They all thought he was the one in control.
It was cute, really. The way their eyes trailed after Damon like he was the one calling shots. Tall, inked arms, voice like smoke, jaw cut like sin. He walked into a room and people got stupid. Drooling. Whispering. Some guy at the restaurant tonight even asked if he modeled.
Damon had laughed. Tipped his head toward me. Said, “I’m spoken for.”
And I smiled. Sweet. Innocent.
No one ever suspected the twink.
But now? Back home? I had him on his knees.
Literally.
He was stripped down, flushed and panting, chest rising and falling too fast for someone who hadn’t even been touched yet. He was beautiful like this—hair a mess, lip bitten red, eyes glassy as he waited for my next move.
“You looked smug at dinner,” I said, circling him slowly. “D
