His grip tightened, and before I could breathe, his mouth crashed into mine, a brutal kiss of teeth and tongue that tasted of sin and vengeance. He devoured me, his stubble scraping my chin raw as his hand slid down to cup my ass, squeezing until I gasped into his mouth. The crowd below us blurred into a haze of moans and flesh, the danger of being watched only stoking the inferno inside me. I hated him, but fuck, I craved him—every ruthless thrust of his tongue a reminder of how he’d once owned every inch of me.
He broke the kiss, his eyes burning into mine as he dragged a thumb across my swollen lips. “You want something from me, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a velvet blade. “Tell me, Brooke. What’s the real reason you’re here, practically begging for my dick in front of all these people?”
My chest heaved, the truth clawing at my throat, but I swallowed it down, replacing it with a lie wrapped in lust. “Maybe I just missed the way you fuck me,” I whispered, grinding my hips against his erection, feeling it twitch. “No one else comes close.”
His smile was feral, and in a flash, he spun me around, pressing my stomach against the railing, my ass jutting out toward him as the cool metal bit into my skin. “Then let’s remind you,” he growled, his hand slipping under the lace to stroke the damp heat of my pussy. His fingers were rough, calloused, and they parted my slick folds with a precision that made me whimper, my legs trembling as he teased my clit with slow, torturous circles.
“Fuck, Damien,” I gasped, my nails digging into the iron as I pushed back against him, desperate for more. The crowd below could see us, hear us, and the thrill of exposure sent a shudder through me, my cunt dripping onto his fingers.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he snarled, plunging two fingers deep into my vagina, stretching me with a brutal rhythm that made my toes curl in my stilettos. “This tight little pussy remembers who owns it, doesn’t it?”
I wanted to snap back, to deny him, but the way he curled his fingers inside me, hitting that spot that made stars explode behind my lids, turned my defiance to dust. “Harder,” I moaned, my voice raw, and he obliged, adding a third finger, fucking me with a ferocity that had me teetering on the edge of release.
But Damien was a bastard who played to win. He withdrew his hand, slick with my arousal, and I nearly sobbed at the loss until I heard the clink of his belt, the rasp of his zipper. My heart thundered as he yanked the lace of my bodysuit aside, baring my ass to the cool air, and then the thick, blunt head of his cock nudged my entrance. “Beg for it,” he demanded, his voice rough with restraint, his hands gripping my hips like a vice.
“Please,” I hissed through gritted teeth, hating how much I needed him. “Fuck me, Damien. I need your cock.”
He didn’t make me wait. With a guttural groan, he thrust into me, his dick splitting me open, filling my cunt with a delicious, burning stretch that ripped a cry from my throat. He didn’t ease in—he fucked me hard, each brutal snap of his hips slamming me into the railing, the metal biting into my flesh as his cock pounded my pussy with relentless force. The salty musk of our arousal mingled with the smoky air, and the wet, lewd sounds of our bodies colliding drowned out the music.
“Look at them,” he rasped, his hand fisting my hair to force my gaze downward at the crowd, some watching with open lust, others fucking each other in the shadows. “They see how you take my dick, Brooke. They know you’re mine.”