Chapter 36: On Your Knees, For The Devil (R18+)
Instead of just forcing her down, his free hand moved with ruthless efficiency... snagging the wet fabric of her dress and peeling it down her shoulders, exposing her slick, shivering skin to the heat of the water.
Ana gasped, reaching out to hold the fabric up, but before she could speak, Damian’s mouth claimed hers in a possessive, punishing kiss that stole the air straight from her lungs.
It was a hungry, wild takeover, his tongue tracing her mouth until every sharp objection in her head began to blur into white noise.
Her pulse hammered violently against her ribs in a flash of panic, but his hand slid down her spine, searing her skin everywhere he touched. He pulled her flush against his hard, naked frame, the undeniable heat of his body pressing straight into her core.
A quiet, helpless whimper broke against his lips as a wave of traitorous, humiliating heat pooled deep in her stomach.
Damian felt the sudden shift... the way her rigid posture gave way under his touch, her fierce fight dissolving into trembling submission as pleasure clouded her judgment.
Slowly breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down her jaw to her collarbone, his heavy hands shifting back to her shoulders to apply that unyielding, downward force once more.
Ana’s chest heaved, her heart thrashing violently against her ribs. She stared up at him through heavy, hooded eyes, her body trembling from a volatile mix of exhaustion, sheer frustration, and the intoxicating fire consuming her senses.
She tried to hold his gaze for three agonizing seconds, trying to gather what little strength she had left...
Until his touch and her own treacherous body forced her resistance to completely shatter.
With a bitter, shaky exhale, Ana’s knees finally gave out, sinking down onto the wet marble floor right at his feet.
The hot water cascaded over them, drowning out the silence of the massive estate as Ana sank to the slick marble floor. She knelt at his feet, her chest heaving, staring up at the imposing, golden expanse of his body.
Her heart hammered violently in her throat. She was entirely out of her depth, her hands trembling as they hovered in the air, completely unsure of where to begin.
Damian looked down at her, his dark eyes heavy with raw, predatory hunger, yet tempered by a calculated, dark patience. He saw the hesitation in her wide eyes, the slight quiver of her parted lips, and the way her wet hair clung to her shivering shoulders.
"Don’t just stare at me, Anastasia," he murmured, his deep baritone cutting through the rushing water. He reached down, his large, heavy hand tangling into her wet hair, tilting her head back slightly. "Touch me."
Slowly, hesitantly, her small hands reached out. Her fingers wrapped around his thick, hard length, and a sharp hiss of breath escaped Damian’s lips at the searing contrast of her soft, cool touch against his burning heat.
The sound sent a jolt of nervous electricity straight to Ana’s core.
"That’s it," he commanded softly, his thumb tracing the delicate line of her jaw. "Use your mouth, doll. Take me in."
Ana swallowed hard. Guided by the unyielding pressure of his hand in her hair, she leaned forward, parting her lips, and tentatively took the heavy, smooth tip into her mouth. She was clumsy at first, her teeth grazing him slightly, her tongue unsure of the rhythm.
Damian let out a low, rough groan, his grip tightening in her hair, though he didn’t pull away. Instead, he took control, molding her to his needs.
"Open wider," he instructed, his voice a dark, gravelly rasp that sent a thrill down her spine despite the heat of the shower. "Don’t rush. Just feel how much you can take."
She obeyed, her jaw stretching as she took more of him inside. The sheer size and heat of him was overwhelming, filling her senses completely. She began to move, a slow, experimental motion, her tongue swirling hesitantly over his sensitive skin as she tried to learn what pleased him.
"Good girl," Damian praised, the dark encouragement in his voice making a strange, intoxicating warmth bloom in her chest. The rare praise acted like a drug, overriding her lingering shame and fueling a desperate, humiliating need to satisfy him. "Use your tongue more... yes. Right there."
His hips began to rock forward instinctively, setting a slow, steady pace that she had to match. When she faltered, choking softly as he pushed deeper, his hand in her hair held her steady... not punishing, but anchoring her, forcing her to yield to his rhythm.
"Breathe, doll," he commanded, his gaze burning down into hers, demanding eye contact even as he drove into her mouth. "You’re doing perfectly. Submit yourself completely to your master."
The last remnants of the fight completely drained out of Ana. Surrounded by the deafening rush of the shower, wrapped in the intoxicating scent of his woodsy cologne and the raw, heavy musk of his arousal, she surrendered entirely to his control.
Her hands slid up to grip his hard, muscular thighs for balance, her mouth working over him with growing, eager confidence as his dark, breathless groans echoed in the room.
The heat in the glass enclosure rose to a fever pitch, the rhythmic, slick sounds of her mouth working over him echoing against the steam-slick marble. Damian’s breath grew ragged, his fingers tightening in her hair as he rode the edge of his control.
With a sharp, shuddering growl that echoed through the small space, his body went rigid, driving deep into her mouth as he spilled his hot, heavy release onto her tongue.
"Swallow it, Anastasia," he commanded, his deep baritone dripping with raw authority, his thumb tracing her trembling lip. "Every drop."
Ana swallowed hard, her throat working as she took every bit of him in, completely submitted to his dark will.
Before she could catch her breath, Damian leaned down and effortlessly hoisted her up into his arms. He slammed her back against the cold, wet tile wall, the sudden rush of movement taking her breath away.
Her wet legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her small hands clinging desperately to his broad, slick shoulders for balance.
Damian’s dark, predatory eyes burned into hers through the fogged-up glass, his heavy chest heaving against her chest.
"Look at me, doll," he growled low, his thumb pressing firmly into her chin. "Do you want your own release?"
Ana closed her eyes, a helpless, breathless nod escaping her as a wave of humiliation and intense heat washed over her.
"Don’t just nod at me," Damian instructed sharply, his voice an unyielding demand that echoed over the pounding water. "Use your words, Anastasia. Tell me what you need."
Ana opened her heavy, hooded eyes, staring into his dark, possessive gaze. The last layer of her pride completely disintegrated.
"Yes... please, Damian," she whimpered softly, her voice cracking with total surrender. "I want it..."
The moment the words left her lips, Damian crashed his mouth down on hers in a wild, punishing kiss that devoured her lingering breath. His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting his own slick mark on her, while his large hands roamed freely across her slick, shivering skin.
He gripped her waist, his thumbs digging into her soft flesh, before sliding his hands up to cup her breasts... massaging them with a fierce, possessive intensity that made Ana whimper right into his mouth.
Every nerve ending in her body ignited. She completely melted against him, her head rolling back as his hands drove her wild.
Without breaking the rhythm of his hands, Damian spun her body around against the wall, pressing her stomach flat against the cool, wet marble tiles. He forced her down, making her arch her back and perk her hips up to meet him.
Ana gasped at the cold touch of the wall, but before she could utter a sound, Damian lined himself up and pushed his hard, re-aroused shaft deep into her from behind in one smooth, unyielding thrust... filling her completely and claiming her in the dark quiet of his estate.
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Meanwhile, miles away in the heart of the city’s most exclusive VIP lounge.
Vivian Stark sat in a booth surrounded by her usual circle of wealthy, sharp-tongued socialites, lazily swirling the ice in her martini. She was still fuming, her mind frantically churning with ways to tear Anastasia Vance off her high horse.
Then, her sharp eyes caught a solitary figure sitting at the dimly lit mahogany bar counter.
It was a young woman, dressed in an effortlessly chic, tailored coat, sitting completely alone. She wasn’t mingling with the high-society crowd. She was just quietly staring into the amber liquid of her drink.
On the marble counter right in front of her sat two glasses of whiske... one half-empty, and one untouched, as if waiting for a ghost.
Vivian’s breath hitched in her throat as she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. The delicate features, the unmistakable aristocratic posture, the haunting resemblance to the Sterling bloodline...
It was Valerie Sterling.
Damian’s younger sister... the protected, golden daughter of the family who had vanished abroad two years ago... was finally back.
A slow, scheming smile slowly spread across Vivian’s lips. Game on.