Page 68 of Devotion

I consider again that this is his fantasy, and to say that I’ve enjoyed playing my role would be an understatement. I want to be this for him again. Whenever he needs it.

Whenever he needsme.

He doesn’t pull out right away, but he does release my wrists from the belt, letting my weak, sore arms fall limp to the mattress. It isn’t lost on me that he has yet to ask if he’s hurt me, and while he certainly has, I crave more.

Muchmore.

Just like he promised I would.

24

Layla

The room is quiet, but still humming with sexual energy.

Damien backs away, placing a soft kiss on the right side of my ass, and a lazy smile curves my lips. He strokes his palm there next, before running a finger down my pussy, catching a drizzle of his cum as it seeps from my slit.

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful,” he groans, and the compliment turns my smile into quiet laughter.

“My used, cum-soaked vagina is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

It startles me when he pushes the finger into me this time, but I don’t pull away, feeling inclined to let him touch me however he pleases.

“I’d never lie to you,” he promises, but it feels loaded. Like these words apply beyond this moment.

I lie there lazily, still with my ass pointed skyward as I think on his declaration. He stands and removes his pants the rest of the way, but pulls his boxers back to his waist before returning to bed. He playfully topples me onto my side, then pulls me close as his tall frame curves to fit perfectly behind me. My eyes settle on his wrist where he’s still wearing my hair tie, and I don’t realize I’m smiling until a kiss warms the back of my shoulder.

“I should probably shower,” I say, lacking any real motivation to do so, but being covered in both our bodily fluids makes at least a quick rinse necessary.

“Don’t even think about it,” he protests, kissing my shoulder again. “I want you filthy.”

When he squeezes tighter, it becomes clear I’m not allowed to leave. My finger trails the back of his hand where he holds me, remembering the scar when the heat of his chest warms my back.

“You said something before that I didn’t really think meant much until tonight. I can’t remember your exact words, but you implied that… we knew each other.Beforethis.”

He’s silent behind me, offering no clarity.

“Was that true? Did I misunderstand?”

He hasn’t let me go, but I’m aware of the vibe shifting a little.

“You understood perfectly,” he says, but that’s it. He doesn’t offer anything more.

“So, what’s it all mean?”

My question lingers in the air so long I’m not certain he intends to answer, but when he takes a breath, I hold my own.

“It means there was an‘us’before now,” he says, and I feel tension spreading in my brow. “Which is why I didn’t need directions here tonight.”

I swallow deeply and my heart races, listening as he finally opens up.

“Years ago, when your dad used to see patients from the house, I was here almost weekly.”

The tension I felt spreads as I rack my brain, trying to jog my memory. Back then, I was living in the main house, and it wasn’t uncommon to cross paths with my father’s patients on occasion. So, if Damien visited weekly, I feel like I should remember him.

But then, as my eyes flit to the bottles on my nightstand, awareness sets in.

I don’t remember him because his memory faded into the abyss of my dark years, the years an ill-fitting med plan stole from me. Years I’ll likely never get back.

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