Page 72 of Nocturne
It’s disgusting how much he’s changed me.
I should hate him. I should kill him. But I love him.
And accepting that could destroy us.
“Damon…”
“Just shut up. I don’t wanna hear any more.”
He starts pacing back and forth, restless, shaking his head, running his hands through his hair. He’s freaking out. Then he starts screaming. Screaming loud, like he’s about to tear his own throat out. And then he punches the wall. Once, twice, three times. The dry crack of bone hitting concrete echoes through the room. Blood starts dripping. Red marks stain the wall.
He looks at me.
That look — fury, pain, everything he can’t say.
And then it begins.
He rips off his leather jacket and throws it to thefloor. Tears off his white shirt in anger. His movements are quick, almost desperate.
His stomach shows. Defined muscles. Strong arms. Tattoos. Messy dark blond hair. Every detail of him hypnotizes me.
He starts undoing his belt. Drops his pants. Left only in black boxer briefs.
Thick thighs. Strong. His body looks made for war. Or fucking until you lose your mind.
He’s hard.
Hard as a rock. A loaded weapon — throbbing, ready to be fired.
He slowly pulls down his boxers, like every move is a promise of violence and surrender. His cock appears—thick, pulsing, veins bulging like angry roots under the skin. I just stand there, staring, feeling the weight of the rage flowing off him like raw electricity, mixed with the heavy breathing dragging urgent air in. It cuts me deep and burns me at the same time—the desire explodes inside me, hardening my cock tight inside my pants, squeezing my chest with a wild mix of fire and tension.
“What the fuck are you doing?” My voice comes out dragged, hoarse, stuck in my throat, still lying on the floor, tied to that bed shaking under our weight.
He doesn’t answer. He jumps on me, a hungry predator. The ropes give way under his fast hands—it’s will, it’s hunger, it’s rage and lust mixed into flames licking my skin. The shirt disappears, torn to pieces, like he’s ripping off my defenses too, leaving me vulnerable, exposed.
My body reacts before my head does. I start pulling off my pants, my boxers—each move tense, like a silent pact between pain and pleasure.
“Damon… calm down…” My voice sounds weak, almost a whisper, but he won’t listen.
“Don’t say shit. Not now.” The command is a whisper loaded with possessiveness, but also desperate urgency.
Then he kisses me, and it’s like the world collapses in silence—everything fades except the suffocating heat of his mouth on mine. The kiss is hurried, torn with raw, brutal desire—the kind of lust that leaves no time to think, no time to breathe right. It’s war and peace at once, hell and heaven locked into a single moment.
There’s nothing else but this. No death, no guilt, no war. Just us—broken, hungry, alive.
We’re sprawled on the floor, naked, the cold concrete burning against our skin — a skin that feels like it’s burning hotter inside than the chill outside. But the fire between us is a flame impossible to put out, a blaze that consumes and devours everything around.
My hands trace every inch of his body, sliding down his firm arms, climbing over his marked back, gripping with hunger and need. I give myself over, lose myself in every curve, every muscle trembling under my fingers. His skin is the map of my desire, the territory I want to get lost in.
Our hard cocks, stiff as stone, rub slow and cruel, teasing. Hot sweat mixes with the cold floor, and I feel my cock leaking — the pre-cum warm, soaking my stomach,dripping down onto his. The sharp scent of lust fills the air, almost suffocating.
“I want... I want you inside me,” my voice breaks in shards, cut by heavy breathing that struggles to pull air in.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow the fierce kiss tearing me apart, knocking me down and lifting me up all at once. With a rough command, he says: “Open your mouth, golden boy.”
I obey without thinking, and he spits straight into my mouth—a raw gesture, a challenge, a promise. The salty taste burns me deeper, my cock pulses urgently, wanting to explode, wanting to surrender.
“You’re such a good boy for me, at least here…” He murmurs, voice rough with desire.
