Once More with the Golden Boy

Three days had passed since the sorority party, and in that time, a lot had changed.

For one, you had done the arrangement with Liam twice—once that night when you got back from the party, and again just last night.

And yes, you had blown him.

The first time was a natural escalation. You’d been sat next to him, working him over with your hand like usual, when something in you had just...shifted. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, hazel eyes dark and hungry in the dim light of your dorm. Maybe it was the way your body was already warm and buzzing from the events before, from the power of seduction, from the fact that you had taken someone to bed and won.

Or maybe it was just the fact that Liam was looking hotter to you by the day.

You’d told yourself it was nothing, that it was just about making things easier, making it worth his while, since you still felt guilty about your fallout. But then last night, you’d done it again—and this time, you hadn’t even hesitated.

You weren’t dumb. You knew what that meant. You were starting to want it. The thought was dangerous, but you shoved it down. That was a problem for another time. Right now, you had bigger things to focus on.

Like the text you’d received after the party.

It had come late that night, just before you were about to go to sleep, from an unknown number.

1/7.

That was all it said. Just three simple characters, but they had told you everything.

The sex with Jake had counted.

Which also meant—

Your stomach had twisted as the realization hit. The sex with Damian hadn’t.

That night at the cottage, the scorching heat between you, the way he’d taken you like he couldn’t help himself—none of it had mattered. Or rather, it had mattered, just not to the trial.

You weren’t sure how to feel about that.

If it had counted, it would’ve been one step closer to finishing this damn curse. But it hadn’t. That thought unsettled you more than it should have.

And yet...you hadn’t stopped messaging him.

It had started the morning after the cottage. You’d woken up, sore in places you hadn’t been sore in a long time, with the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin. You’d fully expected him to be cold, distant, to pretend like nothing had happened between you.

And for the most part, he had been. But he’d answered.

Your first message had been simple, teasing.

"Do you always leave without a word? I feel like I should at least get breakfast."

He had left the bed which you were sleeping with him in, the bedroom, and the cottage, before you could even get up that day. It had taken an hour for him to reply.

"I don’t do mornings."

That had made you smirk. The conversation had unfolded from there, slow and measured, like a game of chess where neither of you wanted to make the first wrong move. He was steely, always guarded, always keeping you at arm’s length.

But you had a way with him.

Sometimes, you caught glimpses of something else beneath his hard exterior—a spark of interest, a flicker of amusement, an edge of want.

And the sex had been...great.

Jake had been good, cute even, but Damian was on another level entirely. He’d known exactly how to handle you, how to take you apart and put you back together in the same breath. And he hadn’t just fucked you—he’d really wanted you.

There was a difference.

And clearly, he felt it too.

Because he was still texting back.

"You’re really doing this, huh?"

Liam’s voice had been skeptical, but not exactly judgmental.

You pulled your earrings out, setting them carefully on your desk as you looked at him in the mirror. He was lying on your bed, one arm propped behind his head, watching you get ready with that lazy, knowing look of his.

"Yep," you said simply, reaching for your lip liner.

Liam squinted. "A date with Damian Kane? Like, a real one? Dinner and everything?"

You pursed your lips as you traced the soft brown liner over your cupid’s bow, blending it in with your thumb before applying your deep berry lipstick. "It’s for the trial."

Liam made a noise in the back of his throat, something between amusement and exasperation. "Right, the trial. The one where you have to seduce the most emotionally unavailable man on the planet?"

You glanced at him over your shoulder. "What, you think I want to be wining and dining with a guy who probably keeps a spreadsheet of his kill count?"

Liam snorted. "I mean... the way you’re getting ready, it kinda looks like you do."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny it—there was a part of you that was looking forward to this. Damian was a challenge, a puzzle you had been slowly, deliberately putting together since that night at the cottage.

And tonight, you were going to get what you wanted.

You had chosen your outfit carefully, something elegant but undeniably sexy, something that would demand Damian’s attention the second you walked into the restaurant.

First, you had slipped on a pair of black lace panties, delicate and soft against your skin, trimmed with intricate floral embroidery. Over them, you wore a matching black balconette bra, the sheer lace revealing just enough to tease, while the underwire gave your chest a subtle, tempting lift. The set was expensive, decadent—lingerie meant to be seen, not just worn.

For your dress, you had chosen the rich burgundy gown from your shopping spree—floor-length, with a plunging neckline that dipped just enough to be dangerous, the fabric clinging to your curves before flaring slightly at the bottom. The material was smooth and silky, gliding over your skin like liquid.

Your shoes were gold metallic heels, the straps wrapping around your ankles in thin, delicate coils. The jewelry was subtle but deliberate—a gold chain necklace resting just above your cleavage, teardrop earrings catching the light every time you turned your head.

And finally, the finishing touch—your trench coat, light and beige, draped over your shoulders as if you had just thrown it on last minute, though every part of your look had been meticulously planned.

Your makeup was sultry, with soft brown eyeshadow blended into a smoky haze, a sharp cat-eye flick of liner, and long, fluttery lashes. Your skin glowed, the deep berry lipstick making your lips look full, kissable.

You had looked at yourself in the mirror before leaving and smirked.

Damian Kane wouldn’t know what hit him.

The restaurant had been everything you expected—dimly lit, expensive, filled with men who looked like they signed billion-dollar contracts before breakfast.

Damian had been his usual self: cool, unreadable, razor-sharp in his tailored black suit. He had ordered for you without asking, something that might have pissed you off if it had been anyone else, but with him, it was just another reminder of who he was.

You had played your part well—smiling, teasing, keeping him just off balance enough to make him want to chase you.

And now, you were here.

In his car.

Making out with him like your life depended on it.

You were straddling him with the driver's seat folded flat, the slit of your dress falling open to reveal your bare thigh, Damian’s large hands gripping your waist possessively. Your trench coat had already been tossed into the backseat, long forgotten as his mouth claimed yours, hungry, demanding.

His lips were firm, insistent, and when he bit your lower lip, you gasped, shivering at the way he immediately took advantage of the opening, his tongue sliding against yours.

His hands roamed—over your hips, your back, dragging you against him so you could feel how hard he was.

"You've been fucking teasing me all night," he muttered against your lips, his voice dark and rough.

You smirked, breathless. "I thought you liked a challenge."

His answer was a sharp slap to your thigh, just hard enough to make you gasp, heat pooling in your stomach.

"Take off the dress."

The order sent a shiver down your spine.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips tingling from his kisses, your breath shallow. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something dark, something possessive.

You licked your lips. "Say please."

Damian’s hands moved in an instant, gripping the thin straps of your gown and yanking them down your arms in one smooth motion.

"I don't beg."

The dress slipped down your body, pooling around your waist, exposing your bra. The cool air of the car sent goosebumps down your skin, but Damian’s gaze was even colder, running over your exposed form like he was appraising you.

The look in his eyes made you ache.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud.

A slow, wicked smile spread across your lips. "I know."

His expression hardened, but before he could respond, you leaned in and kissed him again, swallowing whatever sharp remark was on his tongue.

Tonight, you would let him have control.

Because you knew, sooner or later—

You would own him. Or he would own you.

Damian’s hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a dominance that was as electric as it was magnetic. He wasn’t gentle, and you found you didn’t want him to be. His hands dug into your flesh, forcing your body to meet his, a clash of passion that set your skin on fire. The hunger, the need, it was overwhelming—and you couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to.

He growled, low and dangerous. “Fucking hell, you’re beautiful.”

You swallowed, resisting the urge to smirk. He was giving you exactly what you wanted—praise, desire, and that unmistakable spark of lust. But you were here for more than just his words; you wanted to see how far he’d push this. You wanted him to lose control, even if you were secretly reveling in every moment of it.

Without missing a beat, you rocked your hips, grinding against him just the slightest bit, feeling the hardness of him beneath you. The sensation sent a thrill through you, and you let out a soft moan, eyes locked on his as you repeated the motion, slower this time, teasing him, feeling the friction between you two build.

Damian’s breath caught, his grip on you tightening as if to hold you still, but you weren’t done yet. “You want it, don’t you?” he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes as you lowered your voice to match his. “What do you think?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his as you pressed into him, feeling the heat between you escalate.

He met your teasing with raw intensity, his hands gripping your hips, jerking you closer, guiding you down onto him, your body aligning with his. The feeling of him against you, so close, so hot, was intoxicating. Every inch of you ached to feel more, to press deeper into him, but you held yourself back, just for a moment. You wanted to savor this, stretch it out, see how much he could take.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Damian warned, his voice low, but there was no mistaking the edge of excitement in it. He was all fire, all intensity now. His hands moved over you like wildfire, touching, pulling, guiding, as he growled, “But I think you fucking love it.”

You felt a thrill race down your spine at his words. There was something about the way he was dominating the moment—how he was taking control and yet, somehow, you were still in it, still reveling in it. It was a dangerous dance, and you couldn’t get enough.

“I do,” you admitted, breathless, your voice a mix of confession and defiance. “I love it when you take control.”

That was all it took. The moment you said those words, his expression shifted. The edge of dominance that had been simmering in his eyes exploded, and his hands grasped your body with an almost brutal ****, lifting you higher, pulling you onto his cock in one swift, commanding motion.

The rush of sensation hit you hard, but this time, he wasn’t stopping. You could feel him—the heat, the pressure, the sheer **** of him—filling you, stretching you, making your body ache with need. He didn’t let you catch your breath. Instead, he started moving, pushing you into the rhythm he set, his hips slamming against yours, each thrust deep and powerful, leaving you gasping for air.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Damian muttered through clenched teeth, his voice ragged as he drove into you with precision. You felt it—every inch of him, every stroke, each movement like it was burning into your very soul.

You couldn’t hold back the moan that ripped from you. The way he made you feel, the way his strength and control were driving you crazy, it was almost too much to bear. But you didn’t want it to stop. You wanted him to keep pushing, keep controlling, keep taking—because you were indulging in every moment of it.

Damian was relentless, his hands on your hips, guiding you in sync with his thrusts. He was driving you to the edge, over and over again, until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. “I want to hear you,” he growled, his voice raw and urgent. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

You gasped for air, struggling to form words as he pushed you closer to the edge. “Damian... you—fuck, you make me feel so good,” you managed, the confession torn from your lips. It felt like an admission of weakness, but you couldn’t help it. You needed him to know.

His lips curled into a smirk against your skin. “Good,” he murmured, his tone satisfied, but he wasn’t done yet. He pulled you closer, guiding your body, his control tightening like a vice. Every thrust he gave you was more commanding, more forceful, each one taking you deeper into this world where only the two of you existed.

“You love it, don’t you?” he rasped, his voice low and rough. “You love how I make you feel.”

The words sent a shock of heat through you, your body responding with even more urgency. “Yes,” you gasped, meeting his intensity with equal fervor. “I love it when you do this to me.”

His grip on your hips was punishing, fingers digging into your flesh as he kept you locked in place, making sure you felt every inch of him. Your breath hitched, a strangled gasp slipping from your lips as he gave another deep thrust, filling you completely, stretching you in ways that made your head spin.

"Fuck," you gasped, your nails clawing at his shoulders. The intensity of it, the way he was taking you without hesitation, was almost too much—but you wanted more. You needed more.

Damian’s lips curled into a smirk, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured, “I can feel you clenching around me. You like this, don’t you?” His tone was mocking, teasing, but behind it was raw desire, the sound of a man reveling in his control.

You bit your lip, half in defiance, half in surrender. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer—but your body betrayed you. Your hips rolled instinctively against him, seeking more friction, more of the unbearable pleasure that was already coursing through your veins.

His chuckle was dark, pleased. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Then, without warning, his grip tightened, and he took control completely. He set the rhythm—hard, deep, relentless—forcing you to meet him thrust for thrust. Each movement sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body, the sensation coiling inside you like a spring wound too tight.

“Ah—fuck, Damian—” Your voice broke on a moan, your head tilting back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Say it again,” he growled, his hands sliding up your back, holding you flush against him as he thrust up into you, deep enough to make you whimper.

You shuddered, your fingers tangling in his hair, your lips brushing against his as you breathed, “Damian…” The way you said his name—it wasn’t just desire. It was need.

His response was immediate. His hips snapped up, harder this time, making you cry out as the **** of it sent another wave of heat pooling low in your stomach. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you, urging you to move with him, to ride him the way he wanted.

“Faster,” he demanded, voice thick with need.

You obeyed, grinding down harder, your pace quickening as you chased the pleasure that was building inside you like a firestorm. Every roll of your hips sent sparks of electricity through you, each movement more ****, more intoxicating.

Damian groaned, his fingers bruising against your skin as he pulled you down onto him again and again. His head tipped back, exposing the sharp cut of his jaw, his breath ragged. The sight of him like this—losing himself in you, in the moment—made something tighten in your chest.

“You feel so fucking good,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a rasp. “I could do this all night.”

The thought sent another shiver down your spine. You didn’t doubt him for a second.

Your breathing came faster now, your body burning, **** for release. The pleasure was unbearable, spiraling higher and higher, leaving you on the edge of something devastating.

“Damian, I—”

But he cut you off with another sharp thrust, his grip tightening as he **** you down onto him, making you take him even deeper. “Not yet,” he growled.

You whimpered, the denial sending a pulse of frustration and want through you. You were close, so close, and he knew it. He was drawing it out, teasing you, making you wait because he could.

“Please,” you gasped, your voice breaking.

He smirked against your throat, his lips brushing your skin as he murmured, “There she is. Beg for it.”

Your whole body burned with humiliation and arousal. You should’ve hated how easily he reduced you to this, how effortlessly he had you melting in his hands—but fuck, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You rolled your hips against him, ****, reckless. “Damian, please—”

“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly, and then he gave you exactly what you wanted.

His pace turned brutal, his thrusts sharp and deep, each movement tearing a moan from your throat. He wasn’t holding back anymore. He was taking you exactly how he wanted, his hands gripping you possessively, his body moving with a precision that sent you hurtling toward the edge at breakneck speed.

“Oh—fuck—” Your fingers dug into his arms, your whole body trembling as the pleasure built to a fever pitch, too intense to contain.

Damian felt it—knew exactly how close you were. “Come for me,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. “Now.”

That was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, shattering you completely. Your whole body convulsed, your back arching as you cried out his name, the orgasm hitting you so hard you could barely breathe.

Damian cursed under his breath, his grip tightening as he thrust into you a final time, his own release following right after yours. He groaned low in his throat, his body tensing beneath you before he finally stilled, his breathing ragged.

For a long moment, the only sound in the car was the two of you trying to catch your breath, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

You felt boneless, utterly spent, and yet there was something thrilling about it—about the way he had completely dominated you, about the way you had let him.

Slowly, Damian’s grip loosened, his hands sliding down your back, his touch softer now, almost possessive. He let out a rough exhale, his lips ghosting over your shoulder as he murmured, “You’re mine now.”

A shiver ran through you at his words.

You should’ve said something defiant. Should’ve pushed back, told him this didn’t mean anything.

But instead, you swallowed hard and whispered back, “I know.”