Chapter 2 2

• I whimper, my thighs clenching and my body desperate.
• “Please, Damian,” I gasp. “Fuck me.”
• His low chuckle makes my stomach flip.
• And then he slams into me, stretching me open, burying himself to the hilt.
• The breath punches out of me.
• I brace against the window as he starts moving, each thrust deep, brutal, shoving me against the glass.
• I can see us in the reflection—his hands gripping my waist, his body dominating mine with his expression dark and possessive.
• I look owned.
• His.
• He fucks me mercilessly, his hand wrapping around my throat, tilting my head back against his shoulder.
• “You take it so fucking well,” he growls, biting my neck and leaving marks. “Like you were made for this.”
• I can’t speak. Can barely breathe.
• All I can do is feel.
• Pleasure builds, climbing higher, higher—
• Until I come so hard my vision blurs, my body shattering against the window, my scream muffled by his hand on my throat.
• Damian follows with a low, guttural groan, thrusting deep and shooting his seed inside of me.
• By the time he pulls out, I’m boneless, my legs refusing to hold me up.
• He catches me before I collapse and carries me to the bed.
• I don’t even argue because the second my head hits the pillow, my body gives out.
• The last thing I feel is Damian pulling the covers over me.
• The last thing I hear is his low, amused voice. “Sleep, brat. You’re gonna need it.”
• ***
• Sienna’s POV.
• Pain.
• That’s the first thing I register. A deep, slow ache between my thighs, radiating up my spine, down to my knees. My body feels wrecked. Ruined. Used.
• The second thing I register is movement. A shift in the mattress. A presence.
• I bolt upright, or at least I try to. My limbs protest, muscles sore in places I don’t want to think about. Damian is standing near the window, already dressed, dark suit pristine, tie in place, like last night was just another job for him. Like I wasn’t on my knees for him hours ago, my face pressed against the floor, his cock ruining me.
• A rush of heat floods my cheeks, but I bury it deep. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
• “You’re still here?” My voice is rough. I reach for my phone on the nightstand, blinking against the glare of the screen. Past noon. Shit.
• “I had business to take care of.” He sips his coffee, watching me over the rim like he knows something I don’t. Like he’s waiting for me to break.
• I won’t.
• I toss the sheets aside and swing my legs over the edge, ignoring the dull throb between them. “Good. Then you can leave.”
• A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s infuriating.
• I stand on unsteady legs, ignoring the way his eyes rake over me, taking in the bruises on my hips, the faint red marks on my wrists. I refuse to acknowledge any of it.
• Instead, I lift my chin and remind him, “I’m the boss here, Damian. Not you.”
• His smirk deepens.
• “You keep telling yourself that, princess.”
• I hate how my stomach clenches at his voice, at the mocking lilt that says he knows better. That I know better.
• But I won’t let him have this. I grab my robe and stride past him, refusing to look back. He can go fuck himself.
• ***
• By the time I make it to the office, I’m back in control. Or at least, I look like I am. My hair is sleek, my red lips sharp, my pencil skirt hugging my hips just right. No one would guess that I spent last night with my face shoved into the wall, begging for air, begging for him.
• And Damian? He’s unreadable as ever, standing near the entrance like a shadow, his black suit impeccable. I wonder if he even has flashbacks to last night just like I was. I stare at him for a few seconds and then I ignore him.
• If he thinks last night changed anything, he’s wrong.
• Instead, I set my sights on Ethan.
• Ethan is charming, attractive in that clean-cut way. He’s one of our corporate partners, a man with an easy smile and just enough arrogance to make him fun. He flirts. I flirt back.
• I laugh a little too loud at his jokes. Touch his arm when I don’t need to. Bat my lashes like I’m some wide-eyed girl instead of the woman who had her knees forced apart just hours ago.
• And Damian?
• Nothing.
• No reaction.
• Not a flicker of jealousy, not a tightening of his jaw, like I don’t exist.
• It pisses me off.
• The game isn’t fun if he doesn’t play.
• I stare at him for a few moments longer before deciding that maybe last night was just a one night thing and he wasn’t interested in anything more. I shouldn’t be interested in anything more.
• ***
• The office has finally emptied, but I am still in the conference room, doing a quick job of signing proposals and contracts that needs to be sent out before tomorrow.
• The door opens, and I feel him before I even see him. Of course he had to be the one. No one else was in the office.
• A hand. Large. Rough. Wrapping around my throat from behind, just firm enough to make my pulse stutter. He lifts me up gently, kicking the chair away.
• I don’t gasp. I won’t. But my body betrays me, back arching slightly, lips parting as he turns me, shoving me against the wall.
• Damian towers over me, eyes dark, mouth set in that infuriating smirk.
• “You’re playing a dangerous game, princess.”
• I smile, saccharine sweet. “I don’t know what you mean.”
• His fingers tighten just enough to make my breath hitch.
• “Flirting with men who don’t own you.” His thumb brushes the pulse in my throat, and I know he feels it racing.
• “I don’t belong to anyone.”
• His eyes flick over my face, my lips, my throat, like he’s deciding something. Then his free hand grips my hip, yanking me forward.
• His thigh slots between mine, pressing up, and my breath catches because—fuck—he’s solid, warm, right there.
• I set my jaw, refusing to move, but he doesn’t let me have that choice. His grip shifts, guiding my hips, making me grind against him.
• A sharp rush of humiliation spikes through me.
• He’s not even touching me. Not really. He’s making me do this to myself.
• My hands fly to his chest, nails digging in as I try to stop him but he doesn’t even budge.
• “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear.
• I open my mouth to talk, but, fuck, I can’t.
• I hate the way my body responds, the way the friction sends heat licking up my spine, the way my own wetness makes each movement slicker, easier.
• My stomach clench and I want him deep inside of me, massaging my walls and using me like he did yesterday, but I also know what he wants. He wants me to beg, but I won’t. Not this time.
• My thighs tremble, my breath shuddering as he forces me to keep moving.
• He chuckles in a low and knowing manner.
• “You wanted my attention,” he taunts. “Now you have it.”
• I grit my teeth, hands fisting in his suit, but my hips betray me, rolling again, again, chasing something I refuse to name.
• His grip on my throat tightens just enough to make my head spin.
• “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Grinding on me like a desperate little thing.”
• Heat floods my face, shame curling in my gut but my body doesn’t care. It’s wired for him now, wrecked by him.
• His thigh is rock solid, pressing just right, his grip unrelenting as he forces me to take what I need.
• I bite my lip, trying to hold back, trying to fight it.
• But he sees. Of course he sees.
• “Come for me,” he commands, voice like smoke, fingers tightening at my throat. “Make a mess of yourself.”
• And I do.
• I shatter, right there, fully dressed, shaking against his thigh as pleasure rips through me.
• It’s humiliating.
• It’s intoxicating.
• When I finally catch my breath, my legs weak, his smirk is back, smug and satisfied.
• “Good girl.”
• I shove at his chest, feeling so damn furious.
• He lets me, taking a step back and adjusting his tie like this was just another task on his list.
• “You’re an asshole,” I snap, voice hoarse.
• He smirks. “And you’re still mine.”
• Then he’s gone, leaving me against the wall, shaking, ruined, and wanting more.