Chapter 84: Morning Assent
She didn’t sleep. Lying beside him in the deep quiet after their collision, Beth watched the first grey fingers of dawn probe the seams of the heavy crimson drapes. Damien’s breath had evened into the deep rhythm of sleep, his arm a heavy, possessive bar across her stomach. The scent of their sex clung to the sheets, a humid, intimate musk beneath the sharper notes of his cologne and the faint perfume of the rose he’d left on her pillow.Her body was a map of aches. The deep, satisfying throb between her legs. The tenderness of her breasts where his mouth had been rough and claiming.The ghost of his fingers on her hips, sure to bloom into bruises. Each one a testament, a brand.She catalogued them with a detached fury. This is what it costs, she thought.This is the currency.Carefully, she lifted his arm. He grumbled, shifting, but did not wake. She slid from the bed, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on her naked skin. She felt exposed, not just physically, but stripped raw.The defiance she’d worn like armor last night felt thin, tarnished. She walked to the window, ignoring the plush carpet underfoot, and pushed the heavy velvet aside.
The Rossi compound spread below, a kingdom of manicured silence. Mist clung to the rolling lawns, beading on the razor-wire perimeter fence barely visible in the distance. Guardhouses dotted the landscape, dark and squat.It was a beautiful prison.Her prison, once. The view hadn’t changed.But she had. She wasn’t the girl who had looked out on this same vista with a heart full of foolish love. She was the woman who had negotiated with the king of this fortress and unsettled him.Landmines, she’d said. The word hung in the quiet room.A flicker of movement caught her eye. Two men—Marco and another soldier—walked the perimeter path, their steps synchronized, their postures alert even at this hour. The real world.The dangerous one.It was waiting.She turned from the window. Damien lay sprawled in the center of the bed, the sheet tangled low around his hips. The early light sculpted the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, caught the dark stubble along his jaw. Even in sleep, he looked capable of violence. And yet, there was a vulnerability in the relaxed line of his mouth, the way his dark lashes fanned against his skin. It was a lie.A beautiful, tempting lie.The cool defiance returned, a slow seep of ice in her veins. He thought he had a hook. He thought this—the animal need between them—was enough to reel her back in.He thought the pleasure he gave her was a weakness he could exploit.
She would show him it was a weapon.She padded back to the bed, her skin still humming with cold. He didn’t stir as she climbed onto the mattress, the lush surface yielding under her knees. She straddled his hips, the heat of his body immediately seeping into her thighs. He was already half-hard, his cock lying thick and heavy against his stomach. A purely physiological response, she told herself.Nothing more.She watched his face as she wrapped her fingers around him. He sighed in his sleep, a soft, unconscious sound. She stroked him slowly, firmly, feeling him swell and harden fully in her grasp. He was velvety steel, pulsing with a life of his own.Her own body answered, a slick, familiar heat gathering at her core. She shifted forward, guiding the broad head of his cock through her folds, already wet for him. She was disgusted with herself.She was fiercely, shatteringly alive.
She notched him at her entrance and sank down.The fullness was immediate, stretching, consuming. A low groan rumbled in his chest.His eyes flickered open, hazy with sleep, then sharpening into emerald focus. His hands found her hips, fingers digging in, not to guide but to claim.
“Morning, Tesoro,” he rasped, his voice sleep-roughened and dark.
She didn’t answer. She set a slow, deliberate pace, rising until only the tip remained inside her, then sinking back down, taking every inch. She kept her eyes on his, watching the play of surprise, lust, and dawning comprehension.She was in control. She was setting the rhythm, taking her pleasure from him, using his body for her own.Her breasts swayed with the motion. He watched them, his gaze hungry, but he didn’t move. He let her ride him, his thumbs making small, rough circles on the points of her hip bones.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his jaw tightening.“You’re so deep. Taking me so good.”
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, changing the angle. The new position drove him against a spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.A whimper escaped her clenched teeth.
“There?” he gritted out, his composure cracking. His hips gave an involuntary buck upwards, skewering her more deeply.She nodded, a sharp, tiny movement.Control slipping.
“Then take it.” His hands left her hips and threaded into her hair, fisting, pulling her head down so her mouth was inches from his.“Take what you need.Use me. Fucking use me, Beth.”
His permission, his urging, was its own form of domination. It shattered her remaining pretense. She let go, riding him harder, faster, her breath sobbing, her nails raking down his chest.The bed creaked in protest. The headboard tapped a frantic rhythm against the wall.
He sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms around her, crushing her to him so their sweat-slicked skin sealed together. He took over, driving up into her with a frantic, powerful urgency, each thrust knocking a broken sound from her throat.
“Look at me,” he commanded.She forced her eyes open, meeting his furious, adoring gaze.
“This,” he panted, pistoning into her, “this is mine.This fire. This fucked-up, perfect thing. It’s always been mine.” He captured her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans. “It always will be.”
She was spiraling, the orgasm building like a storm, terrifying in its intensity. She clutched at his shoulders, her world narrowing to the brutal, perfect friction, the smell of him, the feel of his heart hammering against hers.
“I love you,” he rasped against her lips, the words raw and unforgiving.
It was the detonation.Her climax ripped through her with a violence that felt like being remade. She convulsed around him, a raw scream tearing from her throat, her inner muscles clamping down on his cock in wave after wave of unbearable pleasure.He held her through it, his own control snapping. With a shattered groan, he drove up one last time, buried to the hilt, and poured himself into her, his body jerking with the force of his release.
For a long time, they stayed locked together, breathing ragged, sweat-drenched.Slowly, the world reassembled. The light in the room was brighter now, golden.The rose on the pillow seemed to glow.
He softened and slipped from her body, but kept her wrapped in his arms, lowering them both back to the tangled sheets.He nuzzled into the curve of her neck, his breath warm on her damp skin.
“Don’t go today,” he murmured, his voice thick.“Stay. Let me keep you safe.”
Safe.The word was a pinprick. The outside world—Marco on the path, Vincent’s calculating eyes, her own planted secrets—intruded.
Before she could form a answer, a firm knock sounded at the door.Damien went still. “What,” he barked, the tenderness evaporating.
“Damien.” It was Marco’s voice, tense.“You need to come out. Now.”
Beth felt the shift in Damien’s body, the instant transformation from satiated lover to don. He pressed a hard, final kiss to her shoulder and slid from the bed.“What is it?” he asked, pulling on his trousers.
“Accardi’s men,” Marco said through the door, his voice low. “They just delivered a package.Addressed to Ms.Montgomery.”
Beth’s blood ran cold. Damien’s eyes locked with hers across the room.In the brightening morning light, the fantasy evaporated. The hook was set, but it was in both of them. And now, someone was jerking the line.