Page 23 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

My breath catches in my throat, and my heart starts to race. I can’t tell if he’s serious or just messing with me, but the intensity in his eyes tells me it’s the former. I should say no. I should tell him to back off. My heart can’t take this, but the way he’s looking at me—like he’s already undressing me with his mind—is making it hard to think straight.

“Damien,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “this isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “You’re stressed. I’m willing to help. Seems like a win-win to me.”

“Because—” I start, but my voice falters.Because I’m scared.Because I don’t know if I can handle this.Because this would be our first time, and I look gross in a hospital gown.But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I just look away, my cheeks burning.

Damien reaches out and gently places a hand on my cheek, turning my face back to his. His touch is warm, and it sends a jolt of electricity through me. “Trust me, Willow. I only want to do what’s best for you.”

His words are like a spark igniting a fire inside me. My body is betraying me, my pulse quickening, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I want to protest, to push him away, but I can’t. I’m paralyzed by the need that’s building inside me, the need to feelsomethingother than the constant ache of fear and stress.

“Damien,” I whisper, my voice trembling, “I—I don’t know if I can…”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. “Just let me take care of you. Let me help you forget, even if it’s just for a little while.”

His words are like a drug, intoxicating and impossible to resist. I nod, barely able to form a coherent thought.Yes.Please. Make me forget.

Damien’s smirk widens, and he leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise sends a wave of heat straight to my core.Damn him.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with mine as he reaches for the heart monitor attached to my chest. “May I?” he asks.

I nod again, unable to speak. He carefully leans over me and yanks the cord for my heart monitor out of the wall.

“Damien!” I gasp, but my breath is stolen away by the intoxicating look on his lips.

“I’ll plug it back in when we’re done,” he leans over me, eclipsing me with his size as his fingers brush against my skin in a way that makes me shiver. But he keeps one hand on my chest, right over my heart, his palm warm and firm. “I want to feel it,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I want to feel every beat of your heart, Willow. I want to know exactly how much I’m affecting you, but I don’t want anyone rushing in here to save you, when only I can.”

My breath hitches, and I can feel my heart pounding beneath his hand.God, he’s going to kill me.

The intercom buzzes and the squeaky voice of a nurse comes over the line. “Everything okay in there? The heart monitor is offline.”

“Yup,” Damien says, popping the p. “I tripped over the cord.”

“Need someone to come in and hook it back up?” She asks.

“Nope,” he hums, kissing my stomach. “We got it.”

“Okay,” she sings, “we’ll send someone to check in as soon as we can.” The intercom buzzes off.

Damien doesn’t waste any time. He moves down the bed, his hands sliding to my hips as he positions himself between my legs. My hospital gown is pushed up, exposing me completely, and I’m suddenly very aware of how vulnerable I am. But there’s no shame, no embarrassment—just an overwhelming need that threatens to consume me.

“They’re going to—” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Relax,” he says, his breath warm against my inner thigh. “Just close your eyes and let me take care of you.”

I do as he says, my eyes fluttering shut as he lowers his head. The first touch of his tongue is like a shock, a jolt of pleasure that makes me gasp. He’s slow at first, teasing, exploring, as if he’s savoring every inch of me. But then he begins to pick up the pace, his tongue lashing against me with a precision that has me gripping the sheets.

“Oh God,” I moan, my hips bucking involuntarily. My hand flies to my mouth, biting down to stifle the sounds that are threatening to escape.

“Don’t hold back,” Damien growls, his hand tightening on my hip. “I want to hear you, Willow. I want everyone in this hospital to hear you. I want to know how much you’re enjoying this.”

I shake my head, embarrassed, but he doesn’t relent. His tongue moves faster, harder, and I can feel the pleasure building inside me, threatening to spill over. My back arches, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes my lips. It’s too much, too intense, and I’m falling, spiraling out of control.

“Damien,” I gasp, my voice broken, “I—I can’t?—”

“Yes, you can,” he says, his breath hot against me.

And then I’m falling apart, my body convulsing as the wave of pleasure crashes over me. My vision goes white, and I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. Damien’s hand stays on my chest, feeling every beat of my heart as I come undone.

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