Chapter 80 Elevator affection (2)
The moment their lips met, everything changed.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tentative. It was a collision, months of sharp words and stolen glances igniting all at once.
Damian’s mouth claimed hers with the same ruthless confidence he brought to every boardroom takeover, and Lola kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring every ounce of frustration and secret fascination into it.
His hand tightened in her hair, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss.
She tasted coffee and the faint bite of whiskey on his tongue, felt the low growl in his chest when she nipped his bottom lip.
Her fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
He broke away first, breathing hard against her mouth.
“Tell me to stop,” he said again, voice rougher now, almost pleading.
Lola answered by sliding her hands up to his tie and yanking it loose.
The silk whispered free, and she tossed it aside. “Don’t you dare.”
That was all the permission he needed.
Damian surged forward, pressing her back against the mirrored wall.
The glass was cool against her shoulders; his body was pure heat.
One large hand slid down her side, gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks she would feel tomorrow.
The other slipped beneath her blouse, palm gliding over bare skin until he found the clasp of her bra. A single flick and it loosened.
She gasped into his mouth as his thumb brushed the underside of her breast, teasing, circling, never quite giving her what she wanted.
Impatient, she arched into him, and he finally cupped her fully, rolling her nipple between finger and thumb until it ached deliciously.
“Damian,” she breathed his name, not Voss, not the cold surname she had used like armor for so long.
He groaned at the sound of it and lowered his head, mouth replacing his hand.
The wet heat of his tongue through silk made her shudder.
Then he tugged the blouse open, buttons scattering softly across the marble floor, and took her bare breast into his mouth.
Lola’s head fell back against the mirror with a dull thunk. Pleasure streaked through her, sharp and bright.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him there as he sucked and licked, moving from one breast to the other until she was trembling.
The air in the elevator had grown thick, humid with their breaths and the rising scent of arousal.
Sweat dampened the curls at her nape; she could feel it on his skin too when she shoved his shirt open and dragged her nails down his chest.
He was all hard muscle and warm skin, and the sound he made when she raked over his nipple was raw enough to make her thighs clench.
His hand moved lower, bunching her skirt up inch by inch until cool air kissed her exposed skin.
When his fingers finally traced the edge of her lace panties, she was already soaked.
“Christ, Lola,” he muttered against her throat. “You’re all wet.”
She couldn’t form words, only a needy sound that made him chuckle darkly.
He pushed the lace aside and stroked her once, slowly, gathering wetness before circling her clit with devastating precision.
Her hips jerked; he pinned her in place with his body and did it again.
Two thick fingers slid inside her without warning.
The stretch was perfect, overwhelming. He curled them, finding that spot that made her see stars, and pumped slowly while his thumb kept relentless pressure on her clit.
Lola’s hands scrabbled for purchase, one gripping his shoulder, the other braced against the wall.
Every thrust of his fingers pushed her higher, faster.
The wet sounds of her body taking him echoed obscenely in the small space, mingling with her ragged moans and his harsh breathing.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She forced her eyes open. His gaze was dark, intense, watching every flicker of pleasure cross her face like he wanted to memorize it.
The intimacy of being seen like this by the man she had spent a year pretending to hate, sent her spiraling.
Her climax hit hard and sudden, crashing through her in waves.
She clenched around his fingers, crying out his name as her body shook.
He kept moving through it, drawing it out until she sagged against him, boneless.
Only then did he ease his hand away. He brought his fingers to his mouth, eyes locked on hers, and licked them clean.
The sight alone nearly made her come again.
But he wasn’t finished.
Damian stood, pulling her up with him. In one smooth motion he turned her to face the mirror, hands guiding her to brace against the cool glass.
Behind her, she heard the rasp of his zipper, the rustle of fabric.
“Watch,” he said, voice low in her ear.
In the red-tinted reflection she saw them both, her blouse hanging open, skirt rucked around her waist, his shirt undone and hanging off broad shoulders. He looked like a sin incarnate.
He pushed her panties down just enough, positioned himself, and paused.
“Tell me you want this.”
“I want it,” she said immediately, pushing back against him. “Now.”
He entered her in one long, slow thrust.
They both groaned. He was thick, stretching her perfectly, filling her so completely she felt it in her toes.
For a moment neither moved, adjusting to the overwhelming sensation.
“Fuck…Damien, you're so big” her eyes were closed in ecstacy.
Then he started to move deeply, measuring strokes that hit every sensitive place inside her.
“You're so wet for me…your pussy is fucking so sweet.”
One hand splayed across her stomach, holding her steady; the other slipped between her legs again, fingers finding her clit.
Lola’s palms squeaked against the mirror as she tried to keep her grip.
Each thrust pushed her forward, her breasts brushing cool glass, the contrast making her shiver.
The rhythm built, faster, harder until the elevator car rocked faintly with the force of it.
She was climbing again, impossibly fast. His breath was hot against her neck, broken words spilling out: how good she felt, how long he had wanted this, how he never wanted to stop.
“Come with me,” he growled.
The command shattered her. She came a second time, harder than the first, walls pulsing around him.
Damian followed seconds later, burying himself deep with a guttural sound, hips jerking as he spilled inside her.
For long moments they stayed like that, foreheads pressed to the mirror, breathing harsh in the sudden quiet.
Then, faintly, the machinery overhead hummed louder. A soft jolt rippled through the car.
The elevator was moving again.