Page 16 of Remembering Passion

Reaching for his tie, I teased the knot.

Damien grasped my hands in his. “I’m all about consent. But if you don’t tell me to leave in the next five seconds, there’s no turning back.”

“One time,” I said, my voice cracking with the combination of my need and the weakness of my resolve.

“One night,” Damien corrected.

With my nod of approval, he spun me around, further lowering the zipper on my back. A hiss echoed as he realized not only did the neckline not allow for a bra but the way the material clung to my curves made me decide to go without panties. “Fuck, Ella.” He pushed the dress from my shoulders. The garment I’d carried through the airport so as to save it from wrinkling was now a puddle near my bare feet. He took a step back, his focus scanning from my head to my toes. “You’re even more stunning than I remember.” His grin quirked. “You’ve gone natural.”

He was talking about the lack of waxing at my core.

Warmth filled my cheeks. “I wasn’t planning on…”

Damien shook his head. “I like it. I’m getting too old to fuck a bald cunt. I want a woman, not a child.” He met my gaze. “I want you.”

I knew who was in charge when it came to Damien and sex. Hell, when it came to Damien and anything—it was always him. And never had that been an issue. If he said kneel, I knelt. If he told me to spread my legs, I did. My obedience wasn’t out of fear or my own insecurities. No, my compliance was spurred by the reward I’d receive due to his unmatched capabilities.

The air around us thickened with anticipation, leaving me drunk from the expectation of what was to come. Now, standing completely nude in front of his fully clothed body, I sought the control I never had.

With a sly grin, I licked my lips before falling to my knees and reaching for Damien’s belt. His hands again grasped mine.

“Ella.”

The rough gravel tone spurred me forward.

“I want your cock, Mr. Sinclair.” I was keenly aware that I was playing with fire. The thing was that fire was essential to survival and maintaining life. It was the heat that saved us from freezing, the element that cooked our food, and the flames that stoked our desires.

In the cool of the air-conditioned suite, I unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants, and lowered the zipper, each step sparked flickers igniting my circulation. As I pushed down the silk boxer shorts and released the beauty of his erection, the singe of the flames heated my skin.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, reaching for my head and entwining his long fingers in my hair.

After lapping the shiny tip of his penis, I opened my lips, straightened my spine, and offered my mouth for his pleasure. At the first lick, I recalled the uniqueness of his spicy and masculine taste.

My gag reflex hadn’t received the memo on body memory. His length and girth challenged my resolve. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I savored the power of my position. Yes, in the past, I’d fallen to my knees and sucked him at his command, but this wasn’t the same. I initiated the action. It was my doing. And every glimpse of his contorted handsome expression reinforced the knowledge that I was making the great Damien Sinclair fall apart. I was his undoing.

His thrusts quickened as he pulled tighter at my hair.

My jaw ached as his cock pressed against the back of my throat. And each passing second, my nipples hardened, and my pussy throbbed with need. His deep voice rumbled with the dirty talk he spewed at times like this. “That’s it. Take it deeper. You’re hungry for my cock. Look at you. Damn, you’re beautiful on your knees.” His breaths deepened and his praise began, “Fuck yes. Good girl.”

His words and phrases were demeaning and at the same time, they affected me like the striking of flint. A two-year near-drought left my body dry as kindling. His baritone words added fuel to the blaze. By the time he came, I swallowed with flames raging through my circulation. As I licked him clean and his praises continued, I was on the verge of orgasm.

Damien lifted my chin, bringing my face upward and my gaze to his. His smile grew. “Damn, first the lunch.” He offered me his hand to stand. Once on my feet, his lips met mine, his tongue seeking his own salty taste. My sensitive breasts flattened against his chest. “And now this.” His grin quirked. “This take-charge seductive side of you is fucking hot.”

“I wasn’t sure you were on board.” Sarcasm dripped from my response.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you hot, Ella? Will I find your pussy as warm and wet as your mouth?”

I nodded.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Right now, I want you, Damien.”

His intense stare held my gaze hostage as his grasp of my wrists tightened, holding my hands in front of me while step by step leading me backward into the suite. It wasn’t until we passed beyond the small living room through the open French doors to the bedroom that I realized our uncontrollable passion had exploded in the entry.

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