Damien didn’t waste a second of their fifteen minutes. He marched Aria backward until the back of her knees hit the mattress of the massive four-poster bed. He shoved her down, following her body with his own, caging her in.
The neon green feathers of her dress fanned out against the black silk duvet like a radioactive spill, aggressive and chaotic against the room’s severe masculine darkness.
"You look like a disaster," Damien growled, crawling over her. "My disaster."
He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. His grip was steel—inescapable.
"Fifteen minutes," he reminded her, his voice a rough scrape against her ear. "That means we don’t have time for gentle. I’m going to ruin you, Aria. And then I’m going to parade you in front of my family while you’re still trembling."
He lowered his head to her neck, right above the neckline of the gaudy dress. He didn’t kiss; he bit. He sucked the skin hard, deliberately creating a mark dark enough to be seen from another planet.
Aria gasped, arching her back, her hips bucking up to meet him. "Damien—the dress—"
"Fuck the dress," he murmured.
His free hand slid up the inside of her thigh, his calloused palm rough against her soft skin. He didn’t take anything off; there was no time, and the barrier of the fabric only fueled his impatience. He simply shoved the neon skirt up to her waist and hooked his fingers into the delicate edge of the black lace panties. With a rough, impatient tug, he pushed the crotch aside, exposing her heat without removing the fabric.
He slipped his fingers inside her, the invasion sudden and possessive. Aria gasped, her hips bucking off the mattress, a loud, desperate moan bubbling up in her throat.
"Quiet," Damien growled.
He captured her lips immediately, swallowing the sound before it could escape through the walls into the hallway. He kissed her deeply, brutally, his tongue sweeping her mouth while his hand established a punishing, rhythmic pace below. He curled his fingers inside her, hitting that sensitive internal spot with a precision that made her vision blur.
Aria twisted beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her moans vibrating against his mouth as he stifled them, turning her vocalizations into breathless, trapped whimpers that only he could hear.
"So wet," he noted darkly against her lips, withdrawing his hand to circle her clit with a bruising pressure. "You were thinking about this in the hallway, weren’t you?"
"Yes," Aria sobbed, the sensation almost too much after the adrenaline of the day.
"Good."
He moved down. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He buried his face between her legs, his tongue broad and flat, licking her with a rhythm that was purely punishing.
Aria screamed—a short, sharp sound of shock—before she bit her lip to stifle it.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound of a fist pounding on the door shattered the rhythm.
"Damien!" Diana’s voice screeched from the hallway. "Open this door! Grandfather is seating everyone! You are being rude!"
Aria froze, panic spiking through the haze of lust. "Damien... she’s outside."
Damien didn’t stop. In fact, he increased the pressure, his tongue flicking rapidly against her most sensitive spot.
"Let her wait," he vibrated against her skin.
He lifted his head for a fraction of a second, his eyes blown wide.
"Shh," he commanded, pressing a finger to Aria’s lips. "We’re playing a game, Mrs. Sinclair. If she hears you scream, you lose."
He dove back in.
It was torture. It was ecstasy. Damien was relentless, using his hands to hold her hips open, his mouth devouring her with a hunger that bordered on feral. Aria twisted her hands in the sheets, biting her knuckles until they turned white, trying desperately to keep the moans trapped in her throat.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"I know you’re in there!" Diana shouted, rattling the handle. "I can hear you! Stop ignoring me!"
Damien groaned, the sound vibrating through Aria’s core. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them in a ’come hither’ motion while his thumb continued its assault.
Aria’s vision blurred. She was close. So close.
"Damien, please," she whimpered, her hips thrashing.
"Quiet," he warned, sucking harder.
The climax hit her like a freight train. Her body convulsed, clamping down around his fingers. She threw her head back, her mouth opening in a silent scream of pure, blinding pleasure.
At that exact moment, the lock clicked.
Aria’s eyes snapped open. She watched in horror as the door handle turned.
A spare key.
The oak door swung open.
Lady Diana Sinclair stood in the doorway, her face flushed with indignation.
"Damien, I am not going to let you—"
The words died in her throat.
The scene before her was a tableau of debauchery. Aria, sprawled across the black bed in a neon green dress that was hiked up to her waist, her face flushed, her body trembling in the aftershocks of an orgasm. And Damien...
He slowly lifted his head from between Aria’s legs. His mouth was wet. His tie was undone. He looked at his sister with the cold, annoyed gaze of a lion interrupted by a gnat.
He kept his hand resting possessively on Aria’s thigh.
Diana turned a shade of red that defied human biology. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. She looked at the messy neon dress. She looked at her brother’s face.
"Get out," Damien said.
It wasn’t a shout. It was a low, lethal command.
Diana let out a strangled squeak. She stumbled back into the hallway, her hand flying to her pearl necklace.
"I... I..."
"OUT," Damien roared, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at the door.
Diana slammed the door shut and fled, her footsteps retreating rapidly down the hall.
Silence returned to the room.
Damien let out a ragged, furious breath. He ran a hand through his silver hair, messing it up further, his expression shifting from lethal to exasperated.
"Fucking hell."