Elara stood frozen at the threshold of her room. The air was thick, charged, as though the walls themselves were waiting for what came next. Her heart beat violently against her ribs, and her hands trembled at her sides.
Damian leaned against the doorframe, watching her with the patience of a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run. The faintest smile tugged at his lips, a mixture of satisfaction and hunger.
"You're afraid," he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him with a deliberate click.
Elara's breath caught. "Of course I am. You terrify me."
He moved closer, each step slow, measured. "Good. Fear keeps you sharp. But I see something else in you too."
She backed up instinctively until her calves hit the edge of the bed. She gasped as she lost balance, sinking onto the mattress. Damian followed, towering over her, his presence filling the room. His hand came to rest on the bed beside her, caging her in without touching her.
"What do you see?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
His eyes darkened, his lips curving into something dangerous. "Desire. You try to hide it, but your body speaks louder than your words."
Heat burned her cheeks, and she turned her face away. "You're wrong."
Damian caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. His touch was firm but not cruel, his thumb brushing her trembling lip. "Am I? Then why do you let me this close? Why do you tremble, not just from fear, but from wanting to know how far I'll go?"
Elara's chest rose and fell rapidly. She hated him. She feared him. But some traitorous part of her leaned into his touch instead of recoiling.
He lowered himself until his face hovered inches from hers. His voice was velvet, dark and intoxicating. "I can make you hate yourself for wanting me… or I can make you crave me until it's all you think about."
Her pulse thundered. Her lips parted, but no words came.
Damian's hand slid slowly down her throat, pausing at her collarbone, then tracing the line of her arm. Goosebumps erupted across her skin, her body betraying her in ways her mind refused to accept.
"You're mine," he whispered. "And tonight, I'll prove it."
Her tears welled, blurring her vision, but when he pressed his forehead lightly against hers, she froze—not in fear this time, but in confusion. There was no cruelty in the gesture. Only possession. Only claim.
His lips brushed hers, feather-light, just enough to steal her breath but not enough to satisfy. The lack of contact was maddening, and she hated that she wanted more.
When she whispered, her voice shook. "Damian… please…"
He pulled back just enough to smirk, his eyes gleaming with victory. "That's all I needed to hear."
And then his mouth claimed hers, fierce and demanding, leaving her no space to think, only to feel.