Chapter 3: The Apology Unleashed
The elevator doors sighed shut behind them, sealing them in the penthouse's vast, silent foyer. Moonlight poured through the wall of glass, etching Damien’s stark profile in silver and shadow. The air hummed with the echo of the lounge’s chaos and the raw, unfinished hunger vibrating between them. Sabine’s back hit the cool metal elevator door with a soft thud, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Damien stood inches away, breathing hard, his gaze locked on hers – a predator holding its kill, waiting for the surrender.
He didn’t give her time to find words. In one fluid, predatory motion, he fisted the emerald silk at her shoulder and yanked. The delicate fabric tore like paper, revealing the pale curve of her shoulder, the lacy strap of her bra beneath. A gasp ripped from Sabine’s throat, half-protest, half-shock. He ignored it, his hands rough and demanding, shoving the ruined dress down her arms, trapping them at her elbows. The cool air hit her exposed skin, pebbling her nipples instantly beneath the sheer lace of her bra. His eyes raked over the revealed swell of her breasts, the frantic pulse at the base of her throat.
"You," he growled, the sound scraping raw in his chest. His fingers bit into her hips, dragging her away from the elevator door, marching her backwards across the polished concrete floor towards the panoramic window dominating the living space. "You have been fucking driving me insane. For months." His voice was low, dangerous, each word a hammer blow. "Every damn day. That fucking laugh. The way you bite your lip when you concentrate. That smart fucking mouth answering back." He shoved her hard, her bare back hitting the cold, unyielding glass. The sheer drop and the glittering city sprawled beneath her feet were a vertiginous counterpoint to the heat blazing between them. "Playing the perfect assistant while looking at me like… that."
His hands were everywhere. Tearing the remnants of her dress down her hips, letting it pool around her ankles. His fingers hooked into the sides of her panties, the same lace he’d pushed aside in the lounge, still damp with her arousal. He ripped them down her thighs, the flimsy material offering no resistance. Sabine stood pinned against the window, half-naked, exposed to the indifferent city and Damien’s consuming gaze. Only her bra remained, a fragile barrier. He made a sound of pure impatience, a wordless snarl, and reached behind her. The clasp gave way under his impatient fingers. He tore the bra off, flinging it aside.
Her breath hitched, her chest heaving. The cold glass shocked her bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the searing heat of his stare. He looked ravenous. His knuckles grazed her collarbone, trailed down between her breasts, over the flat plane of her stomach, making her muscles clench. He dipped lower, his calloused thumb finding her clit, already swollen and slick. He circled it, hard, once. She cried out, her head thudding back against the glass.
"Tell me," he demanded, his voice thick and guttural. His fingers slid lower, parting her folds, two blunt tips pressing insistently at her entrance. "Tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you didn’t fucking feel this every time you walked into my office. Every time you handed me a goddamn file." He pushed one finger inside, deep and fast, crooking it upwards. Her inner muscles spasmed, gripping him fiercely. "Fuck, Sabine," he groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. "So goddamn tight. So fucking wet for me." He added a second finger, stretching her, the intrusion sharp and intoxicating. He thrust them relentlessly, his thumb grinding rough circles on her clit. "Look at me."
Forced to meet his gaze, Sabine saw nothing but raw, unvarnished need. His piercing blue eyes were dark, dilated, stripped of all pretence. It mirrored her own turmoil – the fear, the shock, the undeniable, terrifying pull. She hadn’t just felt it; she’d craved it. This collision. This shattering of control. Her hips lifted off the cold glass, meeting the thrust of his fingers, seeking more friction, more of the rough, punishing pleasure.
He saw her silent capitulation. With a harsh curse, he withdrew his fingers, glistening with her slickness. He grabbed her hips again, spinning her roughly to face the window. The city lights blurred below. Before she could brace herself, his hands were on her waist, dragging her hips back against him. She felt the hard, thick ridge of his erection pressing against her through his trousers. He fumbled with his belt, the buckle clinking sharply in the silence, then the rasp of his zipper.
"Hold onto the glass," he ordered, his voice ragged.
She pressed her palms flat against the cold surface, her breath fogging the pane. She heard the rustle of fabric as he shoved his trousers and briefs down his hips. Then the hot, blunt head of his cock nudged against her soaked entrance. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, pulling her back onto him.
"Damien—" she gasped, the name torn from her.
He didn't hesitate. He slammed into her with a single, brutal, driving stroke. Seated to the hilt in one fluid, devastating motion. Her cry echoed off the glass – a sharp sound of shock, pain, and overwhelming fullness. She arched, her spine snapping taut, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth surface. He was enormous, stretching her beyond anything she’d known, filling her utterly.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he ground out, his voice strangled. He stayed buried deep, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, his body trembling with the effort of holding still. His breath scorched her skin. "Sabine… fuck… you feel…" He couldn’t finish, lost in the sensation of her tight, hot sheath clamping around him, slick and perfect. He rocked his hips slightly, a shallow grind that made her whimper, a sound that vibrated through his cock. "Too much?" he rasped, the question a challenge, a plea.
She shook her head, pressing her cheek against the cool glass, trying to anchor herself. "No," she breathed, the word barely audible. "Don't stop."
A guttural groan ripped from his chest. He drew back slowly, almost completely out, letting her feel every inch dragging against her sensitized flesh, then surged forward again, hard and deep. The rhythm began. Relentless. Punishing. Each powerful thrust hammered her against the unyielding glass, driving the breath from her lungs. He held her hips locked, controlling the angle, driving impossibly deep. The slap of skin on skin, the wet sounds of their joining, his harsh grunts, her choked moans – the penthouse was filled with the raw, obscene music of their coupling.
His hands slid from her hips, one snaking around her waist to palm her breast, pinching her nipple roughly. The other tangled in her auburn hair, pulling her head back, forcing her to look out at the indifferent city as he fucked her. "See that?" he growled against her ear, his thrusts never faltering. "They don't know. They don't fucking know who owns you tonight." His teeth grazed her earlobe, then sank into the tender flesh where her neck met her shoulder, a claiming bite that sent a bolt of white-hot pleasure-pain straight to her core. Her cry was muffled against the glass.
The friction built, an inferno stoked by his relentless pace, the rough grip on her breast, the sharp sting of his bite. The cold glass against her front, Damien’s scorching heat enveloping her back – the contrast was overwhelming. Sensations crashed over her: the brutal fullness, the delicious ache of being stretched, the electric shock radiating from her clit with every deep grind, the sheer, mindless power of his possession. Her earlier defiance, her vulnerability, everything dissolved into pure, animal need. Her inner muscles clenched around him, fluttering wildly, drawing a ragged curse from him.
"Fuck, yes," he hissed, his rhythm faltering for a heartbeat. "Squeeze me, Sabine. Milk my cock." He slammed into her harder, deeper, his fingers digging into her breast. "Come for me. Come on me. Now."
The command, the raw obscenity of it, shattered her. Pleasure detonated, a supernova erupting from her core, radiating outwards in searing waves. Her body arched violently against his hold, a silent scream tearing through her as her cunt convulsed around his driving cock, pulsing and fluttering. White light exploded behind her eyes, the city lights below dissolving into a kaleidoscope of meaningless color.
Her climax triggered his own. With a roar that was more pain than triumph, Damien buried himself to the root and came. His body locked, every muscle corded with strain. Hot jets of his release pulsed deep inside her, flooding her with thick, liquid heat. He held her impossibly tight against him, his hips grinding erratically as he emptied himself, his face buried in her hair, his breath coming in harsh, shuddering gasps.
The world narrowed to the frantic pounding of their hearts, the slick slide of their sweat-slicked skin, the cooling patch of glass beneath Sabine’s cheek, and the fading pulses deep within her. The relentless pressure against the window. The faint scent of sex mingling with Damien’s cologne. He didn’t move, still buried deep, his body slumped heavily against hers, his breathing gradually slowing from ragged gasps to something deeper, exhausted. His grip on her hair loosened, his hand sliding down to rest possessively on her hip. His other hand fell away from her breast, leaving the skin tingling.
Silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by their labored breathing and the faint hum of the city far below. The weight of what they’d done – the violence of the joining, the shattering of every professional boundary – pressed down on Sabine with sudden, terrifying force. She stared out at the indifferent lights, feeling utterly exposed, utterly claimed, the echo of his command – who owns you tonight – reverberating in her bones. Damien stirred behind her, his softening cock slipping free, a sudden coolness replacing the intense heat. He pressed a final, almost absent kiss against the bite mark on her shoulder, a gesture that felt strangely intimate after the savagery. Then, without a word, he stepped back, leaving her trembling against the glass, naked and profoundly changed. The space he vacated felt vast, charged with the terrifying uncertainty of what came next.
The space he vacated felt vast, charged with the terrifying uncertainty of what came next. Cold air rushed over Sabine's sweat-slicked back where Damien's heat had been. She remained pressed against the unforgiving glass, trembling, the city’s indifferent sprawl a dizzying backdrop to her nakedness and the cooling wetness between her thighs. Her mind raced, replaying the brutal force of his thrusts, the claiming bite on her shoulder, the raw command in his voice. Owned. The word echoed, chilling and undeniable.
A rustle of fabric broke the silence. Damien stood a few paces away, pulling his shirt over his head with abrupt, efficient movements. Moonlight carved the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, the defined muscle a testament to his discipline, now glistening faintly with sweat. He dropped the shirt carelessly, the silk whispering against the polished floor. His gaze, dark and inscrutable, swept over her silhouette pressed against the window – the curve of her spine, the swell of her ass, the pale skin marked already by his grip. He didn’t speak. The silence stretched, thick as the scent of sex and his cologne hanging in the air.
"Look at me." His command sliced through the quiet, low and rough.
Sabine flinched. Turning felt monumental, exposing her front to both him and the vast emptiness behind the glass. Slowly, shakily, she pushed away from the cold pane, pivoting to face him. She crossed her arms over her breasts, an instinctive shield. Her green eyes met his blue ones, wide with a tumult of shock, lingering arousal, and dawning apprehension. The bite mark on her shoulder throbbed.
He took a step closer, closing the distance with predatory grace. His eyes didn’t leave hers. One hand rose, not to touch her, but to gesture dismissively towards the discarded emerald silk pooled at her feet, the ruined bra nearby. "That," he stated, his voice devoid of inflection, "was inevitable." He reached out then, calloused fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below the bite mark, tracing the curve where neck met shoulder. The touch was startlingly gentle after the violence, sending a shiver that had nothing to do with cold down her spine. "You knew it. I knew it. Theo certainly fucking knew it." His thumb pressed into the mark, a deliberate pressure that made her gasp softly. "Denying it was just wasting time we didn't have."
He dropped his hand. "Bedroom. Now." It wasn't a request. It was a directive, issued with the same finality as his business commands. He turned and walked towards the hallway leading deeper into the penthouse, not glancing back, expecting obedience. The arrogance of it, the sheer assumption of control, seared through her lingering haze.
Sabine stood rooted, clutching herself. Humiliation warred with the treacherous heat still simmering low in her belly. "Damien," she started, her voice thin, "this... what just happened... we can't just—"
He stopped.Turned. The look he leveled at her wasn't angry; it was colder, more dangerous. Utterly implacable. "We just did." He took a step back towards her, his presence suddenly overwhelming the vast space. "And we're not done." His gaze dropped deliberately to where her arms crossed her chest, then lower, to the juncture of her thighs, glistening faintly. "Move, Sabine. Or I carry you.Your choice. Doesn't change the destination."
The raw possessiveness in his eyes, the absolute certainty that she was his to command, stole her breath. The defiance she’d shown Theo, the competence she wielded in the office, felt like brittle armor shattered on the penthouse floor. A trembling started deep inside her. Slowly, hesitantly, she stepped out of the tangled ruin of her dress, leaving it on the cold concrete. Naked, vulnerable, she walked past him towards the hallway, feeling his gaze like a brand on her bare skin.
He followed close behind, a shadow with intent. The penthouse bedroom was even larger, dominated by a massive platform bed framed by the same floor-to-ceiling windows. Soft, recessed golden light replaced the moonlight, warmer but no less exposing. The faint, expensive scent of sandalwood and leather hung in the air. Sabine stopped uncertainly near the foot of the bed, the plush rug soft beneath her feet. She didn't know where to put herself, what he expected.
He didn't leave her wondering. He closed the distance in two strides. His hands clamped onto her waist, fingers digging in, and he lifted her effortlessly, depositing her onto the center of the bed. She landed with a soft gasp, sinking into the luxurious mattress. Before she could scramble back, he was on her. Kneeling over her, one powerful thigh pressing between hers, forcing her legs apart. He braced himself on his forearms, caging her head, his face inches from hers. His eyes, still dark with residual lust and something sharper, pinned her.
"Uncross your arms," he ordered, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through her.
Hesitation flickered. His gaze hardened. He didn't repeat himself. Slowly, feeling excruciatingly exposed, she lowered her arms to her sides, her breasts bare to his scrutiny. His gaze raked over them, the peaked nipples tightening further under his attention. One hand left the mattress, his knuckles brushing roughly down the center of her body – throat, sternum, between her breasts, over her quivering stomach.
"So responsive," he murmured, almost to himself. His fingers slid lower, through the damp curls, finding her core again. He didn't thrust inside immediately. He traced her swollen outer lips, parted them, his touch deliberate, almost clinical, yet electric. "Still wet," he observed, the words thick. "Still hot." His index finger circled her clit, a slow, grinding pressure that made her hips jerk involuntarily off the bed. "You come harder than that in the office?"
The crude question, the reminder of their professional facade, sent a fresh wave of heat through her. She bit her lip, turning her head to the side.
"Look at me." His command snapped her gaze back to his. He held it, his finger continuing its relentless circle, pushing her relentlessly towards the edge again. "You think about this? At your desk? Filing my goddamn invoices? Imagining me fucking you over the conference table?" He pushed a finger inside her, deep and sudden, crooking it. She cried out, her back arching. "Answer me."
"Yes," she gasped, the admission torn from her, shame and truth mingling. "Sometimes."
A satisfied, predatory sound rumbled in his chest. He added a second finger, stretching her, scissoring slightly. "Good." His other hand left the mattress, grasping her chin firmly, forcing her head back, exposing her throat. He lowered his mouth, not to kiss, but to bite again, lower this time, near the delicate hollow. The sharp sting mixed with the intense pleasure-pulse radiating from his fingers. She writhed, caught between the sensations, utterly at his mercy. "You belong bent over that desk," he growled against her skin, his tongue laving the bite. "My cock buried in this tight little cunt while you try to take dictation." He thrust his fingers harder, faster, the heel of his hand grinding against her clit with every stroke. "Would you come? While discussing quarterly projections?"
The filthy scenario, voiced with such ruthless clarity, combined with the relentless stimulation, was too much. Her inner muscles clamped down violently on his fingers. A strangled sob escaped her as the orgasm crashed over her, wave after wave of blinding, shuddering release. Her vision whited out, her body convulsing against his hand, her fingernails digging into the expensive sheets.
He watched her unravel, his jaw tight, his own arousal visibly straining against his trousers. As the last tremors subsided, he slowly withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving hers, dark with primal satisfaction. "Mine," he stated, the word a low, guttural claim that brooked no argument. He unfastened his trousers, shoving them and his briefs down just enough to free his cock – fully erect, thick, the head swollen and dark. He spat into his palm, slicking his length roughly.
Before Sabine could catch her breath, still reeling from the aftershocks, he hooked his hands under her knees, dragging her roughly down the bed and lifting her hips high. He positioned himself at her dripping entrance. "Open wider," he commanded, spreading her thighs further apart with his knees. "Take it. All of it." He didn't wait. He slammed home in one brutal, shearing thrust, burying himself to the root with a force that punched the air from her lungs and drew a sharp, ragged cry.
"Fuck!" he groaned, his head dropping forward for a second, his body rigid with the overwhelming sensation of her tight, convulsing heat gripping him. "God... yes... just like that." He withdrew almost completely, the drag agonizingly slow, then hammered back in, setting a punishing, relentless pace immediately. The bedframe creaked under the force. His hands gripped her hips bruisingly, holding her open, controlling the angle, driving impossibly deep with each piston-like stroke. His gaze was fixed where their bodies joined, watching his thick cock glisten as it plunged into her again and again, her slick coating him.
"Look at it," he snarled, his voice thick with lust. "Look how you take me. How this cunt swallows me whole." He thrust harder, deeper, the slap of skin echoing. "Say it. Say you're mine."
Sabine was beyond words, lost in the primal rhythm, the brutal fullness, the overwhelming sense of possession. Each deep drive scraped nerves alight, building a new, impossible heat despite her recent climax. She could only moan, a high, broken sound.
"Say it!" he roared, punctuating the command with a particularly vicious thrust that made her scream.
"Yours!" she gasped, the word ripped from her, surrendering to the undeniable truth in the violence of his claiming. "Yours, Damien!"
A harsh, triumphant sound tore from his throat. He bent over her, bracing one hand beside her head, the other sliding up to fist in her hair, pulling her head back sharply. His mouth crashed down on hers, not a kiss but a devouring. His tongue plunged deep, mimicking the relentless thrust of his cock. He fucked her mouth with the same brutal intensity as he fucked her body, stealing her breath, claiming every part of her. She tasted herself on his tongue, salt and musk, his dominance absolute and complete. Her body arched, caught between pain and blinding pleasure, her cries muffled against his mouth as he drove them both towards the edge again, his control a terrifying, exhilarating force that owned her utterly. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold outside the window, meaningless against the consuming darkness behind her closed eyes. His rhythm grew more erratic, ragged grunts escaping him as he pounded into her. "Mine," he gasped against her lips, a final, desperate affirmation before his body locked. He slammed deep and held, a guttural roar tearing from his chest as his release pulsed hot and thick inside her, filling her, marking her in the most intimate way possible. He shuddered violently, his grip on her hair tightening, his forehead pressed hard against hers, breathing harshly as the last waves crashed through him. He remained buried deep within her, trembling, the only sounds their ragged breaths and the frantic drumming of their hearts, a stark counterpoint to the silent, indifferent cityscape beyond the glass. He dominated completely.