Page 36 of Claimed By the Damned

I gasp against his lips as he settles me across his waist, my knees bracketing his hips. Heat ignites between us instantly. His fingers tangle firmly in my hair near my scalp, the slight scrape of his nails sending an electric shock through me, tugging just enough to make my breath stutter. I gasp into the kiss, and he swallows the sound, deepening it with a raw hunger that speaks of long-restrained need.

His hands skim my sides, slow and deliberate, before gripping my waist again. He sits up, pulling me fully into his lap until our bodies are flush.

My dress rides up my thighs. The instant I settle against him, I feel the proof of his want—thick, hard, impossibly long, pressing insistently against the thin lace of my panties, right over the damp heat pooling between my thighs. The rigid length straining against his sleep pants sends a pulse of desperate need straight through me.

I rock against him instinctively, chasing the delicious, maddening friction. My body remembers this, even if my mind still fights it sometimes. But this time, the fear is a distant echo, drowned out by the roaring fire he ignites. His hardness grinds against my clit, sending sparks across my skin. A needy whimperescapes me, and Ethan groans, a rough sound torn from his throat. His fingers flex hard on my hips as he rocks me more firmly against him.

"Lila," he murmurs against my lips, voice rough with restraint. "Tell me if this is too much."

His question, so gentle, so aware, makes my chest ache.Too much?It's barely enough. For the first time, such a question isn't a veiled threat, but an offering of control, of choice. And I take it. "Don’t stop," I breathe, clutching his shoulders. "I want this. I wantyou." The words feel powerful on my tongue, a declaration of my own agency.

That seems to be all the permission he needs.

His grip tightens, and suddenly I’m beneath him, my back sinking into the mattress as his weight presses down, grounding me in the best possible way. He kisses down my throat, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire. I arch into him, desperate for more.

He peels the dress from my body slowly, his touch careful, his gaze devouring me as I lie clad only in my panties. Every slow movement, every careful brush of his fingers, is a question. And with every breath, I answeryes. The shadow of Kolya tries to creep in, but Ethan's reverence, the sheer worship in his heated stare, keeps it firmly at bay. The soft fabric feels like the last barrier between us. I hadn’t worn a bra, and the realization makes me shiver under his heated stare. "You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, fingers tracing the dip of my waist, the curve of my hip. "Every inch."

I tremble as he leans down, warm breath preceding the soft brush of his lips over my collarbone, shoulder, stomach—kissing each fading bruise with a tenderness that makes my throat tight. Each kiss feels like an apology for hurts he didn't cause, a balm on wounds I thought would never heal. When his hands skimlower, fingertips ghosting over the sensitive skin of my hipbones before slipping beneath the lace edge of my panties, I gasp.

His lips brush my inner thigh, a feather-light tease that makes my muscles quiver. The surprising roughness of his tongue flicks wet heat over my clit through the damp fabric, sending a sharp, stunning jolt straight to my core. A jolt of pure sensation, untainted. My body remembers pleasure, and for the first time in so long, my mind doesn't fight it, doesn't recoil. This isn't submission; it's a surrender to a joy I choose.

A low moan escapes me as he licks again, slow and deliberate. The building pressure and friction become unbearable, him seeming to savor every tremor shaking my frame.

His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, pulling them down and throwing them over his shoulder. He groans at the sight of me, a low, appreciative sound rumbling in his chest that vibrates against my thighs. His tongue flicks over my suddenly bare, aching clit—the direct contact almost unbearably intense. He parts my lips gently with his fingers, sliding one inside my slick entrance with deliberate slowness.

My hips lift instinctively as he adds a second finger, stretching me. His tongue works clever magic in perfect tandem with the deep slide and curl of his fingers inside me, dragging wet heat against skin where my nerves hummed beneath his touch.

"You’re perfect," he whispers, voice husky. "I’m going to make you feel so good."

His words are a promise. A promise I cling to. And God, I want to believe him. Ichooseto believe him, to let myself feel this.

I shudder as his touch ignites every nerve. He kisses his way back up to my lips, swallowing my moans as his hands work me into a frenzy. When our mouths meet again, I taste myself on him—the intimate, heady flavor making my stomach tighten. The thought of him between my legs, worshiping me, sends another wave of fire through me. I'm a trembling mess beneathhim, gripping his shoulders, anchoring myself to him as pleasure builds like a tidal wave.

This feeling, this unbearable, beautiful ache. I want all of him. The thought, once terrifying, is now a burning need. My voice, when I find it, is my own, strong and clear, demanding what I desire. "Ethan," I gasp, nails digging into his skin. "Please. I can’t wait. I don’t want to come on your fingers—I want you inside me."

His forehead presses against mine, breathing ragged. "Fuck, Angel, are you sure?" His hesitation, his need for my confirmation even now, makes my heart swell. He’s giving me every chance to say no, to pull back.

"Yes," I whisper, arching into him, needing him more than I’ve ever needed anything. This is my desire, my terms.

With a low growl, he sheds his clothes. Skin meets skin, heat meets heat. He kisses me deeply as he finally gives me what I want. His hands roam, mapping every inch as if memorizing me, worshiping me. His lips never leave mine for long, breath hot against my skin.

He shifts, nudging my thighs apart. My breath catches as he guides himself to my entrance, pausing just long enough for his gaze to meet mine, questioning.

Ethan pauses, forehead pressed to mine, breath uneven. "Tell me again," he rasps.

I swallow, tilting my hips up in silent plea. My body speaks for me, my choice undeniable. "I want this, Ethan. I need you."

He groans, grip tightening on my hips, holding himself back. "I don’t want to hurt you." His concern is a stark contrast to the carelessness I once knew.

"You won’t." I reach up, cupping his face, forcing him to see the truth in my eyes. "I trust you." And in this moment, I realize I truly do. This trust, fragile but real, is mine to give.

That shatters his control. He presses forward, inch by careful inch, stretching and filling me. His eyes burn with an intensity that sends another tremor down my spine.

His groan is pure hunger as he sinks into me, thick and searingly hot. My breath catches. My body trembles, adjusting to the sheer size of him, the sensation of being completely claimed. It’s not violation. It’s… an embrace. A homecoming.

"Lila," he breathes. "You feel so perfect... so tight, like you’re strangling my cock. Feels like you were made for us. You know that, don’t you? Me, Bastian, Ryker… We’ll take care of you, Angel."

A tremor runs through me, deeper than just pleasure.Us. The word echoes, vast and overwhelmingly alluring. It doesn't shatter me, doesn't send me spiraling into Kolya's shadow where "sharing" meant degradation. Instead, it resonates, a deep hum of belonging I didn't know I craved. This fierce, shared possessiveness… it feels like shelter, not a cage. It feels less like shifting ground and more like finding anchor, a rightness settling deep inside. His possessive gaze feels like a sanctuary, not a prison. As the thought sinks in—belonging not just to him, but tothem—my inner muscles clench instinctively around him, a tight, involuntary affirmation my body makes before my mind can fully catch up.

---