*Isabella's POV*
Holy fuck. I was a boneless, used-up mess sprawled across the couch, my body still humming with the aftershocks of Jacob's thorough fucking. I was trying to catch my breath, trying to remember how to form a coherent thought, when a shadow fell over me.
I didn't have to open my eyes to know who it was. The air itself changed, growing thick and heavy with a dark, electric charge. I pried my eyelids open, and there he was. Damien. Standing at the end of the couch, looking down at me with a predatory glint in his eyes that promised a whole different kind of ruin than Jacob's playful destruction. He'd taken off his suit jacket, his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing those strong forearms, and he looked like a goddamn king surveying his most prized possession.
"Isabella," he mumbled, my name a low, gravelly sound that vibrated right through my already overstimulated body. He walked slowly around the couch, his movements deliberate, a predator stalking his exhausted prey.
He stopped beside me, looking down. "Can you take one more?" he asked
But it wasn't a fucking question. It was a statement. A goddamn verdict. As if he was telling me I will take him. And no shit, I wasn't complaining. My body, which I thought was completely and utterly out of commission, gave a hopeful little fucking twitch. My pussy, still sensitive, clenched at the low, possessive tone of his voice.
He saw it. Of course, he fucking saw it. A slow, arrogant smirk touched his lips. He knew he had me. He always fucking did.
But to my utter shock and a whole lot of fucking amusement, he didn't pounce. He didn't rip me off the couch and have his way with me. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the couch, right beside my sprawled-out form, and gently lifted my legs, placing them on his lap.
What the actual fuck was he playing at?
I was so sure he'd be rough, a continuation of the man from last night, the one who warned me he wasn't gentle. But this... this was something else entirely. He began massaging my leg, his hands working with a precision and gentleness that was completely at odds with the predatory glint still burning in his eyes. His thumbs pressed into the arch of my foot, then moved up to my calf, working out knots I didn't even know I had from being wrapped around Jacob's waist. It felt... incredible. A soft, involuntary sigh escaped my lips.
Just when I was lost in the gentle, mind-melting caresses, I felt his hand move higher. It was a slow, deliberate crawl up my thigh, his touch firm and possessive. He rested his hand on my inner thigh, his fingers splayed out, mere inches away from my pussy which was, to my absolute fucking disbelief, starting to get wet all over again.
He kept his head facing forward, his eyes fixed on some point across the room, a completely fucking neutral expression on his face. As if he wasn't aware what his goddamn hands were doing to me, as if he was just casually watching TV and not currently setting my entire body on fire. The control he had, the sheer, infuriating control, was its own form of torture.
His hand moved again, a slow, deliberate slide, until he splayed it directly over my pussy. The heat of his palm was a shock, and I gasped, but he made no move to enter. He just held it there, a heavy, possessive weight that was both a promise and a tease.
"Damien," I moaned, his name a desperate, broken plea. I couldn't take it. I needed more.
He shushed me, a soft, "Shhh," that was more commanding than any shout. Then, without warning, he pushed a single finger deep into my pussy, making me moan out loud, a raw, shameless sound that echoed in the quiet room.
He began to thrust into me with that one finger, his movements maddeningly deliberate. He'd alternate between a gentle, teasing curl that made my toes curl and a rough, deep thrust that hit my G-spot and made my whole body clench. It was a devastating rhythm, designed to keep me on the edge, to make me lose my fucking mind.
"You were just thoroughly fucked," he said, his voice a low, smug rumble. A slow, arrogant smirk touched his lips, but he still wasn't looking at me. "Yet you're still so fucking wet for me."
He kept pumping his finger into my pussy, his thumb pressing down on my clit in slow, maddening circles.
"Ahhh," I moaned, my head falling back against the couch cushions.The sound seemed to be a signal, because he immediately added a second finger, stretching me, filling me just enough to make me moan even louder, a shameless, pleading sound.
He pumped in and out, his fingers working in perfect, devastating rhythm, and he still hadn't fucking looked at me. It was like I was just an instrument he was playing, a body he was mastering, and the thought was both infuriating and the hottest fucking thing I'd ever experienced.
Then, just as I felt that familiar coiling heat start to build in my stomach, he suddenly pulled out. Abruptly. Leaving me empty. Aching. A loud, frustrated whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it.
I looked at him, my chest heaving, waiting for him to continue, to finally undress, to do something. But he just calmly lifted my legs off his lap and stood up, adjusting his shirt cuffs like he'd just finished a fucking business meeting.
I grabbed his arm before I could stop myself, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his bicep. "Damien?" I whimpered, my voice small and pathetic.
He finally looked down at me, and the look he gave me was brief, but it was enough. It was a knowing, arrogant smirk that screamed 'I planned this.' It said he knew exactly what he was doing, that he was in complete control, and that I was going to have to wait. And fuck that only made me want him even more.