Chapter 4

4

Arya

Iwake up in the middle of an unfamiliar bed, more boneless and comfortable than I have ever been in my life. There is a mirror on the ceiling and my reflection is unrecognizable. I’m naked and my dark hair is spread out around me in disarray. Red marks decorate my neck and throat and shoulders. Are they the result of Damian sucking on me?

The last thing I remember is falling asleep in his arms in the back of the SUV, his stiffness wedged between the cheeks of my backside. He was in pain. Somehow I sensed that, but I didn’t know how to free him of it. Nor did he seem inclined to explain it to me, shushing me with hard kisses every time I asked.

My fingertips trail up and over my sensitive nipples. I gasp when there’s a corresponding tug between my thighs. Have those two body parts always been connected? I once found a big floppy toy in my mother’s sock drawer and wondered what she used it for. After Damian’s explanation, now I know. She put it inside herself to simulate…sex. And in doing so, she must have experienced that same mighty tide of relief Damian gave me with his mouth. Otherwise, why would she do it?

Why do people do anything unless that hot whiplash of relief is the end game?

Wow.

Wow, it was amazing.

I want to feel it again.

More, I want to give that release to Damian.

Where is he?

I stretch my arms up over my head and sit up, yawning as I take in my surroundings.

Geez, this bedroom is even nicer than mine back in Manhattan. There is a huge window overlooking the ocean and a gentle breeze lifts the light blue curtains, sending them reaching toward the bed like elegant fingers. A ceiling fan turns lazily overhead and the bed, my God, it’s enough to fit eighteen people, let alone one. Everything is decorated in blue and white and turquoise, the plush rugs and furniture designed for comfort.

Eager to find Damian and see the rest of the house, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and go to the closet, finding a short, white silk robe with an A embroidered on the pocket. The wings of my heart flap in my chest at Damian’s thoughtfulness. At everything he’s done to bring me here. To make me feel wanted and safe.

Maybe moving to a strange place with a self-proclaimed criminal who blackmailed my father should make me nervous. But he’s been such a huge part of my life, even while silent, for years, that this journey feels inevitable and right. I’m where I’m supposed to be. The steady beat of my heart is telling me so.

I belt the robe around my naked body and turn to leave the room—

That’s when a terrible thought occurs to me.

On the ride to the Hamptons, Damian said he needed to feel good.

That he would find a way to handle it until I’m ready.

But…I’ve never been able to make myself feel good by myself.

Does that mean he has to find another woman until I’m ready?

Jealousy spikes in my chest and the tantrum comes on before I can stop it.

One second, I’m the calmest I’ve ever been. The next, I’m seeing red.

My fingernails dig into my palms and pressure shoves outward from the center of my throat, leaving me right on the precipice of screaming. And I do scream, I let it out loud enough to shake the chandelier above the bed when I picture another woman’s hands on my Damian.

I stomp out of the room and pick up the first breakable item I can find—a vase on a pedestal—and throw it down the hallway, letting it smash on the marble floor.

“Damian!”

* * *

Damian

I’m pacingthe floor of my office when I hear breaking glass, followed by a scream.

My heart stops.

I lurch toward the door with unthinkable visions in my head. Arya hurt. Arya bleeding. Fuck. Fuck! Did someone get into the house? I’ve made it impossible. Every inch of the grounds is surrounded by fifteen-foot-high wrought-iron fences and patrolled by ruthless guards toting semi-automatic weapons. There is no way. No one could have gotten to her.

That’s what I tell myself, but I’m gasping for sanity by the time I get up the stairs, my blood frozen in place. If she’s hurt, I’ll throw myself from the roof. I won’t be able to live knowing she was injured or worse in my care. Please, no, please let her be…

She wheels out of the hallway, a righteously pissed off angel with a vendetta and I rock back on my heels, sucking down droves of air. She’s okay, she’s okay, she’s…

Mad as hell.

That makes two of us.

“Why would you scream like that, Arya?” I shout, storming toward her. Not only to chastise her for giving me a heart attack, but to touch her, reassure myself there isn’t a single nick on her skin. “I thought you were being hurt!”

“I am! You are hurting me!”

Hurting her? No. I almost drop to my knees. As it is, I double over, a dagger of denial twisting in my stomach. “What? How?”

“Is there another woman here?” She lunges for a statue resting on the landing bookshelf, picks it up and hurls it—at my head. “I will kill her. I will kill her!”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Arya? There has been no woman in the house but you.” My mind spins. “Are you actually jealous? I live for you. I built this house for you. I’m being burned alive every second of the day for you.”

“You said you would find a way to feel good without me,” she sobs, tears clouding her eyes. “How are you doing it?”

“The same way I’ve been handling it since you became a woman, Arya.”

She stomps her foot. “How?”

With an angry bellow, I stoop down and throw her quivering form over my shoulder, striding back toward the bedroom. She pounds her fists on my back and I don’t try to stop her, too furious to do anything but focus on where I’m going. What I’m going to do to her. Her parents couldn’t teach her a lesson or thwart her tantrums, but I’m in charge now. I’m God, Daddy, Lover, Disciplinarian and Bodyguard to this girl and she’s about to feel all of them.

I throw Arya down in the center of our bed, untying the belt of her robe and throwing it open, raking her nakedness with my eyes. I’ve been pacing in my office for an hour trying to bring down my erection and nothing worked, not with her finally in my home, in my bed, and my cock hardens even more now at the exquisite sight of her. Those rosy little nipples and her horny pussy taunt me, clench my teeth.

“You want to know how I handle being hard for you twenty-four fucking hours a day, sweetheart?” I yank down the zipper of my jeans and wrap a fist around my throbbing dick, pulling it out and beating it roughly. Finally having it touched makes me groan up at the ceiling, my jaw hinging open, and maybe it’s messed up, but having Arya there to watch me stroke off is making me hotter. “This is how I handle it. I have to beat my cock until I’m sore and my hand is cramping because I can’t get fucking your pussy out of my head.”

She’s still not free of the tantrum. Her face is still flushed, eyes glittering.

Watching me jerk off is making her breathless, but she’s not done being pissed. When she tries to escape and scramble off the bed, I pounce, flattening her underneath me. She’s face down, struggling, her naked ass pressing and wiggling in my lap, making me growl.

I flip her over and pry her legs apart. “Enough,” I shout. “Stay still!”

Holding down her bucking body with mine, I reach between her legs and find her soaked. Dripping. And my instinct rears its head, telling me I’ve held the key to curing her tantrums all his time.

“Yeah, I know what you need, don’t I, you hot little brat?” Arya is still fighting me when I position my cock at the start of her wet hole and shove home, not stopping until I’m balls deep, making a guttural sound into her neck. “Oh. Fuck. That is tight tight tight. So fucking small.” I’m pulsing head to toe, the need for release screaming from the marrow of my bones, but I hold myself still, watching the transformation come over Arya. It’s like flipping a switch. Her eyes go from murderous to dreamy, her neck loosening, the angry flush leaving her skin. “This has been your real problem all along, hasn’t it, sweetheart?” I lean down and lick one of her nipples between my lips, rolling it between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. “You just needed this fat dick between your legs.”

“Yes,” she gasps, her nails scraping down my back, burying in my ass and yanking me deeper—yes, Jesus. Yes. “Damian, you…you feel like the missing piece.”

My heart crashes against my jugular. “I am your missing piece, Arya,” I manage, my hips beginning to pump and grind on their own, burying and reveling in her incredible sweetness. “And you’re mine. You’re mine.” I bring our mouths together and kiss her, drawing my tongue in and out in time with the movements of my hips. I’m fucking her. I’m finally fucking her. I didn’t think I would make it through all the misery and need alive. “I thought you knew. I thought you realized I’ve been waiting for you. I’d kill another woman before I let her touch me.” I shove my cock to the hilt and hold it, baring down with my hips. “Don’t you ever question my faithfulness again. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she pants.

I slam in and out again, gripping her throat in my hand. “Is it?”

“Yes, Damian,” she moans, because I spread my knees and bring my hips lower, allowing me to scoop upward and hit her pussy from a different angle, my strokes deeper, angled toward that secret spot inside of her. And she loves it, her fingernails leaving tracks on my back, her hips working furiously to meet my thrusts. “Oh my God, please. Faster.”

“Fuck. I can’t hold it,” I say thickly against her mouth, my drives speeding up, turning more aggressive, almost violent. “Been saving up for weeks to fill this little pussy to the brim. You’re going to make me a daddy in nine months, aren’t you, sweetheart? Yeah you are. Going to have me panting after that teen mom belly, following you around with my dick in my hand.”

Arya’s breath catches, her thighs jolting and squeezing around my hips. “I-I think it’s happening again, but d-d-different.” She makes a keening sound, her hands flying up over her head to twist in the sheets. “Damian!”

I called her a hot little brat earlier and that’s exactly how she comes. Her face screws up in a sexy pout and she whines my name, trembling so hard I hear her teeth chattering, her pussy contracting so much, I have to hold her down and fight to stay inside of her. “Stay down and let me come in that pussy,” I choke out into her neck. “Stay down and get what’s coming to you. S’going to make me feel so fucking good, baby, baby, please—”

The pressure intensifies until I’m jackhammering into her drenched, clenching pussy, bellowing in pain, and then I’m tossed overboard into a bottomless ocean, pitched side to side by wave after wave of pleasure. I grind down and get my cock right up against her womb, calling her name hoarsely as the seed pumps out of me, the gradual relief wracking me in shudders, my balls high, tight, pulsing, rejoicing at finally being empty.

It goes on forever, until I know I’ve coated her womb more than once and I collapse beside her limp body. Once I’ve recovered enough to get a decent breath, I pull her into my arms, close as I can get her.

“I’m sorry about the tantrum,” she whispers against my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll have any more now.”

“That would be a shame now that we know how to stop them.”

I feel her mouth curve into a smile. “You like…all of me, don’t you, Damian?”

“Like.” I shake my head and pull her tighter to my chest, letting her hear the wild riot of my heart. “No. I love all of you, Arya.” Finding the robe, I secure it around her shoulders and belt it, carrying her from the room against my chest. “Let me show you how much.”