When she opens her eyes, sunlight filters through heavy drapes, slowly spilling across the bed. The white sheets lie in tangled disarray, the air still thick with the lingering warmth of last night's fever. Elena lies in the center of the mattress, her skin mottled with love bites and the red imprints of caresses, though between her legs remains—
And there he is—Damien Hawke—sitting at the bedside, shirtless, his muscular contours shimmering faintly in the sunlight.
"You begged me not to stop last night," he says, voice husky and seductive. "But now you wake up ready to put on that cold act again, don't you?"
Elena turns her face away, her eyes frosty:
"From the first moan, you stopped belonging to yourself." He dips down, pressing his lips to a red mark on her collarbone, then flicks his tongue lightly along its edge.
Before she can—
His kiss crashes onto her lips, 霸道 (dominant) and deep, a kiss that brooks no argument. His tongue invades her mouth, curling around hers, tangling, teasing, exploring. One hand clamps around her waist while the other—
She tries to squirm away, but he pins her legs down. The fingers plunging into her rub at her most sensitive spot, and within moments, her breath shallows, heart racing.
"You still say you don't want me?" he murmurs, breathing hot against her ear. "You're soaking wet down here, baby."
"Shut up." She grits her teeth, yet her legs—trying to maintain—
He laughs, rough and precise, tearing aside the fabric that covers her. Her naked legs splay open before him. Without warning, he ducks his head and runs his tongue lightly over her most sensitive flesh, tracing the folds slowly, instantly stealing her breath.
Elena—
He dips again, tongue delving into the slick heat, rotating slowly. His hands force her legs wider, holding her steady as she endures the wet, torturous flicks. He licks unbearably slowly,
She bites her 手背 (knuckles) to stifle moans, but orgasm finally explodes under his relentless assault. Her entire body shudders, back arching, nails digging—
No foreplay, no hesitation. Damien's desire surges wildly.
"Ah—!" She cries out, completely overwhelmed, knocked—
He looms over her, eyes blazing with fierce possession, thrusting deep into her again and again, each stroke a searing force.
"Your body's too honest, darling," he growls through clenched teeth, panting. "It craves me… always craves me."
She has no strength to retort, only moans as his thrusts grow more savage. Her breasts bounce with each movement, and he ducks to—
Suddenly he flips her over, raises her hips high, and plunges in from behind. She lies face-down on the bed, fingers clawing the sheets.
"You know I love fucking you like this," he says, slamming in hard, each thrust hitting that sensitive spot deep inside. Waves of pleasure crash over her, her cries almost—
She moans, the sheets beneath her dampening, her thighs slick with arousal.
At last, he spills inside her, roaring her name.
Minutes later, she slowly opens her eyes, weak and—
Damien sits by the bed, picking up the contract from the nightstand and laying it gently on her chest.
"For this year, you belong to me. I'll give you all the resources to—"
She squints at him.
"This is—"
"I never just wanted to fuck you."
She closes her eyes.
Damien stands, straightens his robe, and looks back at her: "Seven tonight. You'll be there. Wear black. No underwear."
As the door closes, she remains motionless. She knows he isn't joking. And the most terrifying part? She's already craving that night.