An Assassin's Oath

Ezra

Ioften heard too much pleasure is painful—well, they were right. I never believed them until right now. I never knew having an orgasm could be such sweet pleasure and absolute torture at the same time. Six orgasms. That’s how many times he made me climax, again and again tirelessly, each one shorter and quicker than the last but more intense.

I didn’t even know my body was capable of such things. When Damien said punishment, I thought he was going to choke me to an inch of my life or something. But that…that was worse because he denied me from having the one thing I wanted, and that was torture. Not being in control, not being able to release and have him keep me on edge for that long took skill and patience. I have to commend him for that.

My body is aching, and my knees are shaking while I’m trying to shower. I open my eyes and see Damien watching me leaned against the wall of the shower.

I want him. I hate him, but God, I want him. I’m conflicted, and it's infuriating me. If only I could figure him out, work out what it is he wants from me.

Come on, Ezra.

I step away from the spray and step closer to Damien, who keeps his gaze on me; for a change, his eyes are not the ice-cold steel but igneous, radiating desire. For me. I lick my lips and keep my eyes on his while I lift my hands and unbutton his jeans one button at a time. “Shower with me?” Damien says nothing nor makes a move to stop me, so I continue to undress him. “I want to see you,” I whisper as I slide his jeans and boxers down his muscular legs, and Damien steps out and kicks them aside all at once.

I step back a little and allow my eyes to rake over him, and my breath hitches in my throat. Damien is every girl's fantasy. My fantasy. Everything I never knew I wanted. I knew he was well endowed; I vaguely remember that night in the motel but seeing it in the flesh, erect and huge, was something else altogether.

I’ve seen a few of my other boyfriends, but Damien has a beautiful penis. Thick, pink with a vein running down the side, and more importantly, he keeps himself trimmed neatly. I feel heat touch my cheeks, and Damien smiles a little, probably at the way I was staring at his manhood in awe.

“You’ve seen a cock before, right?” He questions, rather amused, and I lift my gaze to his and nod.

I take his hand and pull him under the spray with me. My stomach squeezes with nerves when he steps closer to me, and his hands grab hold of my waist.

I peek up at him through my lashes, “If I admit to never seeing one as big and appealing as yours, are you going to let it go to your head and throw it in my face every chance you get?” I tilt my head to the side and regard him curiously and observe as his full lips curl into a faint smile.

“A man’s dick is his most cherished possession, pretty girl,” Damien states, wetting his lips as he steps closer to me. “And I’m exceptionally proud of mine.” He adds, reaching up and brushing a wet strand of my hair away from my face. His fingers take hold of my chin while his silver gaze locks with my own. “I’m more of a show rather than tell kind of man.”

My mouth goes dry at the assertiveness in his tone. “I’ve noticed.”

Damien catches my wrists as I lift my hands to run them over his toned chest. I bite my lip when he stares at me intently, “Why won’t you let me touch you, Damien?” Something flickers in his eyes, but I ignore it.

“Ezra.”

“Let me touch you, please?” I insist, pleading, and his jaw clenches.

When he says nothing, I keep my eyes on him the entire time as my fingers glide over his chest lightly. Damien swallows hard, and he cringes. I can see this is difficult for him for whatever reason, and he’s struggling within himself. I pull my hands back, dejected that my touch would hurt him, and he frowns, his brows drawn together. “Does it really feel so terrible when I touch you?” Damien sighs, his facial features relax visibly, and he runs his fingers through my wet hair and presses his forehead to mine.

“It’s not you, Ezra. It’s me.”

“Show me. Where can I touch you?” I whisper, and he lifts my hands and places them at his neck. His eyes close, and he guides my hands along his shoulders, down his arms. I observe as his muscles flex and spasm under my touch.

Damien squeezes my wrists; I look at him and press a kiss to his jaw; it clenches and pulses against my lips. I trail my fingers lightly up over his arms, his shoulders tense, and he sucks in a shallow breath. I continue to pepper gentle kisses along his chest, up to his neck, and he moans.

I feel the vibrations against my lips, and I swear I felt it pass straight through me. Damien tilts his head back, giving me more room while I nip at his pulse, leisurely dragging my lips along his defined shoulder as I move around him, my hands exploring every ripple of taut muscle on his back. I brush my finger over a scar on his back just under his left shoulder blade and wonder how he got it.

I want to know you. Your scars, your fears. I want you…all of you.

Damien’s head hangs low, his shoulders rising and falling quickly. I move around him again to stand in front of him. Raising my hands, I brush my fingers along his cheeks and lift his head until his ashen gaze was on me again, stealing my breath. I push up on my toes and press my mouth to his.

Damien groans, wrapping his strong arms around my waist and draws me close until I was flush against him. He kisses me back with equal enthusiasm, not his usual hard dominating kisses; this was slow, deliberate, full of passion. Lips still fused together, Damien lifts me into his arms and presses me against the wall of the shower.

I wrap my legs around him and moan when I feel his hard length against me, rocking, rubbing himself intimately over me. I want more. I need more. I pull back from our kiss, panting, and press my forehead to his. I lift my hips until I feel him pressed against my entrance. Damien looks at me, his eyes uncertain.

“Ezra—” I kiss him deeply, and he groans, kissing me back before pulling back again.

“I want you.” Damien stares at me for a long moment and slowly shakes his head.

“You’re not ready.”

I frown, “Damien. I’m ready.”