Chapter 339: Breakfast In Bed (18+)

I didn’t bother answering with words. I just kept stroking, observing how his eyes darkened and the muscles in his jaw flexed, that silent, smug reaction from a man who knows exactly what he does to you and still pretends to be surprised every single time. Damien always did that little thing where he acted like my hands on him were some unexpected plot twist, even though we’d spent half the night proving otherwise.

Then, without ceremony, I dove under the covers, the luxurious fabric settling over my head and shoulders as I shifted down the bed. The scent of him was stronger here, skin, sleep, and the faint saltiness of the night before. It was an intimate, ridiculous hideout you invent when you’re too horny to be dignified and too comfortable to care. The sheets smelled like us, warm and lived-in, and I had zero interest in pretending this was anything other than pure morning greed.

When I closed my mouth around the tip of his cock, I could taste myself on him, a naughty damn reminder of how thoroughly intertwined we had been. Damien’s hand immediately gripped my hair, but not forcing, just holding as a low curse escaped him, filled with approval.

"Fuck... just like that. Look at you, going down on me like you couldn’t wait."

I took him deeper, slow and wet, letting my tongue caress the underside while my hand worked the base. The sheets muffled everything into something intimate: the soft wet sounds of my mouth, his quiet breaths, and the occasional shift of his hips as he tried to refrain from thrusting into the warmth I was offering. It was a muffled, conspiratorial soundtrack for two people still half-asleep and fully shameless. I could feel his thigh tense under my free hand, that little tell that said he was already fighting the urge to take over.

I hollowed my cheeks and pulled back almost to the tip before sliding down again, taking more of him each time. The way his fingers tightened in my hair told me just how much he enjoyed my boldness.

"You wake up hungry for this?" His voice was strained now, the teasing edge still there but starting to fray. "Go on then, baby. Take what you want."

And I did. I focused on him with intent, mixing long, slow motions with shorter, wetter strokes that let him feel every inch of my tongue. When I pressed further and felt the tip nudge the back of my throat, I paused, swallowing around him. The sound he let out was nearly a growl, a deep involuntary noise that said his brain had short-circuited and his body had taken the wheel.

"That’s it... deeper. You look so damn pretty with your mouth full of me."

He let me stay there for a while, clearly enjoying how I was starting the day. Eventually, though, his hand tightened, gently pulling me off him. I surfaced, flushed and breathing hard, lips wet, and he pulled me into a messy, open-mouthed kiss that tasted like both of us. When he pulled back just enough to talk, his voice was low and darkly amused.

"Filthy this morning, huh? Waking up and going straight for my cock like you had it on your mind while you slept."

"You talk too much," I muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. "Shut the fuck up."

It was an affectionate insult you only get away with when the person on the receiving end is currently hard enough to cut glass and still somehow grinning like an idiot. Damien’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a full smile, which only made me want to shove him back down and start over.

He let out a chuckle and rolled us so I was on my back again, settling between my thighs with the easy confidence of someone who already knew exactly how my body would yield to him. One hand reached for the lube on the nightstand while the other stroked the inside of my thigh, and when his fingers found me, he let out a soft, satisfied sound.

"Look who’s still so open from last night. I could just slide into you anytime."

"You’re so full of yourself."

"And yet here you are," he said, voice warm with that particular brand of smugness that somehow still managed to be hot, "already wet and waiting like you planned this whole ambush."

He slicked himself up quickly and then guided the head of his cock to press against me, not pushing in yet, just letting me feel the heat and pressure. "And you’re about to be full of me. You like it that way, Sunshine?"

I didn’t get a chance to respond verbally because that was when he pushed inside in one long, slow thrust that stole my breath away.

"Damien...oh...shit!"

The stretch was familiar now but still intense, my body remembering how to welcome him even while the lingering soreness made every inch feel sharper. Damien stayed still once he was fully seated, resting his forehead against mine so we could both adjust. It was a deliberate pause from a man who knows exactly how to ruin you and is in no hurry to finish the job. His breath was warm against my mouth, and I could feel the faint tremor in his arms as he held himself back.

"You’re the one who started this morning," he murmured, beginning to move in slow, deep strokes that kept us pressed together. "Don’t act all shy now."

"I’m not shy—Fuck...."

"Then move your hips. Show me how much you want it."

So I did, lifting to meet each steady thrust. The angle made him rub against that sweet spot inside me with every pass. The pace was slow but thorough, long withdrawals that almost left me empty followed by deep rolls of his hips that filled me completely once more. Damien kept talking the whole time, his voice low and filthy but tinged with genuine pleasure, the kind of running commentary from someone who has decided that silence is a personal insult.

"Christ, you’re still so tight," he muttered against my jaw. "Feels like you were made for this. Made for me."

I reached up and tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that was more tongues and shared breath than technique. He lifted one of my legs higher against his side, and that new angle made stars burst behind my eyes. Every slow grind pressed us closer together, skin against skin, until the only sounds in the room were the soft, wet noises of him moving inside me and the quiet, broken sounds I couldn’t quite contain.

"You feel so good like this," he murmured against my mouth. "Warm and soft and already dripping for me again. I could stay right here all day, just fucking you slow until you forget how to speak."

"You’re already halfway there," I managed, and the chuckle that came from him was warm and a little dark. It was a smug little sound you make when you’re winning and you know it. I would’ve mocked him for it if my brain hadn’t been currently occupied with the way he was grinding against that exact spot that made coherent thought optional.

He reached between us and wrapped his hand around my cock, stroking in time with those deep, unhurried thrusts. The dual sensation was almost overwhelming, the thick slide of him inside me and the firm, knowing grip of his hand, and I felt the pleasure coiling tighter with every deliberate movement. Damien’s gaze was fixed on my face the entire time, his eyes heavy-lidded and focused, as if he was taking note of every flicker of expression.

"That’s it. Let me feel you come around me again. I want to wake up to this every morning, you under me, quaking, taking everything I give you."

The combination of his words and the relentless, slow rhythm pushed me over the edge. I came with a broken sound, clenching tightly around him as pleasure rolled through me in long, intense waves. Damien followed suit almost immediately, burying himself deep and holding there as he released inside me with a low, rough groan against my neck.

We stayed locked together while the aftershocks faded, breathing heavily, his hand still stroking along my side as if he just couldn’t stop touching me. It was a boneless, ridiculous sprawl you only achieve after sex that somehow manages to feel both filthy and soft at the same time. My legs felt like overcooked noodles and I was pretty sure my soul had temporarily left the building to go buy cigarettes.

Eventually, he eased out carefully and reached for tissues, cleaning us both up with the same quiet thoroughness he had shown the night before. Then he pulled me back against his chest, one heavy arm draped over my waist, and pressed a slow kiss to the top of my head.

"I’m addicted to this already," he murmured into my hair, his voice warm with satisfaction. "You start the morning by sucking me under the covers and then take me like that, and you think I’m letting you out of this bed any time soon?"

I let out a tired, content laugh against his skin. "You asshole."

"And you’re staying right here a little longer, aren’t you?" His fingers traced lazy patterns along my spine. "We’ve got the whole day ahead of us. No rush, just you, me, and the very real chance that I’m going to keep you naked and full of me until the afternoon."

I didn’t argue. The sheets were warm, the city light spilling in from the windows was soft, and the solid reality of Damien’s body against mine made the idea of moving feel totally optional. It was a perfect, stupidly content morning you know you’re going to remember every time you try (and fail) to be productive for the rest of the week. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was already composing the highly professional email I would not be sending anytime soon, because priorities.