*Isabella's POV*
When we pulled away, I felt a bit awkward. I had just shared a vulnerable, deeply personal part of me, with him. The silence that followed felt heavy, loaded with all the things I'd just confessed. My brain scrambled for a way to break it, to build my walls back up, brick by fucking brick.
"You know, Damien," I said, putting on my only line of defence—sass and sarcasm. "Getting a sugar daddy before thirty was not on my list."
He just chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated through me. "What is the laugh about? That's not how it works, you know. Not when I studied too hard to just be a sugar baby. Fuck, you're overwhelming me," I said, my voice a mix of frustration and something else I didn't want to name.
"Do you really think I'm your sugar daddy?" he asked, making air quotes with his fingers as he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"That's not even funny," I retorted, but I was fighting a smile. "I already live in your house. I wear expensive clothes I couldn't afford on my own. And what do I offer? I just have sex with you. I don't even clean the house 'cause you won't let me," I said with a sigh, the words tumbling out in a messy heap.
"Do you want to clean the house?" he chuckles.
"Sometimes," I reply, looking down at my sneakers. "I miss it. It relaxes me."
"Talk to Violetta to leave you a room uncleaned if it makes you feel better," he said, a knowing smirk on his face. He could see right through my tough-girl act.
"Maybe I will," I said, a small smile finally breaking through.
And he chuckled again, a sound that was quickly becoming my favourite fucking noise.
"Although, I think the definition of a sugar baby says that they get paid for it," he said, his voice low and reasonable. "I pay you to be my assistant because, obviously, you are. You're brilliant at it. As for the rest... I treat you as my girlfriend, and as the queen you are. So please, let me take care of you." He pulled me closer, his arms a secure, warm band around my waist. "Not because you deserve it—although you do—but because I want to. Let me take the weight off your shoulders. Don't worry about anything else now. You'll have everything you need. You can even take a break from work to finish school."
The offer hung in the air between us, so fucking generous it made my head spin. To just... stop. To not have to worry about tuition, or work, or anything. It was a dream. But it wasn't my dream.
"No," I said, the word coming out stronger and more certain than I expected. "That's too much. I can't. I want to work and also go to school. I wouldn't have it any other way." I had to prove it to myself, to him, that I wasn't just taking, taking, taking. That I had my own drive, my own ambition.
He looked at me for a long moment, a flicker of something like... respect in his eyes. "Whatever you say," he said, his voice soft. "I support you and I'm here for you." And with that, he pulled me into yet another hug.
All this feeling... I don't know how to fucking react. It's too much. The grand gestures, the heartfelt confessions, the unwavering support. It's a fucking tidal wave, and I'm just standing here, letting it crash over me, completely unsure if I'm about to drown or learn how to swim.
"Yeah, it's getting late. Will we go back home now?" I asked, my voice a little awkward. The emotional intensity of our conversation was still buzzing in my head, and I was trying to ground us back in something as simple as a schedule.
"No," he said, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "We still need to hike inside the Canyon tomorrow."
"Inside? Really?" I squealed, the pure, excitement bursting out of me before I could stop it. He just chuckled, a low, warm sound that made my stomach do a little flip.
"Oh my God, that sounds better than flying over," I added, my mind already racing with images of trails and rock formations.
"Yes," he said, his smile widening. "If we're here already, it would be a pity not to have the whole experience. I booked a cabin inside the Grand Canyon Village. A gourmet dinner and a bottle of the finest wine, a 1941 Inglenook Cabernet Sauvignon, is waiting for us back there."
My eyes widened. A fucking cabin? Inside the canyon? And a bottle of wine that I knew, from a documentary I'd once been forced to watch, was worth a small fortune. "Isn't that a high-end one? Worth over $27,000 a bottle?" I asked, my voice a mix of awe and sheer disbelief.
"It's sexy how you know your work and your wines," he said, his eyes darkening with an appreciation that went far beyond just my mind.
"Who doesn't love wine?" I retorted, my go-to sarcastic defence, trying to deflect from the intensity of his gaze.
"And yes, it is," he said, taking a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble that bypassed all my defences. "A great wine for a great girl."
And just like that, I was done for. The blush that crept up my neck was fucking uncontrollable, and every sassy retort I had died on my tongue. He just stood there, looking at me with a smug, satisfied smirk, knowing he'd fucking impressed me. Again.
He led me to a cabin that was less 'simple retreat' and more 'lodge for a billionaire'. It was stunning, all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the dark, silent expanse of the canyon. We had a dinner that was probably more expensive than my car, each course more delicious than the last, the wine flowing freely.
Afterwards, he suggested we "relax," a knowing smirk on his face as he gestured towards a large, bubbling hot tub on the deck. He handed me a tiny, scrap of black fabric. A bikini. Of course. I just chuckles, heading to my room to change. He had good taste, I'd give him that.
I came back out, the cool night air a shock against my warm skin, and slid into the hot, steaming water with a sigh. He was already there, leaning back, looking like a fucking god as he handed me a glass of wine. Fuck
"You've gone all the way for this date, haven't you," I teased, taking a sip.
"I knew how hyped you were about the hot tub at home, so I had to," he said, planting a soft kiss on my cheek.
"But do you know what I like more than wine and hot tubs?" I asked, setting my glass down and giving him a wink.
With that, I swung a leg over his lap, settling myself straddling him, the hot water swirling around us. His hands immediately came to rest on my hips, a firm, possessive grip.
"Isabella, you little minx," he said, his voice a low, husky rumble that vibrated straight through me.
He claimed my lips in a kiss so fiery and possessive it stole my breath. It was a stark contrast to the gentle bubbling of the water around us, a raw, fucking claim that left me clinging to him.
When we finally pulled apart, panting slightly, I rested my forehead against his. "I love when you say my name like that," I admitted, my voice softer than I intended, stripped of all its usual sarcasm.
"I love how you take care of me," I confessed, the words feeling heavy and true, a weight I hadn't realised I was carrying lifting off my shoulders.
With that, I pulled him closer, my lips brushing against the shell of his ear, my voice a low, deliberate plea that felt more vulnerable than anything I had ever said.
"Make love to me, Damien."