Page 125 of Aine

“I want you now,” I insist, frowning as he gently pries my hand away.

Angry tears threaten to spill as he presses his forehead against mine. I can practically hear the internal battle he holds within himself, but when his hands lower to my thighs and hoist me up, I know I’ve won.

He looks pained as he carries me to the tiny counter and pushes all the items atop it into the sink so there’s room for me to sit. The metal clangs as Damien knocks things around, but I hardly hear it over the blood rushing through my ears.

My mouth goes dry as he places me on the very edge of the counter, his arms wrapped tightly around my back so I remain pressed against him.

“You don’t want me to romance you?” he teases, gathering my wrists in his left hand and holding them together behind my back.

The action stretches my shoulders, and I stiffen as memories of being in this position rush through my mind.

Damien catches on immediately and adjusts, moving my hands to the front and placing them on his hips instead. I’m happy he isn’t commenting on it, instead wordlessly shifting to make me comfortable without ruining the mood. My muscles relax, and I arch my back while my fingers dig into the soft skin of his waist.

Goosebumps pebble up along my skin when he moans.

“My human wants me to fuck her for the first time in the pack’s pantry?” he whines, the need in his voice making me desperate. “Not a virginal maiden, she says.”

I suck in a sharp breath when he brings his mouth to my ear, his warm breath tickling it as he chuckles.

“I promised I’d give you whatever you want. So, tell me, Aine, what is it you want?”

He pulls back to look over my body, his fingers wandering down my sides before hooking into the hem of my shirt. I watch as he slides his hands beneath the fabric, his warm skin sending shivers down mine.

He tuts and moves his face in front of me when I don’t respond, blocking my view of his hands. His smile is the last thing I see as my eyes flutter shut, my mouth falling open as his fingers inch higher up my body.

They tickle as they pass my ribcage, pausing momentarily to graze over the ribs that still show from when Owen starved me. Damien’s been feeding me well since returning, and I hope this is the only time he feels my bones.

He doesn’t stick around them for long, his interest quickly moving to the bottom of my breasts.

“Tell me what you want, Aine,” he repeats, his fingernails gently scraping the edge of my bra, the sensations lighting me on fire.

His ache is all-consuming as it seeps through the bond, the man in front of me making no effort to hold it back. He’s probably doing it on purpose, pushing his feelings into me instead of letting them naturally filter through.

I’m unable to hold back a relieved sigh when he finally reaches around and unhooks my bra, the tight material separating from my body and making room for him to slide his hands underneath. His jaw twitches as he cups me, his large palms easily covering the entirety of my chest.

A small part of me is ready to feel embarrassed, prepared for him to show distaste toward my lack of feminine curves. My chest tightens as I imagine him doing just that, but the uncertainty is washed away as he groans and buries his head into my neck.

“So fucking perfect,” he moans, his words followed up by a pinch to my nipple.

I squeak, shocked by his rough actions, but my noises shift into something throatier as his tongue trails up the side of my neck. It feels amazing, and Damien seems to know exactly how to set my body on fire as he moves to my other nipple and gives it a sharp tug.

“You didn’t answer me.” He slowly pulls away so he can watch my reaction with a lazy smirk.

His pinch shifts to a light hold as I wrack my brain trying to remember what he asked, my cheeks warming as I recall his request for me to say what part of him I want. It’s hard to think, let alone speak, when he’s rolling my nipple between his fingers so softly.

He knows what I want, and his grin tells me he enjoys making me say it.

“I want all of you,” I answer, my voice hitching as he shakes his head.

“Be more specific,” he orders.

My eyes slip shut as I rock my hips against his, desperate to tell him what I want without using my words. It feels dirty to voice them out loud.

I’m sure that’s exactly why he wants to hear me say it, though.

Another pinch and I’m throwing my head back with a cry, overwhelmed as I experience both our desires.

Finding a surge of confidence I didn’t realize I had, I reach down and cup him over his jeans, allowing my hand to run over the hard length that strains the material. He jerks, trapping my hand between him and my thigh.

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