I read the messages again.
Then again.
And I whispered, “Yes, yes, yes, yes…”
Because Damon Thornvale was the only man alive who could send a paragraph and make me want to get on all fours in traffic.
He was the only man who could make my cunt cry harder than my eyes ever did.
And after tonight?
After the betrayal, the heartbreak, the public humiliation?
I didn’t want soft.
I didn’t want gentle.
I wanted to drown in him.
I wanted him to make me forget every name except his.
I wanted him to make my throat sore and my body beg and my soul break.
I didn’t even think.
My thumb was shaking, my body already humming, my panties soaked like I’d been sweating sin between my thighs for hours — and I needed to hear him. I needed to hear his voice. I needed him in my ear, raw, filthy, liv
