His hips slam into mine so hard my knees nearly give out. I dug my nails into my own thighs, my breath drugged as I forced words out through my clenched teeth.
"fffuck..." I moaned
He bends me over, his hands rougher, greedy, like he's punishing me for all the time I wasn't his.
"Take it," he growls, one hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back. I have no option but to meet his gaze. His storm-grey eyes pierce through me, cold and filled with hunger.
I gasped, my nails clawing at the desk we're bent over as he pounds into me mercilessly. The sound of skin against skin smashing into each other echoes in the air, mixing with his husky breath and my own shameless moans.
"Louder," he demands, driving himself deeper. "Let them hear who you belong to."
My body obeys before my brain can stop it, a cry tearing out of me, raw and desperate. Every thrust is harder than the last, the wood biting into my thighs as he drags me back onto him again and again. My mind is dizzy with the heat, the ache, the overwhelming stretch of him. Sweat trickles down my spine. His hand leaves my hair, slides to my throat, holding me still while he takes me like he owns me. God help me, I want him to.
I'm right there, teetering on the edge, my breath breaking into frantic whimpers as the world narrows to nothing but his cock, his hands, his voice—
Then the bass drops. The lights flash. The roar of drunken laughter washes over me, and my eyes snap open. Shit... The desk... The hand at my throat... The man pounding into me... gone.
I'm holding onto the slick metal pole under my palm, the stage lights blinding me, and the leering faces of strangers clutching their drinks as I grind and sway to the music. My thighs are trembling, not from the dance, but from the man staring right at me...
Damiano De Luca. The Devil himself.
Sitting in the shadows of the corner booth like a king surveying his kingdom, a glass of whiskey in one hand, the other draped casually over the leather backrest. Black suit. Black shirt. Dark hair slicked back. And those eyes... stormy, unblinking—fixed on me like I'm already his. Like he already knew what I was thinking. He's been coming here for months. Always the same seat, the same stare. Never a smile nor an approach. Just watching. Waiting.
My name is Ava Moreno, and I've been imagining the Devil fucking me for weeks, and from the way he's looking at me tonight, I think he knows.