Ava's POV
The hotel room was soaked in warmth—dim golden lights reflecting off the cream-colored walls, soft music humming from the hallway outside. But none of that mattered. Not when Damien was looking at me like that.
Like I was the only thing in the world that could calm the storm behind his eyes.
His hands were already on my waist, firm and trembling, as if even he couldn't believe this was real. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, voice thick with restraint.
"I don't want you to," I breathed, my fingers finding the collar of his shirt and tugging him closer. "I want you to ruin me."
The last string of his control snapped.
His lips were on mine—rough, needy, desperate. He kissed me like a man who had been starving, like he'd been parched for years and I was water. His hands roamed down my back, gripping, exploring, memorizing every inch. When we fell onto the bed, tangled in each other, nothing else existed.
Clothes were shed like memories we didn't need. My skin burned under his mouth, his touch. He kissed down my throat, between my breasts, across my stomach—and then back up again, tracing every curve like he was worshipping, not just touching.
"You still feel like mine," he groaned against my skin.
I gasped, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Because I am."
The way his eyes darkened made my breath hitch. Then he entered me slowly, deeply—like he needed to feel every inch. And I shattered beneath him.
"Say it again," he moaned, thrusting deeper.
"I'm yours, Damien," I cried, nails digging into his back.
He kissed me hard, devouring every word. "You're still mine."
The room spun with the rhythm of our bodies. Our breaths. Our moans. His forehead pressed to mine as we moved faster, wilder, unable to stop—like we'd waited a lifetime for this.
We didn't stop until the world outside disappeared. Until we were nothing but sweat and heat and soft, broken whispers.
Later, his arms wrapped around me like steel, his lips at my ear. "If I died right now, I'd still be the happiest man alive… because you're in my arms again."
And in the silence, with his heartbeat drumming against my back, I knew—there was no going back.
---
Chloe's POV
The hotel room glowed with dim amber light, casting shadows that flickered like secrets against the walls. Ezra leaned against the doorway, his usually teasing gaze gone—replaced with something deeper, darker. A longing that stretched years back.
"I've had a drink or two," he muttered, stepping in, "but I've never been more sure of anything than this."
My breath hitched. "Of what?"
"You." His voice broke slightly. "I want you. Not just tonight. Not just like this. I want every damn part of you—messy, fiery, stubborn you."
I stood frozen until he closed the distance between us. His thumb brushed my cheek, trailing down to my lips.
"Say something," he breathed.
"I'm tired of pretending too," I whispered.
And just like that, we collided.
His lips crushed into mine, raw and starving. His hands gripped my waist, lifting me effortlessly as my legs wrapped around him. He carried me to the bed, laying me down like I was something precious—then undressed me like I was something forbidden.
Every kiss left fire in its wake.
His mouth traced a path from my jaw down to my collarbone, lingering, tasting, memorizing. His breath was hot, uneven. "God, Chloe... you're gonna destroy me."
I gasped as his lips grazed lower, across my chest, his tongue flicking against the most sensitive skin with reverence. "Ezra—"
"Tell me you feel it too," he murmured, trailing kisses down my stomach.
"I feel everything," I said, fingers gripping his hair. "Don't stop."
And he didn't.
He took his time—exploring every inch like a man who'd dreamed of this too long to rush. He worshipped my body with a kind of passion that had me trembling. When our bodies finally aligned, the first touch sent a gasp from my throat.
It wasn't just physical.
It was everything we'd held back crashing all at once.
He moved inside me slowly, deeply—his eyes never leaving mine. "You're so beautiful like this," he groaned. "So damn perfect."
Our pace quickened, a rhythm only we knew. My back arched, his hand cradled my neck as he kissed me with everything he couldn't say. "You feel like mine," he whispered into my lips.
"I am," I breathed. "I always was."
With every thrust, every shuddering breath, we unraveled together—sweat-slicked skin, whispered names, hands clinging like lifelines. The world narrowed to just us, tangled in bedsheets and emotion, until all that was left was the thundering of our hearts and the heat of everything we'd denied.
When it was over, we lay breathless—foreheads touching, lips brushing.
"Did we just set the bed on fire?" I teased, voice hoarse.
Ezra chuckled, his voice rasping with affection. "If we did, I regret nothing."
And when I looked into his eyes—soft, open, finally unafraid—I knew I'd never regret this either.