Damian's Pov
The kiss had fundamentally recalibrated the universe. The new apartment, minutes before a sleek, sunlit shell of potential, now vibrated with a raw, undeniable reality. Everything I had suppressed—my possessiveness, my desire, the territorial rage that had been boiling beneath the surface all week—had surged to the front and found its release in the press of her mouth against mine.
I kept my forehead resting against hers, anchoring myself in the ragged rhythm of our shared breath. The scent of her—faintly of coffee, old books, and a new, clean scent of pure Emma—was a drug. I was not a man given to indecision or regret, but for a second, a flicker of fear hit me: the fear of scaring her, of moving too fast and crushing the fragile independence she was fighting so hard to reclaim.
