Damian's POV By noon, productivity was a distant dream. She finished typing an agenda for tomorrow’s quarterly board meeting, eyes flickering between the screen and me. I watched her lips move as she whispered each item, double-checking for mistakes. My gaze lingered until she looked up, mocking impatience in her stare. “Am I boring you?” “On the contrary,” I replied. “I’m mesmerized.” My grin was wolfish. “You look beautiful when you’re bossy.” She tried to glare but failed, her lips twitching. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to start mispronouncing all our clients’ names.” I leaned back, folding my arms. “Maybe I want to see you make mistakes. Forces me to keep you after hours to correct them.” She blushed. “You sound like you already plan to.” I dropped the act for a moment, letting the truth show in my voice—raw, honest. “I want you every minute, Ava.” My gaze raked down, not even trying to hide my hunger. “You don’t realize how badly I need to taste
Damian's POV We tried to work. Ava recited my schedule in that efficient, practiced voice, but the air between us was thick—dangerous, electric. She stayed pointedly professional, but each time she leaned forward or reached across the desk, her perfume hit me like a memory of skin, sweat, and pleasure. I felt the pull of her body, the ghost of her name on my mouth, every nerve in my body tuned to her proximity. I signed documents and listened to her summarize contract terms—her voice soft and low, her brow furrowed in concentration. When she caught me staring, she arched a brow. “Do you glare at all your secretaries like they’ve broken expensive vases?” “Only the ones I want to bend over my desk,” I murmured, voice pitched to wrap around her ears alone. Her eyes widened, color blooming in her cheeks. She glanced at the door as if expecting someone to burst in. “Damian,” she hissed. “Anyone could— Oh my God.” I tilted my head, savoring the way her pulse stammered in her thro
Damian’s POV The elevator doors slid open with their usual hiss, but this time the sound seemed razor-sharp—too loud and slicing through the silence between us like a scalpel. Just moments ago, Ava had been pressed to me in the marble-and-glass bathroom of my penthouse, laughing—her hair steam-damp and wild, her eyes molten with secrets—while I traced my thumb over the bruises blooming along her throat. For a heartbeat, I seriously considered keeping her there all day, locked away where only the sun would ever see her like this. But the world demanded another mask: I was Damian Blackwood, CEO of Blackwood Holdings, the man whose name alone emptied elevators and drew fear into boardrooms like a cold, unrelenting tide. Ava adjusted her grip on her notepad and tablet—a fortress of professionalism that, until twelve hours ago, I might have cared about. She slipped on her receptionist smile, crisp and appropriate, her mouth still red from my teeth. Half a step behind me, not too clos
Damian’s POV The softest thing in the world was waking to her. Not alarms. Not the unrelenting expectations of my title or the pressure of the world outside these walls. Not the echo of my father’s voice or the premonition of violence, always at my doorstep like a faithful hound. Just Ava—warm and real, her legs a subtle knot with mine beneath the linen sheets, her hip pressed trustingly into my thigh, her hair splayed across my chest so every inhale drew me deeper into her. And maybe, for the first time in my life, I did not want to move. I did not want the day to come rushing in and remind me who I was supposed to be—a king, a predator, a man forged from steel and loneliness. The morning sun crept slyly between the blinds, painting gold over her naked back, tracing the elegant line of her spine, catching on the curve of her shoulder. Her breathing was soft and even, lips parted just so—the absolute picture of vulnerability and trust. For a man like me, whose entire life was bui
Damian's POV The morning faded into noon—though I only knew it by the shifting warmth crawling across the bare hardwood, and the city’s distant traffic growing steadily louder. Time had dissolved, each moment with Ava stretching long and slow, blurring the line between dream and waking. The sun had moved, casting thick gold bars across the apartment, dappling her face and making her brown eyes seem molten, deep and endless. Somewhere between silent contentment and tentative laughter, we ended up tangled on my leather couch—the two of us together, limbs entwined, Ava’s head pillowed in my lap while I played with the soft waves of her hair. Her scent was different now: richer, stronger—Omega, but uniquely her. It was faintly alluring, the tang of last night still on her skin, and yet shimmering with something clean beneath it. My wolf, usually restless in the face of uncertainty, pressed close to the surface, savage and content all at once. For a while, there was only the peaceful hu
Damian's POV She glared, but it faded into mischief. “Are you going to chase me away with warnings again?” I shook my head. “No. Not this time.” I leaned closer and pressed my lips to her forehead—a promise I never made lightly. “You’re staying. If you want to. All of you. No walls.” Her eyes softened. “I haven’t had a safe place in a long time.” I sat on the edge of the bed, legs sprawled, letting her settle beside me. The sheet pooled and fell to her thighs. I traced idle shapes along her shoulders—mapping every old scar, every freckle. “My mother used to tell me,” she said quietly, “that there would be a day I’d feel at home. I never believed her. Look at me now…” I pressed a kiss to her temple. “Your mother was a wise woman.” She smiled. “She also told me wolves could be gentle.” I snorted. “She was wrong about that.” Ava tucked her knees up, letting the sheet fall. I watched, helpless to the vulnerability she offered. “Last night,” she said, searching for meaning