*Isabella's POV*
We ate in silence, but it wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence from the car before. It was... comfortable. A new, settled quiet. I was halfway through my second pancake when I couldn't take it anymore.
"I guess you talked to Jacob, huh?" I asked, keeping my eyes on my plate.
"I did," he said, his voice calm. "I hope that now you aren't feeling guilty anymore."
"Yeah, I guess if he's okay with it, then I'm okay," I replied, a small weight lifting off my shoulders as I said the words out loud.
"Good," he said, and I could hear the knowing smirk in his voice without even looking up.
Suddenly, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. He pulled me from my chair with a rough, effortless strength, landing me squarely on his lap so I was straddling him. The chair scraped against the floor with the sudden movement.
"Did I tell you to put your clothes back on?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. But he didn't wait for a reply. He just claimed my lips in another deep, possessive kiss that stole the air from my lungs.
"Damien," I gasped between kisses, "aren't we gonna be late?"
"So?" he said, his hands roaming up my back, pulling me closer. "I don't remember having a boss to answer to. And your boss is giving you orders as we speak." He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, his gaze dark and full of a raw, unfiltered dominance. "Strip and hop on the table."
The command was so blunt, so fucking filthy, it sent a jolt of pure lust straight to my core.
"Yes, sir," I whispered, my voice already breathless with anticipation.
My heart was hammering against my ribs, a frantic, excited drumbeat. With a slow, deliberate smile, I pushed myself off his lap. My movements were a performance, a silent dance just for him. I pulled the hoodie over my head, letting it fall to the floor. Then, with a little shimmy, I wiggled out of the sweatpants, kicking them aside.
I stood before him for a moment, clad only in my simple lace bra and panties, before reaching back and unclasping the bra. It joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor. I hooked my thumbs into the sides of my panties and slid them down my legs, stepping out of them.
I climbed onto the massive dining table, the cool, polished wood a shocking, delicious sensation against my bare skin. I lay back, propping myself up on my elbows, my body on display, a silent offering.
He watched me the entire time, his eyes dark, burning with a hunger that was almost terrifying. He walked towards the table, his movements slow and predatory, and reached into his trouser pocket. He pulled out a small, foil packet.
"You always prepared, huh?" I said, a smirk playing on my lips, a last-ditch attempt to hold onto a sliver of my sassy control.
He didn't answer. He just tore the packet open with his teeth, rolled on the condom, and then he was on me. He positioned himself between my legs and, without a word of warning, slammed into my pussy. A brutal, punishing thrust that stole the air from my lungs and made me cry out, a sharp, broken sound of pure pleasure.
He set a relentless, punishing rhythm, his hips pistoling against mine. The sound of our bodies slapping together, his low, husky grunts, and my own shameless moans filled the grand dining room. His hands returned to my breasts, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, his fingers twisting my nipples in a way that sent jolts of electricity straight to my clit.
"Don't you dare cum," he growled, his voice a raw command against my ear. Fuck.
The command was a torture. The pressure was already building, a tight, coiling heat in my stomach, and his words only made it worse. I was fighting a battle against my own body, my muscles clenching around his cock, desperate for a release he was cruelly denying me.
Then, in one fluid, powerful motion, he pulled out and flipped me over. My breasts were pressed flat against the polished wood, my cheek resting on the cool surface. He pushed me deeper into the table, his body covering mine, and entered me again from behind. This new angle was devastating, hitting my G-spot with every punishing thrust. He reached around, his fingers finding my sensitive nipples, twisting them in a sharp, possessive jolt that sent a bolt of pleasure-pain straight to my clit.
"Cum for me, Isabella. Now," he commanded, his voice a low, husky sound that was my final undoing.
The orgasm that ripped through me was shattering, a blinding, white-hot wave of pleasure that made my vision go white and my body convulse. I cried out his name, a raw, broken sound. He groaned my name, his own release triggered by mine, his body tensing as he pulsed inside me.
He stayed there for a moment, his body heavy on mine, our ragged breaths the only sound in the room. Then he pulled out, carefully disposing of the condom in a nearby bin. I slowly pushed myself up, my limbs trembling, and as I stood, he brought his hand down on my ass cheek, a sharp, stinging slap that made me gasp. He had a smirk on his face, a look of pure, masculine satisfaction.
"Go shower and get ready for work," he said, his voice a low, commanding rumble. He leaned in and planted a soft, surprisingly tender kiss on my forehead, a stark contrast to the brutal, possessive fuck he'd just given me.
I made my way upstairs, each step a delicious, aching reminder of him. And fuck, did I love it. Every punishing thrust, every possessive grip, every command... it was pure, unadulterated sin, and I was fucking soaking it up, completely free of guilt for the first time. The only problem was the slight, almost unnoticeable limp in my stride. A give away of exactly how my morning had started, a mark he'd left on my body. I just had to hope to fuck that no one in the office would notice. The last thing I needed was for someone nosy to realise my boss had fucked me so thoroughly I could barely walk straight.