(A One-Night Stand)
Thinking straight was hard. Harder than I thought. Not with his fingers trailing down my skin—from my parted lips to my hardened nipples—rubbing them between his fingers, fiercely.
This was a mistake. I wasn't supposed to be here. I was… My thoughts scattered when his breath brushed my skin, goosebumps spreading across the surface in response.
"I missed you," he whispered, teeth grazing my earlobe. His tongue flicked over my neck, rough, while his hands hovered just above my hips, slowly guiding me to the bed.
I had no idea who he was. No idea where I was. Just a half-naked man in front of me, covering me in compliments and kisses. The dimly lit room hid his face, and the rich cologne wrapped around him like a second skin, clouding my already foggy mind.
I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell him he was fantasizing over the wrong person, but my treacherous body betrayed me under his touch. Once again, I opened my lips to speak, but all I could do was gasp.
Forcefully, he spun our bodies around, pressing mine on the cold wall, his hazel eyes meeting mine. The moon bathed his skin with a soft glow, highlighting his features—from his muscular pecs to his abs, which glistened like a diamond close to the shore.
His left hand found its way beneath my neck. Not so that I might get choked, but so that I'd know he had control over my body. Of course, he did. If he didn't, I'd be fighting to get my way out of his grip. But here I was, allowing him to control my body like he owned it. Maybe he did.
My muscles stiffened a bit, a predatory smile running across his lips. His fingers found their way to my bra, slowly undressing me till the soft fabric pooled on my ankles, revealing a black bra and lingerie.
"I forgive you for keeping me waiting…" he paused, sniffing the air around. "You are drunk," he noted, but continued anyway.
He lifted me up, pressing me on the cold wall. My arms wrapped around his neck. He kissed my lips feverishly, and my breathing hitched, as if he was sucking my soul away.
Slowly, yet carefully, he unhooked my bra, his eyes devouring my cleavage. My limbs were weak, a result of the whiskey I'd taken earlier downstairs.
He grabbed my ass cheeks, the bulge of his crotch teasing my vagina just enough to get me sopping wet. I slid my hand down my abdomen slowly until it was in between my thighs and started playing with my clit, delicate but determined as if instructing him. He stripped off all his clothes as fast as possible to join in the action before I climaxed. Maybe I needed him more than he needed me.
He slowly kept me on the bed, my legs parting, my clit was swollen, and he roughly dragged my underwear, staring right at it.
Wasn't it weird that I was getting this intense pleasure from a guy I knew nothing about? Well, there was nothing to worry about. I had no spouse or boyfriend, so worrying about infidelity was out of the context.
I shivered when he breathed on my pussy. I had anticipated penetration with his fingers, but he didn't. He climbed over me, humping my swollen clit, my nipples grazing his lips. The more he sucked, the wetter I got. So much that I had an orgasm from sucking my titties.
"I haven't even started yet," he hissed.
He paused for a while, letting his huge bulge rest on my clit before he turned me over, and I arched my waist. The last thing I remembered before I drowned in the walls of orgasm was when he penetrated my tight walls with his cock, whispering some words into my ears.
"Fuck," I moaned, torn apart between the worlds of pain and pleasure.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains, warming my skin in a golden haze. I stretched, squinting, trying to adjust to the harsh light.
I sat up slowly, a dull ache pulsing in my temples. Groaning, I rubbed my forehead and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The chill of the marble grounded me.
I stood, unsteady at first, my legs trembling beneath me. Cold air brushed my bare skin, and I reached for the edge of the curtain, wrapping it loosely around my chest. My gaze darted across the room, searching for familiarity, for some clue that would tell me where the hell I was.
It was a master bedroom—lavish, everything about it screamed wealth. The scent of mahogany wood wafted through the air and I tried to steady my blurry vision by allowing my eyes to wander around the room. The room had everything in it. It was spacious. A crystal chandelier sat on the middle of the ceiling, large, barely illuminating the room.
Then, the question hit me like a bolt of lightning;Where am I?
My eyes scanned around the room, Landing on the silver coated mirror and my breathing hitched.
I was completely naked.
The curtain slipped from my fingers, but I didn't care. My reflection stared back at me, eyes wide, lips parted. My body was littered with marks—faint red bruises blooming on my neck, between my breasts, on my thighs.
And just like that, it all came flooding back.
Last night. The party. The drinking. The way I sneaked out of the kitchen—leaving my mother behind, roasting duck and humming under her breath—just to get a taste of what it felt like to be seen. To be someone.
I remembered walking into the party and taking shots, the whiskey burning down my throat. I could remember the cheering and fake laughter which filled the air as I took several shots. The images came clear and my cheeks reddened with embarrassment.
My stomach churned.
What the hell did I do?
"You're not Eden."
A low, deep voice cut through the silence like a blade.
My heart stopped.
I didn't turn. I didn't breathe.
The voice was behind me. And if my memory wasn't failing me—which it never did when it came to him—then it belonged to the man that I made out with.
Fuck.
A shadow moved behind me, and before I could gather the courage to face him, he closed the distance between us. In one swift, commanding motion, he turned me around by the shoulder.
My breath hitched.
Damian?
I knew that face. The perfectly sculpted jawline, the sharp cheekbones, the arrogant slant of his brows. His hazel eyes stared down at me—cold, unreadable, calculating. His tousled dark hair fell over his forehead like it always did in school, just messy enough to look deliberate.
He hadn't changed. Just grown more dangerous.
Damian Alexander.
The boy who ruined high school for me. The son of my mother's boss. My best friend's boyfriend.
What the fuck have I done?
"Who the hell are you?" he barked, his voice sharp and demanding. "How the fuck did you get here?"
Of Course he didn't remember me. I was one of the nobodies he bullied in high school simply because I came on scholarship. Simply because I came from a poor background. Staring dead into his eyes grated on my nerves, but the anger disappeared as soon as it came, replaced by fear.
If he ever told his father then, my mother would be sacked. I knew how much my mother needed that job, that was our only means of surviving.
"I need not to repeat myself," he growled, his voice startling me. My chest heaved, my chest tightened.
"I…I," I stammered.
I tried to speak,but my throat tightened, and all I could do was stare at him,my face draining of all the colours.
This was both infuriating and terrifying.
Then, there was a shift in his mood- his once furrowed brow straightened, a flicker of emotion I couldn't place my finger on crossing his face. His face suddenly paled the moment he averted his gaze to the door before drifting back to me. Before I could cook up an answer to give him, he covered the distance between us, slamming me against the wall and…kissed me.