Chapter Thirty-Nine

Present

I give a little cry as Damian hauls me out of the car unceremoniously. He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind us, his focus locked solely on dragging me inside the mansion.

“Damian, let go of me!” I snap, yanking my arm, but his grip on my wrist is like a vise, not letting up for a second.

“Not a chance,” he growls.

I dig my heels into the ground, trying to slow him down, but it’s like trying to stop a freight train. “I said, let me go!” My voice rises, furious. I shove at his bicep, my fingers curling into his shirt sleeve, but the muscles underneath don’t budge.

He doesn’t even acknowledge my struggle—just grips me tighter, moving with brutal efficiency. I thrash harder, swinging my arm back to hit him, but he catches it mid-air, his eyes flashing with dark amusement.

“Keep fighting me, River. See where it gets you.” His words are a warning, but I can hear the enjoyment in his tone. Bastard.

I try to plop down on the floor of our salon but he is faster, he grabs my body and maneuvers me in front of him then begins pushing me inside. I claw at his hands around me, twisting my body in his grasp, but he only grunts in response before I’m suddenly lifted off my feet, flung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “Damian!” I scream, kicking my legs uselessly as the world spins upside down.

He marches with me hanging over him, utterly powerless.

Through the disorienting view, I spot Vicky and Hal, watching. My face burns with fury and embarrassment. Vicky’s face is red as she watches us. But Hal has no expression on his face. I glare at him, silently demanding his help.

“No one’s going to help you, angel,” Damian says coolly. “You’re mine.”

“Put me down, you psycho!” I hit him on his ass, but it only makes him chuckle, his pace quickening as he storms up the stairs toward the master bedroom.

He doesn’t stop until we are inside. Then I’m thrown onto the bed, my breath knocked out as Damian’s dark figure looms over me. I prop myself on my elbows to glare at him. He stares at me for a few beats before turning and walking away.

Relief hits me so hard my elbows give out, and I collapse onto the bed, my chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Thank God, he’s leaving me alone.

I watch him reach for the door, his fingers curling around the handle. My heart stops when instead of leaving, he swings the door shut, the soft click of the lock echoing in the room with a dangerous finality.

Panic grips me. I scramble off the bed, but his voice slices through the silence.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

My body freezes for a heartbeat, but my defiance kicks in. I stand beside the bed, lifting my chin as if I’m not terrified of what comes next.

He arches an eyebrow. “Are you in the mood of a rematch?”

Heat floods my cheeks, the memory of last night flashing in my mind—me running through the mansion in nothing but a towel, with Damian chasing after me.

“No! I’m not. I just want to be away from you… W-what are you doing?”

With his piercing gaze locked on me, he reaches behind his head, gripping his sweater, and pulls it off in one smooth motion. He drops it to the floor. His bare chest gleams in the dim light of the room, every muscle taut as he watches me like a predator about to pounce.

“I said no, Damian!” My voice rises, as he kicks off his shoes, his hands already moving to the waistband of his jeans.

His response is maddeningly calm. “And I heard you.”

My eyes dart around the room, desperate for some kind of escape, but there’s nothing. No help, no way out.

“I am not your sex toy to use whenever you want!” I throw the words at him like daggers, hoping they’ll wound him, but he just smirks, that dark, infuriating smirk that makes my blood boil.

“You’re my wife,” he says, as if that one word is all the justification he needs. His gaze sweeps over me, heated and possessive, and I hate the way my body reacts, my skin tingling under his scrutiny.

“Wife? I never felt like your wife!”

He shrugs, his jeans unbuttoned as he steps closer, his movements deliberate. “Only proves I need to work harder at being a husband.”

“That’s not what I meant!” My eyes dart to the bathroom, and I take a step back, my pulse racing. “I want nothing to do with you. Absolutely nothing!”

“Prove it.”

It’s ironic how, once, I used to crave his attention, used to bend over backward just to get him to look at me. Now, I’d give anything to escape his gaze, to have him look away, to have him let me go.

When he prowls toward me, I bolt toward the bathroom. But Damian’s right there, his footsteps heavy behind me. I feel the air shift as he lunges for me, his hand catches the back of my jacket, yanking me to a stop. I twist out of the jacket, letting him have it before slipping past him and racing for the bedroom door.

My fingers fumble with the handle, yanking it open. I give a startled cry when his palm slams against the door above my head with a deafening thud, forcing it shut again.

I’m trembling whether from anger or fear, I can’t tell anymore but it fuels me. It gives me strength. “Either leave, or let me go!” I shout, turning to face him.

His gaze darkens as he steps closer. “No.”

“You can’t keep me here against my will!” My fists are clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I fight to hold my ground.

He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “Watch me.”

“I don’t want you, Damian!”

“And I told you to prove it.” His voice is dark, taunting, and before I can even react, his hand shoots out, gripping my wrist and yanking me toward him. His other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against his bare chest, the heat of his skin burning through my thin clothes.

“Get your hands off me!” I struggle, pushing at his chest, but his grip tightens, his arms locking me in place. His mouth crashes down on mine, brutal and demanding, his lips forcing mine apart in a kiss that’s more about domination than anything else. It’s rough and consuming, and I hate myself for the way my body reacts, heat pooling low in my belly despite my every effort to resist.

His hands move over me, rough and possessive, one sliding down my back, the other tangling in my hair, yanking my head back to deepen the kiss. His teeth graze my lower lip, biting down just hard enough to send a shock of pain through me, making me gasp.

“You can fight me all you want,” he growls against my lips. “But you’re still mine.”

That’s when I snap. I lean forward and bite into his jaw—hard. It’s no playful nip. I want to hurt him. He grunts in response before releasing me. I’m disappointed when I see there’s no blood, just a faint red mark where my teeth sank in.

“You little hellcat.”

I glare at him, ready to lunge again, but before I can move, he’s already seized my wrists, wrenching them behind my back. His grip is brutal as he pulls me hard against him. “I thought I fucked the fight out of you last night and this morning. Guess I was wrong.”

My breath is ragged, fury blazing through me as I struggle against his iron hold. “You kicked me out of your office earlier,” I spit, trying to remind him of his own dismissal.

He secures my wrists in one hand, the other reaching up to brush a curl away from my face with chilling calm. “And that’s why you’re denying us our pleasure?”

“No!” I grit out. “I just don’t want to right now. Go ahead, kick me out of the bedroom too!”

Instead of leaving me alone like he did before, he crushes my breasts with his hair roughened chest. “Why would I kick you out when I plan on keeping you hostage right here?”

My eyes widen. I start thrashing again, yanking my wrists, trying to twist free, but he doesn’t budge. His strength only seems to grow with my struggle. Suddenly his gaze drift downward and stays there while I continue to wrestle.

After a few seconds, when he still continues to stare down, I’m forced to look down too. And I’m horrified to see the top of my shirt gaping open, my breasts looking like they might burst free at any moment.

He lifts his heavy-lidded, aroused gaze to lock with mine. Then slowly lowers his head to kiss me. I instinctively lift my knee, aiming for his groin, but he effortlessly avoids it, capturing the back of my knee instead and holding me open to grind his erection against me. The force sends shockwaves of desire coursing through my body.

“Is that how you want to play?” his voice low and dark. As if to punish me for my defiance, he reaches between us, his hand finding my breast. He squeezes it through the fabric of my shirt. Then with his thumb and forefinger he captures my already hardened nipple, twisting it cruelly, making me whimper.

I stare up at my husband. No, not my husband. This man is my lover. He’s never been a husband, just a man who knows how to bring me pleasure and take it just as easily. A man who shuts down the instant he’s satisfied, not caring about me or my feelings. Husbands don’t act like this.

He lowers his head, burying it in my throat, inhaling the scent of my skin like it’s the most intoxicating thing in the world.

“Let me go,” I mumble, closing my eyes. We both know I don’t just mean for this moment. I mean forever. Damian tenses, the muscles in his body tightening as he pulls back and releases my leg. I feel his eyes on me, studying me, as if trying to read the depths of my soul.

I wait for him to say something. Anything. But nothing comes.

The silence seems to go on and on until I can’t stand it anymore. I hesitantly peek at him through my lashes and find his jaw clenched tight.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” I ask quietly.

“I have my reasons,” he replies, then he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my pants and pulls me until I’m flush against him. “Now tell me, do you want it against the door or on the bed?”

“Neither!” I shoot back and push him away. But instead of retreating, he seizes me by the collar and rips my shirt open in one swift motion. The buttons scatter across the floor, and I gasp in shock, staring down at myself as the shirt hangs open, exposing my white lace bra. “How dare you?” I manage to sputter.

“Because I want you,” he declares, his eyes dark and hungry as he drinks in the sight of me. He devours me with his gaze, as if he’s seeing me for the first time. As if we hadn’t spent the entire night and this morning lost in each other’s arms.

I watch, dry-mouthed, as his eyes trace over my skin, lingering on the bite marks and the stubble rash sprinkled across my chest and abdomen, disappearing into the waistband of my pants.

Watching him watch me with his lips slightly parted, pupils dilated is intoxicating. Heat floods my veins as his dark gaze roams over every inch of my exposed skin.

When he lifts those dark eyes, goosebumps rise on my arms.

I swallow thickly as he eats up the small distance between us. One hand grips my waist while the other captures my breast, his fingers kneading my flesh with a possessiveness that sends tremors through my body. He keeps his gaze trained on me, noting everything—the quickening of my breath, my flushed skin, the way my lips part as a soft mewl escapes.

Pure satisfaction glimmers in his eyes, making me aware that I am losing again. I grit my teeth. And when he bends to kiss me, I retaliate by tilting my head back, a provocative challenge written all over my face. His eyes narrow as he leans closer. But I dodge him, tilting my head away just out of reach, savoring the power of the moment. When he tries to go for it again, I smugly turn my head to the side only to be shocked when he attaches his mouth to my neck, hot and hard, sucking and nibbling with a ferocity that makes me wince.

He’s punishing me for denying him, and it only fuels my defiance. Wrapping my arms around him, I dig my nails into his smooth back, scratching down, pressing harder in an attempt to draw blood. If I can leave marks, that would be even better.

He retaliates by grabbing a handful of my ass and squeezing hard until I know I’ll have bruises, a mark for a mark. “Jerk,” I hiss, digging my nails deeper, desperate to one-up him.

This time, instead of rising to the bait, he slides his hand down my bare abdomen and deftly unbuttons my pants.

“What are you doing?” I squirm, needing to escape, but it’s too late. He’s yanked my zipper down, and his hand slips beneath the waistband of my panties, burrowing deep until his fingertips brush against my clit through my slick folds. The sensation is so shocking, I cry out.

“Reminding you who you belong to,” he murmurs, his fingers moving slowly, back and forth, teasing, tormenting. “So, fighting makes my wife horny?”

“Shut up.” I snap, but my body is betraying me. I can feel the heat pooling low in my belly as I lean into him, gasping when he thrusts a thick finger deep inside.

“You’re desperate for this,” he says, the corner of his mouth curling a little.

I tense, pulling back. “You wish.”

Unfazed, he continues, “You hate that your body craves me. You fight me, resist me, all to soothe your conscience. Deep down, you know I’ll take what I want. That way, you get to enjoy me and still get to blame me.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“Is that so?” He presses a second finger into me, and I gasp, arching my back as pleasure floods through me. “But look at you, soaking wet and ready for me. You want this as much as I do.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want!”

“Oh, but I do.” He pinches my sensitive nipple between his fingers, the perfect mix of pleasure and pain, as his fingers work inside me, driving deeper, faster. “You want to act tough, but I can feel how your walls are clenching around me. You’re begging for it, angel.”

“Fuck you!”

“You will.” He presses his thumb against my clit. My inner muscles tighten, clinging to his rough fingers, just like he said, begging for it. I part my mouth to moan but keep it in.

He doesn’t like it. He leans in and captures my lower lip with his teeth, biting down just enough to elicit a whimper. Triumph dances in his eyes.

“Damian...” I trail off as his fingers curl and thrust inside me, hitting that spot that makes my body writhe. “Oh God…” I moan, my resolve slipping away as I chase that peak.

His hand that was pinching and tugging at my nipple wraps around my waist, anchoring me as his fingers pump in and out of me, faster, harder.

“Tell me you love it.”

I shake my head defiantly, but a whimper escapes when he rubs my clit with expert precision, his fingers gliding over my slick folds like they own the territory.

“River.”

Reluctantly, I look up at him, surrendering just a little.

“Tell me,” he growls.

“Fine! I love it!” I admit, my cheeks flushing as I feel my body surrendering to the pleasure he’s inflicting on me.

“Good girl,” he praises, and something primal ignites within me at the sound of those words. The pressure builds, coiling tight in my core, and I know I’m on the brink.

“I need more.”

“More? I thought you didn’t want me.” He slows his pace, drawing out the pleasure, and the frustration bubbles up inside me like molten lava.

“Damian!” I whine, my voice laced with impatience. “Don’t tease me!”

“Tease you?” He raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence as his fingers come to a halt. “But you seem to be enjoying the fight, angel.”

“I can’t take it anymore,” I whimper, my body aching for him, craving the release that’s just out of reach.

“Then beg for it,” he commands, his voice thick with dark satisfaction.

I glare at him, the heat of my arousal battling with my pride. “I won’t beg,” I say, but the quiver in my voice betrays me.

“Beg me, River,” he presses. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I hate you.” The tension between us crackles, and my body betrays my words, every nerve ending screaming for him.

“Last chance,” he warns, leaning in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “You want this? Show me how much.”

With a frustrated growl, I realize I’m out of options. My pride crumbles under the weight of my desire. “Damian, please! I need you. I need to feel you inside me.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, satisfaction darkening his eyes as he thrusts his fingers deep inside me again, picking up speed.

“Fuck! Yes!” I cry out, the heat curling tighter in my belly, and I know I’m teetering on the edge once more.

“Let go, angel,” he urges, and the way he says it makes my heart race. “Come for me. Let me hear you scream my name.”

I throw my head back, surrendering to the waves of pleasure crashing over me. “Damian! Oh God, I’m—”

“Yes. That’s it.” His fingers move relentlessly. My body shatters around his digits, exploding as I scream his name, drowning in pleasure.

After I come down, breathing heavily, I open my eyes to find him studying me intently, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

I lost, and that realization fills me with great shame and at the same time makes me livid.

His expression practically screams: I win , and that’s a bitter pill to swallow. I refuse to be defeated, not again.

With a bold move, I reach down and palm his hard cock over his jeans. “I want to suck your cock.”

For the first time ever, surprise flickers in Damian’s eyes. My filthy demand has caught him off guard. Obviously, it would because I never did this before. Seizing the moment, I spin us around, shoving him against the wall. His back thuds against it.

He watches me silently as I pull down the zipper with deliberate slowness. He lets me free his thick cock, and I can’t help but bite my lip at the sight.

I wrap both hands around his girth, feeling the heat radiate from him, and then, with slow seductive move, I shrug out of my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Then I sink to my knees on the fabric.

Damian has always wielded sex like a weapon, using it to keep me under his thumb, exploiting my weakness for him. But now? Now it’s my turn. I want to wipe that smugness off his face and I’m halfway there already. I intend to make him lose control. I intend to win.

I squeeze him hard, my fingers tightening around his shaft. He doesn’t flinch; if anything, he grows harder, relishing the pressure.

Concealing my anger, I slide my hand down to the root then back up, hopefully applying the right pressure. This is uncharted territory, and I’m relying entirely on my instincts and Damian’s reactions.

I revel in the way his chest rises and falls. The way he stares down at me is doing something to me. Although I’m doing this to retaliate, I can’t help but bask in the new pleasure that I have found. To make Damian squirm. For me.

I can feel him pulse beneath my touch. He’s so hard.

Payback time .

I lean forward, pause for a second before flicking my tongue against the tip, savoring the salty taste of his precum pooling there. His breath hitches, and I smile at the sound.

I envelop him with my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head, drawing out another bead of precum.

I spend few minutes just sucking and licking the tip. Then I bob my head, taking him further down my throat. The burn of his thickness makes me gag.

“Fucking hell,” he hisses, fingers curling into fists at his sides. I can see the muscles in his jaw working as he fights to keep his composure. But I’m determined to make him lose that battle.

Every muscle in his body tenses. I can see his control slipping, piece by piece, under the assault of my mouth. I glance up, and the raw need in his eyes is a drug, pulling me deeper into my own desire.

He curses again, his head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut as I pull away for a brief moment, letting my tongue swirl around the head of his cock, coaxing out another desperate sound from him.

Fuck, I wasn’t prepared for how hot Damian would look. Why didn’t I do this before? Because he always did everything his way, to maintain his control.

I do it again, teasing him, and the low, primal groan that escapes his lips sends a brutal ache through me, making my pussy clench hard. As if that wasn’t enough to undo me, Damian opens his eyes and gazes down, making me shiver.

Slowly, he gathers my curls in both hands, pulling them back into a firm grip like a makeshift ponytail, owning every inch of me. Without breaking eye contact, he guides my mouth back to his throbbing cock.

I take him in my mouth again and expect him to takeover. To set the pace. To get his control back. But he doesn’t. He simply holds my hair back and watches me as I pleasure him.

With one hand pumping his base, my other hand slides lower, fingers grazing against his balls, gently massaging them.

“Yes, angel. You’re doing so good,” he grunts.

I double the effort, the line effectively blurred between wanting to see him lose and wanting to pleasure him.

His taste, his feel, his scent is making me wetter. My need for him is increasing.

I pull back, letting him slip out of my mouth for just a moment, relishing the way he glistens with my saliva. I look up at him. “You like that?”

Before he can respond, I take him back in, my mouth hollowing out as I press forward, the tip hitting the back of my throat. I swallow around him, feeling him shudder at the sensation.

“Keep going,” he urges, voice gravelly.

I don’t need to be told twice. I quicken the pace, my mouth working him skillfully, picking it up quicker than I thought. I’m already mastering it. I love the way he throbs, how he surrenders a little more with each passing second.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the sound of his voice driving me wild. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I respond with a moan, pulling back just enough to catch my breath before diving back in, taking him deeper, sucking hard, the sound of my mouth gliding against him echoing in the otherwise quiet room. I feel him twitching, sense the way he’s on the brink, and I push harder, my tongue flicking against his sensitive spots as my hands work faster.

“Enough,” he grunts.

Out of breath, trembling, I glance up at my towering husband, his powerful frame makes me feel small, utterly owned. The sight of his tight muscles and labored breathing has me on the edge.

I can feel the heat radiating from him, so close, ready to come down my throat. I continue moving my mouth on him as my hands stroke his thighs, gripping the jeans that’s still around his knees.

“I need to be inside you,” he grinds out but I refuse to listen. I close my eyes and keep sucking, gagging a few times but don’t stop.

Abruptly, he shoves his hands under my arms and yanks me up. I can hardly process the shift as he pushes me against the wall, yanking off my trousers and panties like they’re nothing but an obstacle.

“I was winning,” I grumble then cry out in surprise when he cups my ass and lifts me off the ground.

“You’ve already won,” he says as he lowers me onto his hard cock. I wrap my legs and arms around him as he starts to fuck me.

His thrusts are hard, relentless, driving me into the wall with each powerful stroke. I can feel the pleasure coiling tight in my belly, building with every thrust, every movement sending shocks of ecstasy through me.

“God, yes,” I moan, lost in the sensation. He drives deeper, hitting all the right spots until I’m crying out, coming against the wall, my body trembling with the force of it.

But he’s not done. He pulls out, lowers me to the floor, ripping my bra off before forcing me onto all fours on the cold, hard ground. The chill against my heated skin only heightens my desire.

Soon he is kneeling behind me and plunging back into me, his hands gripping my hips as he fucks me hard from behind. I rock against him, both of us loud, voicing the pleasure we are drawing from each other. He grabs my hair, yanking it hard, my scalp stinging as his fist tightens. But I take it. I fucking want it.

The roughness, the urgency, it pushes me over the edge again, and I’m gasping, tears running down my face.

He pulls me up again, taking me to the bed, and I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s on me once more. This time, it’s slow, deep, as he fills me completely, taking me to heights once again.

Each thrust drives me wild until I’m screaming, and I’m coming apart, my whole body shaking.

After that, he quickens his pace, pounding into me hard and fast. He finally chases his own climax, his body tensing and then he’s coming inside me.

He buries his face in the crook of my neck, breathing hard. Then after a few minutes, he lifts his head. “Are you okay?”

I nod, wincing as he pulls out of me. Suddenly cold, I yank at the sheets from under me and settle inside. I wait for him to go take a shower and forget about me like he always does. He’s not the one to cuddle or pillow talk. Which is fine by me as I’m used to it.

As predicted, he turns and heads in the direction of the bathroom. But before entering, he stops suddenly and then without turning says, “For his sake, you’ll stay away from him.”

I frown. “Stay away from whom?”

He turns then, his eyes hard. “Matthew Lane.”