TWISTED DESIRES FORBIDDEN ENCOUNTERS

CRAVING FOR HIM

Chapter 2

Serena’s POV

I walked away from Damon down the long, echoing hallway, but I could still feel his eyes scorching into my back like twin brands.

My legs felt unsteady, knees weak. I’m only twenty, and no guy had ever looked at me with that raw, possessive intensity—like he wanted to own every inch of me while simultaneously shielding me from the world.

My panties were already damp, and with every step the slick heat between my thighs grew more insistent, a constant reminder of how my body was betraying me.

When I reached my bedroom door, I turned the ornate handle and slipped inside.

The room was enormous and hushed, bathed in soft golden lighting from the crystal lamps.

My king-sized bed dominated the center, piled with silk pillows.

I closed the door behind me but deliberately didn’t lock it. I knew he was right outside, listening, waiting.

I leaned back against the cool wood for a moment and released a long, trembling breath. My heart hammered wildly.

Damon Black. Thirty-five or older, carved features, powerful body, and those piercing gray eyes that seemed to see straight through me.

My father’s most trusted man. Completely, dangerously off-limits. And now he was going to shadow my every move, every hour of every day.

I kicked off my heels, letting them clatter to the floor, and padded over to the full-length mirror on the far wall.

My dress hugged every curve—tight across my breasts, nipping in at the waist, flaring over my hips.

I turned slowly, studying my reflection. What did he see when he stared at me like that? A spoiled politician’s daughter? Or a young woman whose n*****s were already stiff peaks and whose p***y was steadily growing wetter at the mere memory of his voice?

A soft, authoritative knock sounded on the door.

“Miss Voss?” Damon’s deep voice filtered through the wood, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

“I need to check the room before you settle in.”

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see me, trying to cling to annoyance.

“It’s my bedroom, Damon. I think it’s perfectly safe.”

“Protocol,” he answered curtly. “Open the door.”

I sighed dramatically and pulled it open. He filled the entire doorway—tall, broad, imposing in his tailored black suit.

His eyes performed a lightning-fast sweep: over my shoulders, across the bed, into the shadowed corners, then straight back to me, heavy and unrelenting.

“Clear?” I asked, injecting as much sarcasm as I could manage.

He stepped inside without waiting for permission, moving with the smooth confidence of a predator. “I’ll make it quick.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he worked.

He checked under the bed, behind the heavy velvet curtains, inside the walk-in closet, even the en-suite bathroom—every movement was precise, controlled, and undeniably masculine.

The way his jacket stretched across his powerful shoulders, the flex of his thighs against the fabric of his pants…

my breathing grew shallow. Just watching him move through my private space was making me wetter.

A slow, warm trickle of arousal slid down my inner thigh.

I clenched my muscles tight, fighting the growing ache, but it only made the slickness more pronounced. My folds felt swollen, sensitive, pulsing with unwanted needs.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“The room is clear,” he stated. “I’ll be right outside the door all night. If you need anything—anything at all—just call my name. I’ll hear you.”

I crossed my arms beneath my breasts, deliberately pushing them up so my cleavage deepened.

“So you’re really not going to give me any space? Not even in my own room?”

His gray eyes flicked downward for half a heartbeat, locking onto the swell of my breasts, before snapping back to my face. That tiny glance sent a bolt of heat straight to my core.

My c**t throbbed hard, and I felt myself get even slicker—fresh wetness coating my already drenched panties, making them cling obscenely to my p***y lips.

“Not tonight,” he said, voice rougher now. “Not until we’re certain the threat has passed.”

I stepped closer, tilting my head back so I could meet his eyes.

The top of my head barely reached his chest. “What if I want to change clothes? Or take a long, hot shower? Are you seriously going to stand there and listen to every sound I make?”

He didn’t retreat an inch. His voice dropped lower, edged with something darker.

“I’ll wait right outside the bathroom door.

You can have the illusion of privacy. But if I hear anything that doesn’t sound right—any unusual noise—I’m coming in. No debate.”

The vivid image slammed into me again:

Damon crashed through the door while I stood naked under the spray, water streaming down my curves, his hungry eyes devouring every inch before he shoved me against the cold tiles and finally gave in to whatever this insane tension was.

My p***y clenched violently at the fantasy, and a fresh gush of slickness soaked through my thong, dripping down my thighs.

I was dripping now—literally fighting the urge to press my legs together for any kind of relief.

I looked up at him, my voice coming out softer, breathier than I wanted.

“You know this is completely crazy, right? I’m twenty. I should be able to move around my own house without a constant babysitter breathing down my neck.”

“You’re not getting a babysitter,” he growled, the roughness in his tone making my stomach tighten with desire.

“You’re getting me. And I take my job very seriously, Serena. Even if it means you hate every single second of it.”

I bit my lower lip, fighting a whimper. “I don’t hate it yet.”

For one electric moment, something shifted in his eyes—darker, hungrier, almost feral.

His hands remained rigidly at his sides, but I saw his fingers flex, as if he was physically restraining himself from reaching out and grabbing me.

He drew in a slow, controlled breath. “Get some rest. I’ll be right outside.”

Then he turned and walked out, closing the door with deliberate softness behind him.

I stood frozen in the middle of the room, chest heaving, and my body on fire. The air still carried traces of his cologne—leather, gun oil, and raw, masculine heat.

My hand drifted down my stomach of its own accord before I snatched it away, horrified at how close I’d come to touching myself right there.

I knew I should just crawl into bed and try to sleep. But a reckless, aching part of me wanted to test him.

Wanted to push this new, suffocatingly small cage and see if he would break.

I walked to the bathroom door and left it cracked open on purpose, just enough for sound to carry.

Then I began unzipping my dress with deliberate slowness, letting the silky fabric whisper down my shoulders and pool at my feet.

Cool air kissed my bare skin. I stood there in nothing but a tiny black thong that was utterly ruined—saturated with my arousal, the thin material molded to my puffy, slick folds.

I could feel exactly how wet I was: my juices had leaked down both inner thighs, leaving shiny trails on my skin. My c**t was swollen and throbbing, begging for attention.

If he was listening—and I knew he was—he would hear every rustle, every shaky breath.

I turned on the shower, the rush of water echoing through the marble room.

But instead of stepping under the spray immediately, I let my fingers trail lightly over my hardened n*****s, circling them slowly.

I imagined they were Damon’s rough hands pinching and tugging.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped my lips, echoing off the tiles.

I was fighting it with everything I had—fighting how desperately I wanted the man standing guard right outside my door to lose that iron control and storm in here.

But my body had already surrendered. My p***y ached, empty and dripping, clenching around nothing as fresh waves of slickness continued to coat my thighs.

And the worst, most terrifying part?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight this forbidden craving much longer.