stretching it wider than life.

Her eyes dragged down his body.

Her stomach churned and…

O. Freaking. M. G. He was broad, huge, muscled, and on top of that, tattoos snipped out of his rolled-up sleeve, dark and tempting.

Her p***y clamped, and every inch of her body crawled in desire.

This time, Isadora knew she wasn’t under anything but the spell of her own mind.

Her fingers twitched, itching to brush her hand against his chest till those stiff muscles melted beneath her hand.

Damian’s muscles clenched, and he watched discreetly as her n*****s hardened beneath the black satin dress, calling onto his hand.

She is too small, he reminded, dismissing the thought, but that didn’t stop his eyes from dragging around her body.

Small hands, thin waist, curvy hips, fat ass. Damn it!

He could pull her closer and f**k her so damn hard until she came on his c**k.

But she was small… too small… she was probably 22… or younger than the kind of girls he f****d. He was 30 and only dealt with ladies who were mid-20s, not some small college girl who probably didn’t know how to pleasure a c**k.

So he cleared his throat in the air and said, “Leave now, you are sober.”

Isadora sat on the bathtub, her body burning under the weight of his lust-filled gaze.

A scoff formed from her throat but she suppressed it.

Leave? He must be crazy to think she would leave after he had eaten her up with those eyes that held more desire than they should.

She wouldn’t leave.

She was crazy.

Yes. But hasn’t this even been her reality?

After being r***d by her uncle at a tender age, her body took a liking to things it should never have, and now… just for tonight, she would let her body feel what it desired and not please it against her will.

So she dragged her eyes against his body, trailing down till they got to his c**k.

She let down a swallow, letting her gaze linger on his shaft for a while longer.

Damian’s c**k kicked gently at the way she devoured him, fighting and threatening to punch a hole through his pants.

His hand moved to her chin, raising it up gently.

“My eyes are up here, girl. I said…”

“Touch me,” Isadora said, cutting him off before he could finish.

The air in the restaurant restroom stiffened, and Damian sat still on the edge of the counter, his mind nudging at him to rip her clothes away and claim her just like he desired.