Damien’s tongue was a relentless, warm weight against her c**t, swirling and sucking with a precision that had Rhema’s toes curling into the mahogany surface of the desk. She gripped the edges of the wood, her knuckles white, trying to keep her screams muffled.
"Mmm... Damien, please," she whimpered, her voice a broken thread.
"Shh," he murmured against her wetness, the vibration of his voice sending fresh shivers through her. "Your mother is just a few feet away. Do you want her to hear how loud you are for me?"
"I don't... ah! I don't care," Rhema gasped, her hips bucking instinctively.
From the hallway, the sound of a door opening and closing echoed. "I can't find it! Damien, did you check the kitchen pantry? I might have left it there when I was getting the wine!" Sylia’s voice was
