“I don’t care where we are,” he continued, his eyes locked onto mine like they could pin me in place without even touching me.
“I told you to strip. And then I told you to walk straight to your room. Naked.”
My jaw dropped a little. I didn’t even realize it until I felt the air hit my tongue. I stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
>
Like I hadn’t just begged him to ruin me in a f*****g closet and cried his name into his shoulder while his knot held me open and full. Like I wasn’t standing there wearing his shirt with his scent all over me and his c*m still dripping down the inside of my thighs.
“But… my room’s not even that far from Tasha’s,”
I said, trying to sound reasonable, like logic still had a place in whatever this was.
“It’s literally right next to hers. What if she hears me? What if she opens her door? What if she sees-“
“You talk too f*****g much,” he snapped, his voice like a punch to the gut.
“Strip.”
My mouth opened again.
“Damon-“
“Strip, Lyra.”
He didn’t even raise his voice.
He didn’t have to.
Because it wasn’t just a command.
It was a claim.
I could feel it in my bones. In my chest. In the slick heat between my legs that hadn’t cooled since the first time he touched me.
My hands were shaking. My fingers were trembling as I reached for the hem of the shirt. I didn’t want to do it. I did, I didn’t. I wanted him to stop me. I wanted him to make me. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be bad. I wanted to cry. I wanted to moan.
I gripped the edge of the fabric with both hands and stared up at him.
His face didn’t move.
But his eyes did.
They burned.
Slowly, painfully, I lifted the shirt.
Inches at a time.
My bare stomach felt the air first. Then my chest. Then my entire body was out. I let the fabric fall to the floor, and there I was.
Completely naked.
In the hallway.
Right outside my best friend’s room.
Marked.
Claimed.
Sticky.
Humiliated.
And the worst part?
I was wet all over again.
He didn’t say anything at first.
He just looked.
Down my body.
Over every bruise he’d left.
Every red fingerprint.
Every drop of slick clinging to the insides of my thighs.
Then he said it again.
“Walk.”
I blinked.
“W-walk?”
He tilted his head, slowly, like a wolf sizing up something it had already caught but wanted to play with before it sank its teeth in.
“Walk to your room, Lyra. Slowly. No covering yourself. Let the shame burn through you with every step.”
I couldn’t breathe.
But I moved.
One foot in front of the other.
>
Bare soles on cold wood. Wet thighs brushing. My chest rising and falling too fast. I didn’t look back. I didn’t have to. I knew he was watching. I could feel the heat of his gaze between my shoulder blades. Between my legs.
I passed Tasha’s door.
I held my breath.
Every nerve in my body was screaming. Every inch of me was praying she didn’t come out. That she didn’t see me like this. Naked. Owned. Walking down the hallway like some filthy secret trying to make it back to the shadows before the light caught me.
But she didn’t open the door.
And I kept going.
One trembling, aching, soaked step at a time.
Then SMACK.
I yelped.
The sound echoed down the hall.
My body jolted forward, and I nearly tripped over my own foot.
His palm had landed on my ass.
It stung. It sizzled.
It throbbed.
“Oh fuck..”I gasped, grabbing the wall to keep myself upright.
And then I heard him.
Damon’s voice behind me.
“What a big, fat ass you got here, little wolf.”
My toes curled.
“Oh, you like that?” he murmured, voice darker now, “You’ve been wagging this thing at me since, haven’t you? Thought I didn’t notice?”
“I wasn’t..”
I stammered, but my voice was barely there. My throat was tight. My chest was heaving. My legs were locked, and I could feel how wet I was.
“You think I didn’t see it?” he said.
“This soft, perfect ass bouncing down the stairs every morning. Bent over my kitchen counter pretending to reach something. Sitting on my f*****g couch like it didn’t belong over my lap?”
And then.
SMACK.
Again.
Harder.
Right on the same cheek.
I cried out, louder this time. My knees buckled. My breath caught. My p***y clenched around nothing, desperate, dripping, shame blooming hot under my skin like a fever.
“I said walk,” he growled.
“You stop again, and I’ll bend you over the hallway table and let the whole house. hear you scream.”
My hand reached my doorknob.
I twisted it.
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.