Stained

Chapter 17

*Chapter is being revised*

But I don't get to think too much into it because in the next second, he's bringing my face closer to his with the hand that's still in my hair, and whispering gratingly against my lips. "Are those pregnancy tests for you?" Despite the cruel tone, his eyes search mine imploringly.

My head shakes no, on its own accord. But I don't care because when he looks at me like that, I can't lie to him. I don't know why, but for some strange reason, I don't want him to think I'm pregnant.

But I don't get to dwell on my confession for too long, for in the next heartbeat he's smashing his lips back against mine.

Unexpectedly, the memory of Hannah crying because she thinks she's pregnant hits me like a truck.

"Damien." I gasp as he pulls my head back by my hair. His lips don't leave my skin as he peppers open-mouthed kisses across my jaw.

Why did I tell him to stop again? I wonder as he lightly bites down on my neck. "Oh god," I moan, as my hips uncontrollably rock against him, chasing the friction I've never felt before him. He groans against my neck, making me almost go over the edge.

I can feel. I can feel. My mind chants. I'm not broken like I believed I was. I can feel pleasure just like other girls. I'm not broken. I could cry from the realisation. And then I almost do when he pulls back but I wrap my arms around his neck and tangle my good hand's fingers into his hair. unfortunately, Damien manages to leave five centimetres between us.

"Please," I beg, lost to him and the sensations coursing through me.

"You sure?" He asks, his eyes flitting between my lips and eyes. Though, I don't stray mine away from his lips as I breathe uncontrollably, my chest rubbing against his with each inhale.

I nod my head yes vigorously, my mind still constantly repeating; I can feel. I'm not broken. I can feel.

"If you want to sto—."

I press my lips against his, interrupting whatever he was about to say. "I don't want to stop," I breath against them before kissing him again. I don't know what I'm saying, or doing for that matter. The chanting in my head appears to be overriding everything.

He untangles his fingers from my hair and then I feel the seat move back, creating more room for us. But even as he does that, he doesn't dislodge his lips from mine.

His hand comes between us and moves into my vest and when his fingers meet my bare flesh, I shudder. It's all too much and not enough at the same time.

Without warning, his hand moves into my jogging bottoms and his fingers skim the hem of my panties, teasing me I realise much to my dismay. I unintentionally bite his bottom lip, my core clenching around emptiness.

That seems to snap something in him because his hand moves into my panties and brushes against me. I let go of his lip and moan loud enough to wake the dead.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he curses, looking down at where his hand disappears inside my pants.

"Please," I whimper, closing my eyes and resting my forehead against his chest. I don't know what I'm asking for, all I know is, I need this ache to be revived.

"Please what?" He rubs a lone finger over me and it lightly brushes a spot that makes me jump.

"Touch me," I whisper. I can't take this teasing anymore.

"I'm already touching you, baby." He presses his lips against mine and I deepen it, kissing him ferociously, needing to touch him back and a distraction from his torture. And just like that, his fingers begin moving over me, gathering my wetness and spreading it over me. I'd feel embarrassed but there seems to be no room for it in this tiny space. Or so I'd like to believe.