Page 54 of Hellbent
Then he shifts—deeper, harder, finding that spot that makes me seize up.
The pressure inside me coils fast. My whole body clenches, and then I’m gone. My orgasm slams into me and I cry out as Damian slams into me again and again.
“God, yes,” Damian growls. “Fucking take it. Fuck.”
The aftershocks roll through me, my pussy pulsing with a vibration of its own as he drives into me until his breath catches, and then his fingers dig in deep enough to bruise.
I hardly recognize the agony in his voice he’s so gone.
“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up.”
“Do it,” I gasp. “Come inside me.”
Damian groans—a deep, guttural sound ripped straight from his chest—and then he’s shaking as he spills inside me, his hips shuddering against my ass.
For a long moment, all I can hear is his ragged breath, the pounding of my own heartbeat. Then he collapses against me, pressing a lazy kiss to my shoulder, making a low noise in his throat.
“Holy shit,” he mutters, still catching his breath. “That was fucking amazing.”
“Yeah,” Jake says, grinning. “It really was.”
Damian chuckles lazily, rolling onto his back, dragging me with him so that I fall onto my side in front of him. His fingers brush idly down my spine, a soft, affectionate pet. He’s still inside me. Still warm. All mine.
Jake shifts closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. “How you feeling, babe?”
I exhale a shaky breath, my body still humming. “Perfect.”
Damian smirks. “Damn right you are.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE HOUSE IS quiet, but sleep won’t come. After we left the boys’ place and came back here, I thought I’d collapse. Damian’s bed is ten times more comfortable than mine in the garage. I’m warm, tangled in his arm, the scent of him and Jake still clinging to my skin. I should feel sated and sleepy.
But my mind won’t shut off. It runs in circles, old memories rolling in like they’ve been waiting for a moment of stillness to strike.
I dreamt about Billy.
Not the violent Billy. Not the charismatic leader of the O.D. I dreamt about the boy before the coldness set in, before his charm hardened into something ruthless. Sixteen-year-old Billy—raw, intense and hopeful. A version of him that got buried over time, until I could only find it in his most unguarded moments. When he was losing himself in me, when pleasure unraveled him. When, for just a second, he was real again.
Except in the dream, it wasn’t pleasure. It was a plea.
He reached for me, desperate, his expression agony. And I woke up drowning in memories.
I exhale slowly, shifting against the mattress. Damian stirs beside me, tightening his grip in his sleep. On the other bed, Jake’s breathing is steady—deep and undisturbed.
I’m right where I belong, but the second I close my eyes, Billy is there, reaching for me.
Restlessness crawls under my skin, tightening my throat. I need air and space.
Carefully, I untangle myself from Damian’s heavy arm and pull one of his hoodies over my head, tugging it down over my bare thighs. My pants are somewhere in the dark, but I don’t need them. The clock on his nightstand reads 2:34 a.m.—too late for a walk anyway. I just need a moment. A breath.
My footsteps are light as I move down the hall, careful not to wake anyone, but a dim glow spills from the living room, stopping me short.
Ryder sits on the couch, forearms braced against his thighs, a half-empty glass of whiskey on the table in front of him. His gaze is distant, lost somewhere else, but the second I step into view, his eyes snap to mine—dark and full of unsettled weather.
I take him in the way I always do. The shadow of his beard. The tension in his shoulders. The way his tattoos shift when he moves. The way I can never help but notice how beautiful he is—cut rough, all muscle and power.
His gaze runs over me—Damian’s hoodie, no pants, bare legs.
