Page 77 of Damon
“Please,” I mumble, incoherent from my near orgasm. “Fuck me.”
He removes his fingers then squares up against my pussy, his cock straining against the fabric of his jogging bottoms. His hips rock forward. “You want this?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Now, I want it fucking now.”
He chuckles. “Impatient much?”
“Very, Chief Constable. This criminal wants to be fucked into submission.”
I watch in the mirror as he slides down the final barrier between us. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, ready to surge home. He lines himself up at my entrance, the tip poised to strike. Slowly, he moves forward, and my pussy opens willingly.
“Spitfire, you feel so fucking good. This pussy was made for my cock.”
I watch him in the mirror, rapt, as he closes his eyes and starts to thrust unhurriedly. His length slides deep inside, then retreats almost to the tip before reentering. Strong thigh muscles flex as he moves, his ass clenching deliciously. He rides my pussy deliberately with long, slow strokes. My body is holding on for its life, and my orgasm resumes its climb, that delicious buzz of relief almost within reach when he withdraws fully.
“Damon,” I wail in frustration. He flashes me a cheeky smile then drops to his knees, his mouth connecting with my lips, his tongue immediately diving deep. “Fuck,” I scream as he eats my pussy, pulling at my skin with his teeth. He shows my swollen, needy friend no mercy as he enjoys his meal.
“Hold it,” he growls. “I want your orgasm to crush my cock, but I needed some refreshment first. And hell, Spitfire, this stunning body of yours delivers. You taste exquisite.”
“I can’t,” I murmur, my wide eyes focused on him between my legs. “I need to come.” His fern-green eyes lock on mine, and he draws a large thumb across his lips wiping away my arousal. He stands and lines himself up once more.
“Ready?” he asks, and before I can answer, he surges forward. This time he shows no forgiveness, pounding my body hard. With one hand on my waist, his grip tightens, pulling me to him, his desperation to get as deep as he can clear. The other hand moves to the butt plug; his thumb sits on top and pushes gently. The intense feeling of fullness and near orgasm heightens again; I scream, needing an outlet.
“Fuck yes, let me hear you, my good girl.” He fucks me relentlessly, and my body convulses around his. My pussy walls contract, intensely triggering another strangled moan from my lips. As I come, he pulls the plug from my ass, but continues thrusting hard until his cock jerks and shoots his load deep inside. He holds me to him, groaning primally and throwing his head back then closing those fucking eyes that I love.
Once I feel his cock soften, I wiggle my hips, and he withdraws before reopening his eyes and gazing at me in the mirror. A single finger runs down my back to my ass, then disappears between my legs before. “Perfect,” he mutters. “You filled with me is fucking perfect.” He bends, picks up his jogging bottoms and rummages in the pocket. Nimble fingers find the key, and he releases my wrists one by one.
I bring my hands back to my front and lay them on the desk. I push myself upward. By the time I turn around, he is stepping into his joggers. He walks around the room and collects my top and shorts. Unspeaking, he redresses me, first by crouching so I can step into my bottoms then pulling my top over my head. He pulls my plait from its hiding place beneath the material and lays it over my shoulder.
Just then, the sound of a baby crying sounds through the monitor. “You go to bed, Spitfire. Justice has been well and truly served,” he says. “I’ll see to the baby.” He kisses me gently on the lips then walks from the room.
Chapter twenty-seven
Damon, Emma and Annie's Home, London
September 2022
Emma
Three months after we first slept together, Damon is still handing me an envelope of wages on a Friday evening. Three hundred and fifty pounds every week. We’d been together around a month the first time I tried to reject his money, but he insisted I be paid for my work.
The thing is, looking after Annie doesn’t feel like paid employment. Caring for her feels right, like it’s what I was meant to do with my life. Which I suppose isn’t a surprise as she’s made with half of my DNA.
The fact I’m Annie’s biological mother has never arisen. Damon and I don’t discuss my relationship with her beyond my duty to care for her while he’s at work and asking how our day has gone. He often clarifies if I’m happy with the situation and if I require any help from Mrs. D. With each passing day, my confidence in caring for her increases and the maternal instinct I was adamant I didn’t have surfaces more.
Damon sits down daily and shows Annie pictures of Connie, repeating the word “Mummy” over and over. I wonder how he sees us moving forward; who I will be in all of this, and will we be a family together? What will my role be in his daughter’s life in his eyes? It’s a question I’m desperate to ask, but an answer I’m equally terrified to hear.
Although we haven’t been together as a couple for long, we’ve known each other for almost two years and been through more challenges than most. Our friendship is as strong as our sexual attraction, and most of the time I’ve never been happier. It’s only when my insecurities arise that I doubt our future. Doubt whether my being here pursuing a life with Damon and Annie is the correct course for my life to take.
These past months have been relatively quiet; we’ve fallen into a routine of living and sleeping together. He comes to my bed most nights, but only when we’re physical. On the nights he’s home late and I’m already in bed, we meet in the kitchen the following morning.
Damon left for The Level, as he always does early Wednesday evenings. These nights, he never comes to my bed as he always returns late, filled to the brim with beer. He tells me they discuss ongoing cases, but their antics sound more like a boys’ night out. Recently, he’s been more liberal with information. Possibly because he suspects if he doesn’t tell me I’ll go looking for evidence in his office—though after the last time, he installed a bolt on the outside of the door with a padlock. As if that would stop me if I really wanted in; this girl can handle a hammer.
Damon tells me that Connie’s case and the money laundering circuit have gone somewhat quiet. After the near miss at the launderette, it seems that Moreno is laying low. Luke is still on the inside and feeding back information, but there’s been little to report. Damon did have a few awkward questions to negotiate from his boss, but he seems to have managed to divert suspicion. Or they’re just sitting back and watching him. He tells me either scenario is possible.
The Level boys are continuing to gather evidence on both Brenton and Moreno with hopes of taking both down in the near future, by legal or illegal means.
I’ve told Damon I need to play a part in the final takedown. Getting even with the bastard who killed my parents and attempted to kill me is something I want to be involved in. I am desperate for justice of my own, and I want to see it served with my own eyes. He’s not keen to include me in any operations though, no matter how many times I ask. Once things begin to move again, I’ll need to be more convincing.