"You came," Damien said, his voice low and smooth as whiskey.
I couldn't speak for a moment. My mouth was too dry. My body too aware of his nearness.
"I almost didn't," I managed, though it sounded weak even to me.
One dark brow lifted. "Would you like to leave?"
He knew the answer before he asked. I hated how easily he read me.
"No," I whispered.
His gaze sharpened, heat flickering in those pale eyes. "Then don't pretend you don't know why you're here."
He closed the distance between us, every step deliberate. My breath caught when he lifted his hand to brush my hair behind my shoulder. That simple touch sent a shiver rippling down my spine.
His knuckles grazed my jaw. His thumb brushed my lower lip. I couldn't look away, even when my pulse roared in my ears.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured.
I swallowed, my lips parting under his thumb. "I won't."
His mouth crashed over mine—hot, certain, hungry. I whimpered as he coaxed my lips open, tasting me with a slow, devastating thoroughness. My knees threatened to give way, but he caught me around the waist, pulling me flush against him.
When he lifted his head, I was gasping.
He didn't give me time to think. His hands slid down my hips, gathering the hem of my dress. Inch by inch, cool air kissed my thighs. He watched every reaction, every flicker of hesitation I couldn't hide.
"Turn around," he said.
My breath caught. I hesitated only a second before I obeyed, facing the wall of glass. My palms flattened against it, cool against my heated skin.
The city stretched below us in a sprawl of golden light. I felt exposed. Vulnerable. And I had never been so achingly alive.
Damien stepped in behind me, his body heat sinking into my back. One hand closed around my hip, anchoring me. The other traced the curve of my ass, then slid forward between my thighs.
I sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers brushed over the lace of my panties.
"Look at the city," he murmured. "Every last inch of it belongs to me. And right now…so do you."
His hand pressed more firmly, circling until I couldn't think. My forehead rested against the glass as a soft moan escaped my lips.
"You're already wet for me," he said, voice rough with satisfaction. "I wonder if you've thought about this. About how I'd touch you."
My answer was a gasp as he slipped his fingers beneath the lace and found me bare. He stroked slowly, methodically, building pressure until my legs shook.
"Damien—"
"Say what you want," he demanded, his breath hot against my ear.
"I want…more," I whispered.
He groaned, low and guttural. The hand on my hip moved to my shoulder, holding me in place. The other worked me harder, his fingers slick and relentless. Every stroke sent sparks through me, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.
"That's it," he rasped. "Let go."
My body shattered around his hand, a cry tearing from my throat as release crashed over me in waves. He didn't stop until I was trembling against the glass, every nerve lit up and raw.
When I finally turned, he caught my face in his hands, his thumb brushing my swollen lips.
"This," he murmured, gaze locked on mine, "is only the beginning".