Page 35 of Damron
"Still perfect," he muttered, lowering his mouth to one nipple while his fingers continued their relentless assault between my legs.
I reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. "Just fuck me already," I demanded, past the point of pride.
He chuckled against my skin. "So the senator wants to be fucked on her kitchen counter? What would your constituents think?"
"That I have excellent taste in kitchen furniture," I shot back, finally freeing his cock from his jeans. He was rock hard, the thick length of him hot and heavy in my palm. I stroked him once, twice, loving the way his breath hitched.
"Enough games," he growled, batting my hand away and positioning himself at my entrance. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.
"Fuck!" I cried out, legs automatically wrapping around his waist.
Damron didn't wait for me to adjust. He pulled back and slammed into me again, setting a punishing rhythm that had the cabinet doors rattling behind me. His hands gripped my ass, lifting me slightly to hit that spot deep inside that made stars explode behind my eyelids.
"Look at me," he demanded, one hand moving to my throat. "I want to see your face when you come."
I forced my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze as he pounded into me. The counter edge dug into my ass, but the pain just heightened every sensation. His thumb returned to my clit, circling roughly.
"That's it," he encouraged as my walls began to clench around him. "Give it to me, Carly."
My orgasm hit like a freight train, my body convulsing as I screamed his name. He didn't let up, fucking me through the waves of pleasure until I was shaking and breathless.
"That's my girl," he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Now I'm gonna fill this tight cunt up." With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep and came with a roar, his hot seed flooding me. We stayed locked together, panting, sweat cooling on our skin. When he finally pulled out, I could feel his cum starting to leak from my well-fucked pussy. Without hesitation, I slid off the counter and dropped to my knees on the kitchen floor.
"What are you—" he started, but his words died as I wrapped my lips around his semi-hard cock.
I could taste both of us on him as I took him deep, cleaning every inch with my tongue. His hands fisted in my hair as I worked him back to hardness, sucking and licking like a woman starved.
"Fuck, Carly," he groaned, hips bucking. "Your mouth is so fucking good."
I pulled off with a wet pop, looking up at him with cum-slick lips. "I want all of it," I said, then dove back down to suck his balls into my mouth.
Damron's head fell back, a string of curses falling from his lips as I worshipped his cock with my mouth. I was filthy for him, desperate, taking him so deep I gagged.
"Gonna come down your throat," he warned, but I just sucked harder, wanting every drop.
He exploded with a grunt, his bitter seed coating my tongue. I swallowed greedily, milking him until he was spent and softening in my mouth. When I finally released him, we were both breathing hard. The kitchen smelled like sex and spilled coffee.
"We should clean up," I said, though I made no move to get off my knees. “I have somewhere to be.”
###
The campaign rally was held in an old warehouse that smelled like oil and wet cement, the kind of place where you expect to find a body, not a buffet table. I stood backstage, fidgeting with my earpiece while the advance team screamed at each other over logistics and the AV guy ran a sound check by screaming “cocksucker” into a hot mic. My nerves itched and my pussy still throbbed. The light above the stage was harsh and blue, perfect for hiding bloodshot eyes and unhealed bruises. I’d spent hours in hair and makeup, but under the heat of the industrial LEDs, I already felt like a fried chicken left too long under a lamp.
“Ready in five,” someone barked. The crowd was audible from behind the curtain—a mash of local party operatives, handpicked superfans, and a wall of bored press waiting for the next viral disaster.
My mind automatically went back to the kitchen apartment. The way Damron fucked me like he did before our marriage went to shit.
I scanned the wings. Damron wasn’t there, but I knew he was in the building. The MC had a sixth sense for where the threat was coming from, and I’d seen the way his eyes never stopped moving when he did a walk-through with campaign security. He’d shaved for the occasion, but the suit still looked like it might strangle him if he wore it for more than an hour. You could dress up a wolf, but you couldn’t file down the teeth.
“Senator, two minutes,” the comms girl said, her tablet trembling in her grip.
I looked at myself in the mirror—expensive, inoffensive, calculated down to the color of my blouse—and tried to remember why I was doing this. Because if I didn’t, Giammati’s goons would win. Because the club had a code, but politics had none. Because the only way to beat them was to play dirtier, or at least make it look like you could.
The crowd noise peaked as they read my bio. The room was lit up, exposed brick and ductwork running like veins across the ceiling. I stepped up to the curtain, the first ten seconds of adrenaline stinging my skin like a shot of mezcal. I hit the stage and the applause rolled over me, hungry and hollow. I smiled, the “Senator St. James” smile, and took the podium. The opening lines were autopilot—thank you, so happy to be here, humbled by your trust, bullshit sandwich served fresh. But even as I spoke, my eyes found Damron.
He was at the far wall, posted behind a support beam. He wore a jacket over his cut, but I could still see the bulge at his waistband. His arms were folded, eyes cool and predatory, never settling for more than a split second before sweeping to the next exit or shadowed corner. Next to him, the campaign’stop security guy looked like a mall cop doing cosplay. I almost laughed. No one could spot a kill zone like Damron.
I kept talking, fielding the crowd. Every fifteen seconds, my handler fed me a line through the earpiece—pivot to crime reform, joke about the governor, plug the bill even though it was dead. The room was thick with TV cameras. I made sure to gesture big, smile bigger, and keep my shoulders back. Never show fear, not even to the voters.
