...Doesn't Make You So Happy Anymore

Damian’s lips crashed into yours, pinning you beneath him as his hands roamed your body with effortless dominance. His weight pressed you into the expensive hotel sheets, his scent—masculine and intoxicating—filling your lungs with every ragged breath.

You whimpered against his mouth, arching into him as his fingers traced the lace of your bra, teasing the straps down your shoulders. Every kiss, every touch sent another jolt of heat through your body, making you forget everything except him.

"Fuck, Damian—" you gasped between kisses, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.

He smirked against your skin, his lips trailing down to your collarbone.

"You sound so needy already," he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

"Mmh—" Your breath hitched as he pressed himself against you, his body hard and relentless. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, needing more—needing him.

And you did. You wanted this. You needed this.

You weren’t supposed to be here for long. This body—this girl—was temporary. You knew that. If you succeeded in what you had to do, you’d be a guy again soon.

And that was fine. That was great. But right now? Right now, you were her.

And being her meant indulging in things that made your body shudder with pleasure, that made you ache to be touched, to be claimed.

So why shouldn’t you enjoy this? Why shouldn’t you enjoy him?

"Tell me what you want," Damian murmured, his breath hot against your throat.

You bit your lip, already dizzy with need. "I want you to fuck me, handsome" you whispered, tilting your head back as his teeth grazed your skin.

That was all he needed. Without warning, his hands gripped your wrists, and in one swift motion, he flipped you onto your stomach.

"Ah—!" Your gasp was half surprise, half arousal as he pressed his weight against your back, his breath teasing your ear.

"Much better," he growled.

A shiver ran through you as his hands trailed down your sides, rough fingertips ghosting over the straps of your garters, the lace of your thigh-highs. He took his time, teasing you, making you ****.

Then, finally—finally—he thrust into you.

"Aah—!"

Your moan broke into a whimper, your fingers twisting into the sheets as pleasure ripped through you.

He was relentless, his grip firm on your hips as he pulled you back to meet each movement. The sound of skin on skin filled the air, mixed with your breathless gasps, your whimpers, his deep, satisfied groans.

"Fuck, you feel good," he gritted out, squeezing your hips. "You love being fucked like this, don’t you?"

"Yes—oh my god—yes—"

God, this felt too good. It was everything you had wanted, everything this body craved. You didn’t have to think, didn’t have to be anything except his.

Until, Damian laughed.Low. Amused.

"You’re not catching feelings, are you?"

Your breath stuttered. "Mmh—?"

"Women always do," he mused, still moving inside you, still gripping your hips like he owned you. "Let’s be real—this is just sex. I know you're not that kind of girl though, you filthy slut."

Just sex.

The words slammed into you, knocking the air from your lungs. Something inside you went cold. Your moans faltered.

Damian didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care. He just kept going.

You blinked, your dazed eyes catching something in front of you.

The mirror. You hadn’t even noticed it before. A massive, full-length mirror, perfectly placed to reflect everything.

And suddenly, you saw yourself.

Black lace barely hanging onto your body. Knees sinking into silk sheets. Damian behind you, gripping you like you were just his for the night.

And in that moment, it didn’t look sexy. It looked pathetic.

Like you were just another girl in his bed. Another nameless body he’d take, use, and forget.

The words echoed in your head, growing louder, harsher. You had told yourself this was just fun. You had told yourself this was temporary. You weren’t really this girl. You weren’t really like this.

So why did it hurt? Your gaze locked onto your own reflection, and for the first time, you saw it—

The way your body moved under him. The way you moaned, ****, obedient. The way your eyes were half-lidded, completely lost in him. The way you looked so owned.

And then—you saw something else. Your eyes. Your expression. And you knew, instantly, that this wasn’t what you wanted.

Would you—Lucas—ever let yourself be just some side fling for a girl who didn’t give a fuck about you?

Hell. No.

So why the fuck were you doing it now?

Your stomach twisted. The pleasure that had burned so hot just moments ago felt distant, dulled by something colder, something real.

But you didn’t stop. You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

So you **** yourself to enjoy it. **** yourself to moan. **** yourself to play your role. **** yourself to let him use you the way he wanted.

Because wasn’t that why you were here? Wasn’t that what you had wanted?

So you took it. Took everything he gave you, let him chase his pleasure, let him fuck you like you were his.

The realization still burned at the edges of your mind, lingering like the aftertaste of something bitter. But it was easy—so easy—to push it away when Damian was still inside you, still using your body like he owned it, still fucking you like you were made for this.

And god, it felt so fucking good.

"Ah—fuck—" Your voice was breathless, wrecked, spilling out between moans that you couldn't hold back even if you wanted to.

Damian loved it.

"That's right," he growled, tightening his grip on your hips, forcing you back onto him with every deep, ruthless thrust. "Fucking take it."

You did.

You took everything he gave you, gasping as your body shuddered beneath him. The slight ache, the overwhelming pleasure, the sheer, dizzying sensation of being filled and claimed—it had you spiraling, unraveling, losing yourself in him.

"God, you're perfect like this," he murmured, his fingers digging into your skin. "So fucking wet. You love being fucked, don’t you?"

"Y-yes—" you moaned, grinding back against him shamelessly, the heat between your legs unbearable.

Damian groaned, gripping your hair and yanking your head back. Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your body arching into the roughness.

"Say it," he ordered.

Your breath hitched. "I—I love being fucked—"

"Say you love being my slut."

Something inside you twitched at that, just for a second. But then he slammed into you hard, and whatever protest you might’ve had melted into a ****, helpless moan.

"I love it—I love being your slut—" you cried out, barely even recognizing your own voice.

God, what were you even saying? It didn’t matter. You just needed more. And Damian was more than happy to give it to you.

He shoved you forward, pressing your chest into the mattress, keeping you pinned beneath him. The change in angle sent a shock of pleasure tearing through you, your eyes rolling back as he pounded into you mercilessly.

"F-fuck, Damian—!"

"That’s it," he grunted. "God, you’re so fucking tight. You were made for this, weren’t you?"

You whimpered, your whole body trembling, overstimulated, overwhelmed, consumed by him.

It felt so right. It felt so wrong. It felt so good. And you never wanted it to stop.

"Damian—" you moaned, your voice breaking as he slapped your ass, hard. The sting sent a fresh wave of heat through you, making your toes curl.

"Louder," he demanded.

"D-Damian! Fuck—"

Your arms trembled as you tried to hold yourself up, but you could barely even think, let alone keep yourself together.

All you could do was feel.

Feel the way he used you, the way he fucked you like you belonged to him—like you were just another girl who had fallen into his bed, just another toy for him to break.

And the worst part? You loved it.

Even as that small, nagging voice in the back of your head whispered, This isn’t real.

Even as you caught another glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your reflection completely wrecked, moaning like the neediest, most **** little plaything.

Even as you remembered—this wasn’t forever. This wasn’t you.

And yet, your body didn’t care. You wanted this.

"You gonna cum for me?" Damian groaned, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, punishing circles that sent shocks of pleasure surging through you.

Your body jerked, a sharp cry escaping your lips.

"F-fuck—I—"

You were close. So close.

"Come on," he urged, his voice rough, merciless, demanding. "Cum for me, slut. Make a fucking mess."

That was all it took.

Your whole body snapped, pleasure ripping through you like an earthquake, your vision going white as you screamed his name, trembling, breaking, coming undone beneath him.

Your walls clenched around him, milking him, dragging him right to the edge.

"Fuck—" Damian gritted out, pulling out at the last second, grabbing your hair and yanking you up onto your knees.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he jerked your face toward him, his cock hot and throbbing against your lips.

"Open," he ordered.

And god, you were still so drunk on pleasure, so lost in the haze of it all, that you did—

Your lips parted instinctively, your tongue flicking out just in time as he groaned deep in his chest and came.

Thick, hot ropes of it splashed across your face, streaking across your lips, your cheek, a bit on your mascara-coated lashes, and the rest dripping down your chin. You gasped, dazed, panting, wrecked, and covered in him.

"Fucking perfect," Damian murmured, dragging a thumb through the mess on your cheek, smearing it just to watch you shudder.

And in the mirror, you saw yourself.

Knees on the bed. Stockings still wrapped tight around your thighs. Face covered in his cum.

You looked filthy. You looked gorgeous. And you looked completely, utterly used.

Damian leaned back with a satisfied smirk, completely at ease, like he had just done what he always did—take what he wanted, then move on.

And that was when the final thought hit you—

"This is just sex."

Nothing more. Nothing real.

You licked your lips, tasting him.

And for the first time, the pleasure didn’t quite drown out the unease.