His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel.
“And maybe after you’re done punishing my throat,” I went on, pretending to be innocent as I traced a finger up my thigh,” you can bend me over that table again and remind me why you never like being interrupted.”
I saw it.
The flicker.
That wild, dangerous glint that lit up in his eyes like someone just poured gasoline on already-burning rage.
He didn’t speak.
But he did reach down, unbuckle his seatbelt with one sharp movement, then ran his tongue slowly across his teeth like he was picturing the things he’d do to me the second we got back.
“Keep talking, kitten,” he said, voice a growl now. “Say one more thing that makes my cock hard in this car, and I’ll make you ride it all the way back with the windows down, dripping, crying, and gagging for mercy I won’t give.”
I blinked. I swallowed. I clenched again.
But I wasn’t done. Not yet.
“Oh no, Daddy,” I said softly, licking my bottom lip on purpose, making sure he saw it in the corner of his vision. “You said I’d pay for making you stop. I’m just trying to help you figure out how you wanna collect the debt.”
He finally looked at me.
Turned his head with that slow, calculated control that made my skin break into shivers. His gaze dropped to my thighs-still clenched together, still slick, still trembling-then lifted back up to my face.
“I’m going to ruin you,” he said, voice like smoke and thunder. “I’m going to drag you back home, strip you naked, tie you to the damn war table, and fuck the word ‘sorry’ out of your body until it’s engraved in your bones.”
My mouth fell open just a little. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. That voice. That promise. That fury. It cracked something in me. Melted something else. I could feel my pulse between my legs, feel the heat soaking through my ruined underwear, feel every inch of his possession crawling over my skin like chains I never wanted to escape.
He looked at me like he knew. Like he could smell it.
And of course he could.
He leaned closer, one hand still on the wheel, the other shifting to his thigh, his voice dipping even lower.
“And if you so much as pout when I make you beg,” he whispered, “I’ll flip you over, spread your legs wider, and fuck you until the apology becomes a scream.”
I whimpered.
Actually whimpered. In the car. With the windows fogged and the scent of sex thick in the air and my entire body coiled tight like a string ready to snap.
“I’m still leaking,” I whispered back, my voice all breath and sin. “You never gave me a chance to clean it.”
He stared.
Damon came around the car fast. Not rushed. Just controlled and furious. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak. He grabbed my wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but tight enough to let me know this wasn’t over. And then we were walking-no, marching- toward the house like a storm was guiding us.
The moment the door opened and slammed behind us, I felt it-the shift in Damon. The Alpha. The wrath. The man who was done.
“Camilla!” he roared, his voice shaking the walls. “Where the fuck are you?!”
“I swear to every fucking god I’ve ever disrespected,” Damon growled, stomping further into the hallway, “I am not playing your stupid-ass games”
He shoved the door to the living room open so hard it hit the wall.
“Camilla!”
I followed him slowly, my chest rising and falling, legs still a little unsteady. I was about to call out-tell him I think I saw her on the pouch but I didn’t get the chance.
Because the second I turned the corner-
Someone grabbed me from behind.
A thick piece of cloth looped fast around my neck and yanked back, cutting off my scream before it even reached my lips. “Fuck-!”
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