*Isabella's POV*
I heard the sharp, metallic sound of a zipper being pulled down, followed by the low, husky groan that escaped his throat as he freed himself. Then there was a fumbling sound, the tear of a foil packet, and then the soft rustle of him rolling on a condom. It was quick, efficient, a man who knew exactly what he wanted and was done with waiting.
And then he was inside me.
He slammed into me in one brutal, powerful thrust, filling me so completely, so deeply, that a sharp, broken cry was torn from my throat. It was a shock to my system, a white-hot flash of pain that melted instantly into a blinding, overwhelming wave of pleasure. He didn't give me time to adjust, didn't give me a moment to breathe. He just started to fuck me, hard and fast, his hips pistoling against my ass with a relentless, punishing rhythm.
His hand was still wrapped around my neck, a possessive, grounding force that held me in place, while his other hand gripped my hip so tightly I knew I'd have bruises tomorrow. The sounds were obscene—the loud, rhythmic slap of skin against skin, his low, guttural grunts with every deep thrust, and my own shameless, desperate moans that were ripped from my throat with every punishing thrust of his dick.
"Fuck, Damien... yes," I whimpered, my fingers clawing at the velvet of the couch, trying to find some anchor in the storm of sensation. He was hitting my G-spot with every single thrust, sending jolts of electricity through my entire body, pushing me closer and closer to the edge with a terrifying, exhilarating speed. This was what I'd begged for. This was what he'd been holding back. And it was fucking perfect.
Just when I was sure I was about to fly apart, to shatter into a million pieces around his dick, he stopped. He fucking stopped. He pulled out of me, leaving me feeling suddenly, achingly empty. I whimpered at the loss, my body still bent over the armrest, trembling and confused.
Before I could even form a coherent thought, his hands were on me again. He grabbed my waist, flipping me over with a rough, effortless strength that made my head spin. I landed on my back on the couch cushions, a soft "oomph" escaping my lips. He was on me in an instant, his knees pushing my legs wide apart, his body covering mine. He grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head in one of his large, strong hands.
And then he was looking at me. Really looking at me. His eyes, dark and intense, were boring into mine, a predatory gaze that saw every fucking thing, every weakness, every desperate, needy thought. He reached down, guiding his dick to my entrance, and then he pushed back inside, slow and deep, his eyes never leaving mine.
This new position was a different kind of torture. I was trapped, pinned beneath his weight, completely at his mercy. He started to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, a slow, punishing rhythm that was designed to drive me absolutely insane. Every drag of his cock against my inner walls sent a fresh wave of pleasure through me, building and building, higher and higher.
I could feel it again, that tight, coiling heat in my stomach, the tingling in my toes. I was so fucking close. My back arched off the couch, my body straining towards that sweet release. "Damien... please," I whimpered, my voice a broken, desperate plea.
And that's when he did it. The fucking bastard.
He slowed down. His deep, powerful thrusts became shallow, lazy rocks of his hips, just enough to keep me on the edge, but not enough to push me over. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a low, mocking whisper.
"Not yet," he growled. "You don't get to cum until I say so."
A frustrated sob escaped my lips. The orgasm that had been so close receded, leaving me aching, empty, and more turned on than I had ever been in my entire fucking life. He was a monster. A beautiful, controlling, goddamn monster, and I was completely and utterly at his mercy.
I was going to snap. I was going to fucking break. The slow, deliberate torture had pushed me to a place where my own skin felt too tight, where every nerve ending was screaming for a release he was cruelly denying me. Just when I thought I would shatter from the sheer, overwhelming sensation, he moved.
He pulled out of me, leaving me a whimpering, empty mess on the couch. Then he grabbed my arms, yanking me up so I was standing on wobbly, unsteady legs. His face was inches from mine, his eyes burning with a dark, possessive fire.
"Promise me," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous command that vibrated through my very bones. "Promise you won't cum without my permission."
I couldn't speak. I could only nod, a frantic, jerky motion, my eyes wide and pleading.
"Say it," he demanded, his grip on my arms tightening.
"I... I promise," I whimpered, the words a broken, pathetic sound.
A slow, satisfied smirk touched his lips. "Good girl."
And then he spun me around, slamming me against the cool, smooth wall of the living room. The impact knocked the air out of my lungs, but before I could even gasp, he was inside me again. He slammed into me, hard and deep, and then he started to fuck me. Fast. Rough. A brutal, punishing rhythm that stole my breath and my sanity all at once.
One of his hands wrapped around my throat, a delicious, terrifying pressure that made every gasp sharp and desperate. It wasn't tight enough to restrict my air, but it was tight enough to make me feel it, to make me hyper-aware of every single breath I took, of his complete and utter control over my body.