In Between Her Legs.

Chapter thirteen: Unspoken Hunger

The door slams.

Damien is back.

But he doesn’t say a word.

Not hello. Not did you miss me? Not on your knees, now.

Nothing.

Just the quiet rustle of his jacket being discarded, the metallic clink of his belt sliding free, the slow, controlled steps of a man who knows exactly how to make me suffer.

I sit on the bed, heart pounding, my breath tight in my chest as I watch him move through the dimly lit penthouse, his face unreadable, his body tense with something dangerous.

Something desperate.

But he doesn’t look at me.

Doesn’t acknowledge me.

He just steps into the bathroom leaving the door wide open.

The air is thick, charged.

This is a test.

And I already know I’m going to fail.

The sound of the shower turning on makes my breath hitch, the sharp hiss of water against tile sending a shiver down my spine.

I should stay put.

I should wait for him to come to me, to claim me like he always does.

But I can’t.

Not when my body is already aching, already clenching around the memory of his touch.

Slowly, carefully, I slip off the bed, my bare feet padding against the cool floor.

The closer I get, the hotter it feels.

Steam curls out from the doorway, licking at my skin, filling my lungs with the scent of him dark, masculine, intoxicating.

I step inside.

And then I see him.

My stomach drops.

Damien stands under the water, head tilted back, droplets racing down the hard planes of his chest, over the ridges of his abs, disappearing into the sharp V of his hips.

His muscles flex, his jaw locked, his breath rough.

And his hand

His f*****g hand

Is wrapped around his c**k.

Thick. Heavy. Slick with water and need.

I shouldn’t be watching.

But I can’t stop.

I can’t f*****g breathe.

His strokes are slow. Deep. His grip firm as he pumps himself from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the swollen head, smearing his own precum.

A low, guttural growl escapes him, his hips rocking forward slightly as he picks up the pace.

He still doesn’t look at me.

Doesn’t have to.

Because he knows.

Knows I’m standing there, my thighs pressing together, my breath coming in shallow, desperate little gasps.

Knows my pulse is racing, my n*****s tightening, my body already begging for something only he can give me.

Knows I need him.

That I’ve been starving for him all f*****g day.

And he’s making me watch.

Making me suffer for it.

A strangled whimper slips out before I can stop it.

Damien freezes.

His strokes slow.

His head lowers.

And then, finally finally his dark, heated gaze locks onto mine.

I shatter.

My nails dig into my thighs, my breathing uneven, my entire body pulsing with raw, unbearable need.

A slow, wicked smirk curves his lips.

"Something wrong, baby?" His voice is deep, rough. Mocking.

I swallow hard. Shake my head.

He hums, his eyes dragging down my body.

"You’ve been aching for me, haven’t you?" He strokes himself lazily, his fingers tightening around his thick length, squeezing at the tip before dragging back down.

I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

His smirk deepens.

"Then beg."

My legs tremble.

Because I know what he’s doing.

He wants to break me.

Make me crave him.

Make me surrender.

And God help me, I already have.

"Please," I whisper.

His brow lifts. "Louder."

I clench my fists, my entire body throbbing. "Please, Damien."

His c**k twitches in his grip.

And that’s when I know

I own him, too.

For all his control, all his dominance he needs me just as much as I need him.

The tension snaps.

"Get in here," he growls.

And then

I f*****g obey.