The gala was behind them.
The whispers. The stares. The veiled threats behind champagne flutes.
But in the backseat of the black town car, Serena wasn't thinking about enemies. Not Luca. Not the men in tailored suits who spoke in riddles and power plays.
She was thinking about Damon.
The way his hand had found the small of her back as they entered the ballroom—steady, silent, possessive. The way his jaw had clenched when Luca Santoro kissed her hand. The way his eyes never once left her, even when he spoke with politicians and former enemies cloaked in civility.
He was dangerous.
But tonight… he was hers.
—
When they stepped into the townhouse, the air was thick.
Not with fear. Not with suspicion.
But with want.
The door shut behind them with a soft click, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Serena stood in the middle of the foyer, her heels clicking lightly against the marble floor, her spine still taut with the tension of the night. Damon loosened his tie slowly, eyes locked on her.
"Take it off," she said, voice quiet but resolute.
He stilled.
"What?"
"The suit," she said, turning to him. "It's beautiful. But it isn't you. Not tonight."
He watched her for a moment, as if searching for something in her eyes.
Then he pulled the tie free and let it fall to the floor.
Serena crossed the room slowly, her fingers going to the buttons of her jacket. One by one, they fell open. She shrugged it off, revealing the bare silk slip beneath. A whisper of fabric. A promise wrapped in shadow.
"You were breathtaking tonight," Damon said, voice low. "Terrifying. Beautiful."
"Because of you."
"No," he said, taking a step forward. "Because of you."
His hands didn't reach for her right away.
He just stood there—looking. Devouring.
"I wanted to touch you all night," he murmured. "But I couldn't. Not in front of them."
"You don't have to hold back now."
"I don't think I can."
—
When he kissed her, it wasn't rushed.
It was reverent.
Like something sacred he'd been starving for.
His lips brushed hers with the restraint of a man who knew the damage he could cause… and kissed her anyway. Her arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him in, her mouth opening to his with a soft, aching sigh.
Damon's hands slid down her spine—slow, careful—like she was something fragile wrapped in fire. And maybe she was. But she had never burned more willingly in her life.
She gasped softly as his mouth moved to her jaw, then her throat, mapping the skin he'd only been allowed to dream about before. His voice was rough against her collarbone.
"Tell me to stop."
She shook her head. "I'll never say that."
His breath shuddered against her.
"Then tell me what you want."
She looked up at him, eyes wide, unflinching.
"You."
—
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the golden spill of streetlight from the windows. He laid her down gently on the bed, as if placing something precious on sacred ground. Their mouths met again, slower now, deeper. A conversation in lips and breath and tangled fingers.
She pulled his shirt free, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the scars he once hid. Her hands slid across them reverently, not flinching, not questioning. Just knowing.
"I see all of you," she whispered. "And I still want more."
He bent his forehead to hers.
"You're dangerous, Serena."
"Good."
Her legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer. Their bodies pressed flush, a perfect puzzle of heat and hunger and trembling need.
And when he finally moved against her, it wasn't with power—it was with devotion.
With a slowness that made her ache.
With a tenderness that broke her.
They didn't speak after that.
There was nothing left to say.
Only the rise and fall of their bodies.
Only the sound of breath and skin and something deeper than pleasure.
Something like worship.
—
Later, she lay curled against him, her fingers tracing idle circles over his chest, where his heartbeat thrummed steady beneath her touch.
"Are we making a mistake?" she asked softly.
Damon didn't answer right away.
His arm tightened around her waist.
"If this is a mistake," he said finally, "it's the only one I'd make again and again."
She smiled into his skin.
"Me too."
Outside, the city hummed.
But inside, there was only them—wrapped in sheets and shadows, in secrets and skin, in a night they would never forget.
Tomorrow would bring war.
But tonight?
Tonight was theirs.