Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)(54)
“It starts getting hard to think,” I point out.
“That’s because I’m a man who creates more and more seductive energy the better something feels. It’s been too long since I found pleasure in simply being inside a woman, and—”
He stops talking when I manage to find his lips, and he kisses me harder as I focus really hard on remembering that tedious rule of his, desperate to have more than teasing touches and empty orgasms.
The illusion flickers when I stare directly at where I assume his eyes are, and he appears, making a noise of approval as he thrusts inside me, grabbing onto my hip as he kisses me harder.
I kiss him with my eyes wide open, watching the pleasure on his face, until I quickly break the kiss. “Put the chains on,” I manage to say between pants of air.
He chases my lips, kissing me hard again when he catches them. He pulls away from me and flips to his back. I try to catch my breath, feeling a heady rush of something in the air that makes me want to crawl up him and lick every inch of him the second the click of one cuff is heard.
“You’ll have to do the second one,” he says in an amused tone when I actually fan myself and stare up at the ceiling…at all the mirrors.
I roll to my side, viewing every inch of flesh on him, as I bend to kiss his chest. His free hand cups the back of my head, dragging me up so that his lips find mine.
“Cuff the other one, Violet. Then I’m at your mercy,” he says against my lips, biting at my lower lip in a way that has me grinding against him.
Even though I don’t want his other hand cuffed or want him at my mercy, I do what he’s asking, in case he decides to try and stop this again. I have no idea why this is frustrating me so much, unless I’m somehow feeling an ounce of what he feels every time he touches a person.
People always force others to feel their own misery from time to time. It’s the reason I stay antisocial.
Even my father—
“An image of your father just flashed through my mind. That’s not where I want your head going right now, gorgeous,” Damien says across my lips, as a smile forms.
“You’re getting images? Why aren’t I?”
“Because you’re not really letting go,” he says, sitting up as his hand comes down to my hip.
Already inside me, he rolls those hips of his in a way that is so perfectly practiced, and it hits everything in the right way. He works the bottom the way most men wish they could work the top.
“You’re going to lose sight of me if you don’t get my other hand cuffed, Violet. I can’t watch you stare at me that way with one hand free for much longer. I’m much stronger than you, and it’s so much safer for you if I’m bound before that controls slips even a fraction. Because I want to see you looking at me like this. It’s part of the perfect pleasure I can draw from this.”
Without farther delay, I quickly cuff his wrist, and they immediately rattle when something in the air noticeably changes. It gets warmer, and I almost feel drugged in the best possible way when his eyes flake a beautiful dark blue in the depths of his pupil. It’s as though I’ve just witnessed the off switch for his control, and a shudder passes through me at how close that was cut.
It only makes me kiss him harder as he rolls his hips again, hitting every note perfectly, while he plays me like his own personal instrument. My hands move all over him, as he does all the work from the bottom without even the use of his hands.
I didn’t know sex could feel this intoxicating, and I can’t even catch my breath long enough to figure out why my entire body feels like every nerve inside my body is suddenly sexual enough to join in on the party.
My body is buzzing with energy now, instead of simply humming, as his hips start growing more insistent, and he makes some tortured sound in his throat when our lips break apart.
His head falls back, brow wrinkling as his lips part, and I watch as he continues moving, causing a thousand images to roll through my mind like a hammer shattering a barrier.
It almost hurts, but the pain fades quickly into toe-curling ecstasy, as I see a thousand images of every scene of tonight play through my head through his eyes, feeling it as he felt it, and seeing us through all the mirrors of his bedroom.
It’s every angle on a loop, coupled with the divine way his hips keep rolling. It’s like we finally chased down that escaped orgasm, stepped on it, and shattered thirty more just like it all at once, when my eyes are forced to shut.
I cry out a garbled, almost silenced sound, because it’s overwhelming and words can’t form. My body is so awake and acutely tuned, that I feel every perfect inch of him when my body shudders over his. His hips rock furiously, growing more insistent, as I pant and cling to him.
When his lips find mine, it’s almost violent, and I limply hang on, letting him draw out the most body-wringing orgasm I’ve ever endured, as after-shocks of pleasure roll over me with each upward thrust he perfects.
Something cracks and groans, as I lazily start kissing down his neck, never wanting to move from his body, needing as much as he can possibly give me.
Another crack and groan go hand in hand, seconds before something loud bursts somewhere overhead.
I jolt when a chunk of the wall slams into the side of the bed, but before I can scramble away, a firm, strong hand grabs my hip. I’m roughly yanked against him seconds before we’re spinning. The roomful of mirrors look like a blur of motion as my world is turned around and tossed in a different direction.