“Look at you,”
I whispered, lifting the soft lace between my fingers.
“What am I gonna do with you, huh? You sweet little thing. You filthy little piece of her.”
The second I brought them to my face, I was gone.
I groaned-deep…as I inhaled her scent.
**PORTS
Sweet. Tangy. Innocent and wrecked at the same time. The kind of smell that shouldn’t belong to someone her age, shouldn’t exist at all, shouldn’t be coating her panties like that if the universe had a shred of decency left.
But it did.
Because she wore these while she moaned for me.
While she bled for me.
While she came around my c**k and told me I ruined her.
And now?
Now they were mine.
“f**k,”
I growled, dragging them across my nose again.
“This is what you smell like when you’re mine. This is what your cunt smells like after I knot you..after I fill you up and stretch you until you’re crying and begging and still asking for more.”
I inhaled again.
Harder.
Eyes closing as I let that sticky, musky perfume flood my lungs like it could fix every broken part of me. My c**k twitched again. Still wet. Still f*****g needy.
“This little strip of lace has more soul in it than half the women I’ve ever f****d,”
I murmured, tongue flicking out to taste the edge.
“Goddamn, Lyra. You smell like sin. Like sweet f*****g sin wrapped in baby pink and breathless moans.”
I looked down at the panties in my hand.
“Were you wearing these when you came in here? When you gave me that look?”
I smirked.
“You weren’t ready. You had no f*****g clue what I’d do to you. But your p***y did. Your p***y was soaking these before I even touched you, wasn’t it?”
I laughed softly.
Darkly.
“I could frame these,”
I said, voice low and reverent, like I was talking to a f*****g relic.
“Glass case. Bulletproof. Hang them in the study right over the fireplace. Let every bastard that steps foot in this house know who owns you now.”
Another pause.
Another slow sniff.
Another groan.
“They still smell like me,”
I whispered.
“Still smell like my c*m. Still damp with everything I poured into that tight little cunt of yours.”
I turned toward the mirror on the door.
My reflection stared back at me..hair mussed, chest scratched, eyes wild. I looked like a man who’d just ruined something sacred and liked it. No shirt. No guilt. Just raw, feral satisfaction.
“You’re a grown-ass man, Damon,”
I muttered to myself, half-laughing.
“Sniffing panties. Talking to lace like it’s alive. What the f**k is wrong with you?”
“You run an empire. You’ve buried men in rivers, paid off governments, built your fortune with blood and backbone…”
I raised them back to my nose, breathed deep.
“And now look at you. Losing your f*****g mind over a girl’s underwear.”
My laugh was low.
Bitter.
But not ashamed.
“I should be locked up,”
I murmured, shaking my head slowly.
“I should be f*****g institutionalized. Because this? This ain’t normal. This ain’t healthy. This ain’t what men like me are supposed to do.”
I turned and leaned against the closet door, holding the panties to my mouth like I needed to whisper my sins into them.
“She’s eighteen,”
I breathed.
“Eighteen and ruined. Eighteen and knotted. Eighteen and dripping my f*****g c*m down her legs while my daughter’s down the goddamn hallway asking where we’ve been.”
I groaned and closed my eyes again, pressing the fabric tighter against my lips.
“And I’d do it all over again.”
Silence.
For a second.
Just the sound of my pulse thumping against my skull, the scent of her still coating the air, the warm press of her last moan echoing in my ears like it hadn’t really ended.
Then I spoke again.
“She doesn’t even know what she’s done to me,”
I whispered.
“She has no f*****g clue. That sweet, messy little cunt has more power over me than any deal I’ve ever signed. I’ve killed for less than what she gave me
– tonight.”
I opened my eyes.
Looked down at the soaked fabric again.
And f**k.
The sight of that dark, sticky stain/in the middle made my throat tighten.
“You begged me with this, didn’t you?”
I asked, holding the panties like they could answer.
“Your p***y soaked this before I even touched you.
“You were already mine. Already aching. Already waiting to be claimed. You didn’t say it with your mouth but this little f*****g thing right here?”
I dragged my thumb across the center, rubbing the slick spot slow. This was your consent.”
Another breath. Shaky.
Another groan. Deeper now.
“You think I’m ever gonna forget this?”
I asked the drawer, like it was some dark confessional.
“You think I’m ever gonna let another man breathe near you without remembering what you smelled like when you came for me in this closet?”
I licked the inside of my cheek. My jaw clenched again.
“You don’t even understand yet. You think this was s*x?”
I laughed quietly.
“You think this was just some secret quickie while your best friend was in the hallway? No. This was the beginning. This was the first time your body admitted it was mine.”
I tapped the panties against my palm.
Soft. Wet.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.