Ok, I seem to be missing a lot of details here.
Let's redo that night....
The air in the penthouse was cool and still. It was a sharp contrast to the frantic heat vibrating under my skin. It smelled of dark leather, high-end marble, and the dangerously expensive cologne that clung to Damian's impeccably tailored suit.
He hadn't spoken since we stepped out of the elevator, and his hands, massive and dark, rested lightly on my waist, guiding me across the vast space toward a bedroom that looked less like a place for rest and more like a shrine to masculine power—all obsidian and glass, shadowed by the glittering lights of the city skyline.
I stopped him before we reached the bed, and then turned in the circle of his arms, because the alcohol I'd consumed earlier had left me in a state of reckless, aching vulnerability. My reserve was gone, and it was now replaced by a terrible, demanding need that burned low in my belly.
"Damian," I breathed, the sound was small and shaky, as I pressed my palms against the hard, unyielding wall of his chest. His heart was hammering. It was like a powerful, steady drum against my fingers. "I feel… too hot."
His eyes, dark as crude oil and just as thick, narrowed, dropping to my mouth. "I know, Selene." His voice was a low, rough rumble.
"I need you to stay," I whispered, the confession tearing itself from my throat. "I need you to take this... heat away."
A muscle jumped tight in his jaw. He didn't lean down to kiss me; instead, he held me suspended in the tension. "You are asking a wolf into the fold, piccola," he warned, his voice grave. "You don't know what you're asking for. I have my own devils, and they don't play gentle."
"I don't care," I choked out, as I then wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling myself tightly against the sheer, overwhelming force of him. "I only want you." How stupid of me, but of course, I was too drunk to realize what I was doing.
That was the line. The final filament of his control snapped.
He hauled me up against him, lifting me off the ground with shocking ease. The ensuing kiss was not gentle; rather, it was a raw, bruising collision of mouths, demanding, proprietary, tasting of scotch and latent danger. His tongue plunged deep as it tasted the vulnerability on my breath, staking an immediate claim.
I gasped into his mouth, as the dizziness was intensifying, and yet somehow grounding me in the reality of his touch. My fingers tangled in the dark, thick silk of his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to absorb the heat radiating off his body.
He set me down only long enough to address the clothing that separated us. His movements were precise, focused, devoid of unnecessary flourish. He didn't fumble or rush. He simply commanded. God, I knew I would regret this, but something inside me wanted this, though.
The zipper of his trousers gave way with a decisive rasp, and he shed his immaculate jacket and shirt in one swift, dismissive motion.
My breath hitched because Damian, Damian was simply a masterpiece of lethal artistry. His chest was wide and sculpted, covered in dark hair that tapered toward the belt line, and the dense, corded muscle of his arms spoke of years spent honing his strength, not just in a gym, but in the trenches of the life he led.
"Look at me, Selene," he ordered, as his voice was thick with the gravel of desire as he tugged at the hem of my dress.
My eyes obeyed, well, because they wide and captivated as they witnessed my own undoing. The silk slipped off my shoulders, pooling at my feet, leaving me standing before him in nothing but delicate lace and a tremor that started in my knees and spread like wildfire.
He brought his hands up, cupping my face tenderly, a startling juxtaposition to the hunger in his eyes. His thumbs ghosted over my cheekbones. "You are exquisite," he murmured, his voice finally softening, laced with a reverence that made my vision blur. "And you are mine tonight. Understand?"
I could only nod, mute with awe and anticipation. For some reason, he was gentle and calm tonight, like it was a normal routine for him.
He picked me up again and then settled me onto the pristine sheets of the colossal bed. The cool linen felt sharp against my skin, still throbbing with feverish warmth. He followed, as his weight was heavy and intoxicating when he caged me beneath him.
He didn't rush to take the final barrier. Instead, he worked every inch of my body into a fever pitch, his mouth and hands mapping out routes of pleasure I hadn't known existed. His focus was absolute, ensuring that every touch, scrape, and lick, or so I felt it, of his stubbled jaw against my already sensitive skin, pulled a weak whimper from my throat.
When his fingers finally found the moist heat pooling between my thighs, my hips instinctively bucked against his palm.
"Slow down, Angelo," he cautioned, though his breathing was heavy now, ragged and accelerated. "We have all night to drown in this."
He parted me gently, his thumb rubbing across my swollen, aching core. A wave of velvet heat crashed through me, so intense it felt like a shock. I cried out his name, arching my back, helpless to the sensation.
"Say it again," he demanded, leaning down to capture the sound with his mouth. "Tell me what you need, Selene."
"I need… You inside me. Now. Please." The words were barely coherent, ripped from a place of pure, desperate instinct.
He pulled back, his obsidian gaze piercing mine, searching for any sign of doubt, any flickering regret. When he found none, only frantic, wet desire, a dark, satisfied expression settled over his face.
He stripped away my lace panties with a single pull, tossing them aside, and then positioned himself between my legs. I felt the thick, heavy heat of him against my entrance, massive and intimidating.
My heart seized in my chest, a sudden, sharp spike of nervousness finally breaking through the haze of desire. This was real. This was final.
He saw the fear in my eyes, and he paused, leaning in to whisper against my temple, his breath hot and ragged, carrying the earthy, masculine scent of arousal.
"Hush. You still need to save your energy, ''cause—" he paused then leaned in towards my ear whispering. "—we might go till dawn"
The words alone sent jolts of anxiety, desperation, and fear through my body at the same time.
He then slid forward slowly, deliberately, giving my body a moment to adjust to the sheer magnitude of him. The friction was exquisite, terrifying, and painfully slow. I gripped his broad shoulders, my nails digging into the muscle, biting back a gasp.
I felt the resistance, the sting of the final barrier, and then the slow, inexorable stretch as he breached it. A sharp, stinging pain made me cry out, but it was immediately swallowed by a desperate surge of physical fulfillment.
He froze, his jaw clenched, his body trembling with the effort of restraint. "Look at me, Selene," he commanded, his voice raw.
My vision cleared just enough to see the sheer force of concentration on his face. He was staring down at me, his eyes dark with a possessiveness so profound it was almost violent.
"You belong to me now," he announced, the statement a vow, a threat, and a promise.
And then he moved.
He pulled back, short and agonizing, and then thrust forward, driving deep into my center, filling me completely, utterly, violently. The second stroke stole my breath, replacing the pain entirely with a desperate, all-consuming heat.
I shattered around him, a mosaic of raw sensation. He was everything—too much, too hard, too fast, too dominant—yet he was exactly what my body had been starved for.
He moved with the practiced rhythm of a man accustomed to taking what he wanted, marking my soft cries with his low, aggressive growls. The air was thick with the sound of skin slapping skin, the desperate gasps for air, and the frantic pounding of the headboard against the wall.
I clung to him, meeting his thrusts, dissolving into a raw, molten core of pleasure I didn't know how to handle. He was driving me over the edge—past the ceiling of feeling, into an unholy, glorious freefall.
It felt like we had been going for hours; I couldn't tell. I was drowning in pleasure at this time. I couldn't even form coherent words.
When the climax hit, it was a blinding, paralyzing wave that tightened every muscle and made me scream his name into the silence of the luxury suite. He followed immediately, a guttural roar tearing from his chest as he poured himself into me, a possessive, scorching release.
I collapsed beneath his heavy, sweat-slicked weight, utterly wrung out.
My skin was flushed, my mind spinning, my body aching in the most profound and wonderful way. Damian lifted his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead, and looked down at the wreckage he had made of me.
He didn't look gentle. He looked sated, powerful, and utterly dangerous.
And lying there, bound up in the velvet prison of his arms, with the scent of sex and danger heavy in the air, I knew, with absolute certainty: this night had not been a mistake. It was an irreversible event. I had asked the devil to stay, and he had claimed my soul without hesitation. What a mess! And I guess, I was the mastermind.