The next night I could barely think straight. All day I replayed every second in that studio—Damien’s hard body pressed against mine, his thigh rubbing between my legs, the way his c**k felt against my ass. I was wet from breakfast to dinner. My parents thought I was just enjoying the sun. They had no idea.
At 11:45 p.m. I slipped out again. This time I followed his order. No panties. Just a short black skirt and a thin red top that showed the outline of my hard n*****s. My heart hammered the whole walk down the dark path.
The studio lights were already on, soft and blue. Damien was waiting, leaning against the mirror wall in black sweatpants and a tight white tank top that clung to his sweaty chest. The moment I stepped inside, he locked the door.
“You came,” he said, voice low. A slow
