Page 62 of Hellbent
I don’t answer. I can’t answer.
My thighs clench around him. Every inch of me is already burning. I grab the front of his coveralls and pull him into another kiss.
A low moan slips from him, swallowed against my mouth before his lips wander, tracing down to the fluttering pulse in my throat. His breath is hot against my skin as he whispers, right against my ear: “I want to ruin you for anyone else. I want to come in you so deep that you drip with me for days.”
My stomach drops and slickness blooms between my thighs.
“You like that, don’t you?” His whispered voice is pure sin. “The thought of me stretching you open. Filling up your tight little pussy. Knowing I’ll still be inside you hours from now.”
When a sound escapes me, needy and desperate, he chuckles low in his throat and pulls the zipper of my coveralls, yanking them down, pushing the thick fabric off my shoulders. The sleeves slip down my arms, pooling at my waist, and when he pulls back just enough to look at me, he sucks back a breath.
“You’re not wearing anything underneath.”
His voice is hoarse, like the sight of me—bare and exposed before him—just knocked the wind out of him.
I grin and say nothing—I don’t have enough t-shirts to waste wearing them when I’ve got something else on. His hands slideup my stomach and ribs and then cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples and making them pebble.
“Look up at me,” he growls.
I lift my eyes and his gaze burns into mine, molten and dark. I swallow, my pulse beating against his fingers as they circle my throat, claiming me in a firm grip before he kisses me again. He groans like he’s barely holding himself together, so I roll my hips against him—a teasing, barely-there grind.
“Fuck,” he rasps.
He shoves my coveralls down the rest of the way, dragging my underwear with them, the fabric catching against my thighs before I kick them off.
I reach for his zipper, but he catches my wrist, stopping me.
“Not yet, princess,” he commands. “Put your hands down and spread your legs for me.”
I obey, parting my knees, achingly aware of how bare I am beneath him—Damian still dressed in his coveralls while I’m not wearing a scrap of clothing.
He drops down to his knees, hands sliding up the sides of my thighs to my ass, dragging me to the edge of the workbench. He leans in, his breath hot against my inner thigh as he presses a kiss there. Then another, higher.
“You have such a pretty little pussy,” he murmurs. “I’ve been thinking about it for days. How tight and wet you felt on my cock, how sweetly you squeezed me when you came.” He brushes a soft kiss on my clit, and my whole body jolts. “But this time I wanna taste you.”
I whimper, unable to speak, and he grins against my skin. “That’s my girl.”
And then his mouth is on me.
He parts me with his tongue and I gasp—head tipping back, thighs trembling, a moan spilling from my lips before I can stop it. He groans like he’s tasting something he’s been cravingfor years, working over my clit and circling it with rhythmic precision before sucking it into his mouth.
I clutch the edge of the workbench with both hands, hips rocking forward, chasing his mouth without even meaning to.
He’s relentless—licking, sucking, devouring me with single-minded focus. Every drag of his mouth sends sparks racing through me as he strokes my clit, arms locked around my thighs to hold me still while I writhe and gasp his name like a prayer.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters between strokes. “You taste so goddamn good. So wet already. You’ve been aching for this, haven’t you?”
I can’t answer. I’m gulping back air, my heart slamming against my ribs.
He pulls back just enough to look up at me, mouth slick, eyes blazing. “You gonna come for me, Max? Gonna come in my mouth like a good little girl?”
“Please—” I whisper.
“Please what?”
“Please make me come, Damian. Please, I need it—”
My thighs shake, every nerve lit up, the pressure building hard and fast.
