"I'm a patient man," he repeated, the words vibrating against my skin.
He didn't wait for me to respond. He didn't wait for my heart to stop trying to hammer its way out of my ribcage. He leaned down, capturing my lips with his.
It started tenderly. Soft. A testing of the waters. His lips brushed mine, warm and firm, coaxing a response rather than demanding one. I stood frozen, my eyes fluttering shut, the scent of expensive cologne and male musk clouding my brain.
Then, the shift happened.
The tenderness shattered. He groaned, a low, guttural sound in his throat, and the kiss turned desperate. Hungry. He devoured me. His teeth grazed my lower lip, biting down hard enough to sting, hard enough to make me gasp. I opened my mouth to complain, but he took the opportunity to invade.
He tasted of cognac. Dark, rich, and intoxicating.
His tongue swept against mine, claiming the space, demanding submission. It was overwhelming. My knees buckled, my body turning into liquid heat. A small amount of saliva gathered at the corner of my mouth, escaping as my jaw went slack under his assault. Damien pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes flashing, and his tongue darted out, licking the moisture from my skin.
"Delicious," he growled.
I melted. I physically melted into him, my bones turning to dust. My hands were useless, hovering in the air, trembling. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where to touch a man like him.
He broke the kiss, his breathing harsh. He looked down at my hovering hands, his gaze intense, pinning me in place. He reached out, grabbing my wrist with a grip that was firm but not painful. He guided my hand up, wrapping it around the back of his neck.
"Don't be shy," he whispered, his voice rough. "Fist my hair, Rain Vance. Hold on to me."
I did as I was told. My fingers threaded through his dark, thick hair, tightening my grip. It felt grounding.
He surged in for another kiss, and this time, I met him. I pulled his head down, my body pressing frantically into his. My head twisted, turning, finding the perfect angle to deepen the contact. I wanted to taste him as much as he was tasting me.
He nudged me backward. My hips hit the edge of the mahogany desk. He didn't stop. His large hand slid down my side, cupping my thigh, his thumb digging into the soft flesh. He lifted my left leg, guiding it effortlessly around his waist.
He leaned into me, pressing me back until I was half-lying on the desk, documents crinkling beneath my back. He withdrew his lips, hovering just inches from mine. He watched me. His eyes were dilated, black pools of desire that seemed to strip me bare.
"You are so responsive," he murmured. "So ready."
He kissed me again. Slowly. Romantically. The desperation was gone, replaced by a sensual, deliberate rhythm. The sound of our lips meeting echoed in the silent office—wet, heavy, needy sounds that made my toes curl. His tongue shoved into my mouth, sweeping, flickering against the roof, learning every inch of me.
He pulled back abruptly, standing up straight. He grabbed my hand, pulling me up from the desk.
"Come," he said.
"Where?" I breathed, stumbling slightly as I followed him.
He didn't answer. He led me toward the back of the office, to a section of the wall that looked like solid paneling. He placed his thumb against a subtle indentation on the wood. A soft beep sounded.
The wall slid open silently, revealing a dark, cool room beyond.
My breath hitched. It was a bedroom. A massive bed with black sheets sat in the center, illuminated only by the soft glow of the city lights filtering in through a high window.
He led me to the bed. He didn't push me down. He sat on the edge and pulled me to stand between his spread knees.
"The dress," he commanded softly. "Take it off."
My fingers shook, but I reached for the straps. I let the silk pool at my feet. I stood there in nothing but my lace panties, feeling exposed, feeling vulnerable.
Damien looked at me like I was the only water in a desert. "Beautiful."
He reached out, his thumbs hooking into the sides of my panties. slowly, dragging them down. "Now, you're mine. No contracts. Just this."
He pulled me down onto the bed. The mattress was soft, swallowing me. He stripped off his shirt and trousers with efficient, practiced movements, revealing a body of hard muscle and scarred skin. He joined me on the bed, but he didn't loom over me.
He lay on his side, behind me, pulling me into a spooning position. His chest was a solid wall of heat against my back. My ass up against his hard erection. His arm draped over my waist, pulling me flush against him.
"Relax," he whispered into my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine. "I've got you."
I felt the tip of him against my butt cheek, guided slowly towards my entrance. I tensed, anticipating pain. My breathing ragged.
"Shh," he soothed, kissing the sensitive skin behind my ear. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to make you feel everything."
He entered me from behind. Slowly. So slowly it was agonizing. He pushed past the barrier with a gentle, steady pressure, giving my body time to adjust, to stretch. I let out a sharp gasp, burying my face in the pillow.
He stopped. He held perfectly still, his hand stroking my stomach, his lips moving against my neck. "Breathe, Rain. I'm here. You're taking me so well."
His dirty-romantic words distracted me from the discomfort. "That's it," he groaned low in my ear. "You feel so tight. So perfect. You were made for this. Made for me."
He began to move. Gentle thrusts. Shallow at first, then gradually deeper. His hips snapped forward with a controlled rhythm, rocking me against him.
"Damien," I whimpered, the pain fading, replaced by a heavy, throbbing pressure that felt dangerously like pleasure.
"Say it again," he demanded, his hand sliding down to play with my clit, circling the sensitive nub. "Say my name while I'm inside you."
"Damien… please."
"Please what?" He thrust harder, his fingers working their magic, sending sparks of electricity through my nerves. "You want me to own you? You want to be my good girl?"
"Yes," I cried out. "Yes!"
He groaned, the sound vibrating through my entire body. We moved together in that side-lying embrace for what felt like hours, his whispers filling my ears, his hand bringing me closer and closer to the edge.
Then, he stopped.
He pulled out, rolled onto his back and pulled me with him, shifting our positions. He grabbed two pillows and shoved them under my hips, under my back, elevating me.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I opened my eyes. He was hovering over me in a bridged missionary position, his shoulders broad, blocking out the rest of the world. This was it. The stupid position Tara told me about. The one I had to search through the Internet for after she told me about it and got jumpscared when I figured out what it was. Yes. That one. Damien had me in that same position.
"I want to see your face when you fall apart," he said intensely.
He drove into me. deeper this time. The angle allowed him access I didn't know was possible. He hit a spot deep inside me that made my vision blur.
"Oh god!" I arched my back, my fingernails digging into his biceps.
"There she is," he growled, seeing my reaction. He kept his eyes locked on mine, his gaze possessive, intense. He didn't close his eyes. He watched every twitch, every gasp.
He reached down between us, his thumb finding my clit again, rubbing firmly while he thrust. The dual sensation was too much. It was overload.
"Damien, I'm close, I'm—!"
"Let go," he roared, abandoning his control, his thrusts becoming jagged and desperate. "Come for me, Rain baby!"
I shattered. The climax hit me like a tidal wave, ripping a scream from my throat. My insides clenched around him, milking him.
That was his undoing. He threw his head back, his cords straining in his neck, and thrust one final, deep time, groaning as he poured himself into me.
We stayed like that for a long time. Him buried deep inside me, me trembling beneath him. The only sound in the room was our ragged breathing. We watched each other. Yes, I watched him. It felt like the sex made me gain the courage to stare into his intoxicating gaze as long as I wished.
Slowly, heavily, he withdrew. He didn't pull away, though. He collapsed next to me, pulling me immediately into his arms. He tucked my head under his chin, his hand stroking up and down my back.
The monster was gone. The intimidating billionaire was gone.
"You did good," he murmured into my hair, his voice raspy with sleep and satisfaction. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "You did so good."
I closed my eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For the first time in weeks, the fear was gone. In the arms of the man who owned my debt, I felt strangely, terrifyingly safe.
But in the back of my mind, a small voice whispered. This isn't just a contract anymore.
I had signed my body away. But tonight, I had a sinking feeling I had just handed him my soul, too.