I was panting his name like it was a curse, a blessing, a drug I couldn’t live without.
“Damon. Damon. Damon—fuuuck me—please—I want you so bad—I c-can’t—I can’t stop..”
I added a third finger.
My p***y stretched around it, sucking it in greedily.
My head fell back against the mirror with a dull thud as I cried out, my whole body tensing.
“s**t—ngghh—Damon—yesyesyes—ahh..”
My thighs slapped against the counter as I f****d myself harder, my palm slamming against my c**t in frantic, filthy circles.
The pressure built.
Higher.
Tighter.
I could barely breathe. Barely think.
Just his name in my head. His scent. His voice.
(“You like this? Like showing that little cunt off to me? Look at yourself, baby. Look at the mess you made just for Daddy.”)
I wailed.
A real, raw, gasping moan
