The Package

Chapter 7: The Package

The morning after the dinner, another package arrived.

I had barely finished my coffee when the knock sounded sharp, precise, exactly like the man who had sent it. When I opened the door, a sleek black box waited on the mat, tied with a thin crimson ribbon. No note this time. Just the box and the unmistakable weight of expectation.

I carried it inside, heart already beating faster than it should. The ribbon slipped away easily. Inside lay a deep emerald green dress silk so fine it felt like liquid against my fingers. Knee-length, modest in cut, but the fabric promised to cling in ways that would make every movement noticeable. Beneath it, matching emerald lingerie delicate lace that left very little to the imagination.

I stared at the pieces for a long time.

Part of me wanted to send it back. To prove I still had some control. But another part the part that had replayed Damien’s quiet words in the car until they echoed in my dreams wanted to know what it would feel like to wear something chosen specifically for his gaze.

I showered slowly, letting the hot water chase away the last traces of hesitation. When I slipped into the lingerie, the lace hugged my breasts and hips with sinful precision. The dress followed, cool silk sliding over my skin like a secret. It fit perfectly, as if he had measured me with his eyes alone. I stood in front of the mirror and turned slowly. The color made my skin glow and my dark hair look richer. I looked… expensive. Desired.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Unknown number:Wear it today. I’ll know if you don’t. D

A shiver ran down my spine. Of course he had my number. Of course he would check.

I spent the morning trying to work, but concentration was impossible. Every time I moved, the silk whispered against my thighs. Every time I caught my reflection in the window, I remembered his hand resting near mine in the car, the way his fingers had closed around mine without demanding more.

At noon, another message arrived.

D: Lunch. My office. 1:30. Car will be downstairs in ten minutes.

No question. No please.

I should have been annoyed by the command. Instead, heat pooled low in my belly as I grabbed my bag and headed down.

The car was the same sleek black town car. The driver greeted me with a polite nod and drove me across the city to the towering Voss Enterprises headquarters a glass monolith that pierced the skyline like a declaration of power.

Security didn’t ask for my name. They simply nodded and escorted me to a private elevator that opened directly onto the top floor.

Damien’s office was exactly what I expected: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, minimalist black and chrome furniture, and an air of absolute control. He stood behind his massive desk, reviewing documents, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. When the elevator dinged, he looked up.

His stormy gray eyes darkened the moment they landed on me.

“You wore it,” he said. His voice was low, rough around the edges.

“I did.”

He crossed the room slowly, stopping just short of touching me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne dark spice and something unmistakably masculine. His gaze traveled down the emerald dress, taking in every curve the silk highlighted, then back up to my face.

“Good choice,” he murmured.

Heat flushed my cheeks. I expected him to reach for me. Instead, he gestured to a small table near the windows where lunch had already been set fresh salads, grilled salmon, chilled white wine.

“Sit.”

We ate in that familiar weighted silence. He asked about my morning, my work, small things that felt anything but small coming from him. Every answer I gave seemed to satisfy something in him. When I finished, he leaned back in his chair, studying me with that predatory calm.

“Alex called me this morning,” he said suddenly.

My fork paused mid-air. “What did he say?”

“That I’m destroying his life.” Damien’s tone remained even. “That I stole you from him.”

I set the fork down. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him the truth.” Damien’s eyes locked on mine. “You were never his to begin with. Not really.”

The words should have stung. Instead, they settled warm and heavy in my chest.

He stood and came around the desk, finally closing the distance. This time he did touch me two fingers tilting my chin up so I had to meet his gaze.

“You’re trembling again,” he observed quietly.

“Not from fear.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “I know.”

His thumb brushed once along my jaw before he stepped back, exercising that maddening restraint. “I have meetings until six. The car will take you home. Tonight, I want you to think about what it would feel like if I didn’t stop myself.”

My breath hitched.

He walked me to the elevator himself. Before the doors closed, he leaned in, lips barely brushing the shell of my ear.

“Wear the dress until I tell you otherwise.”

The doors slid shut, leaving me alone with the echo of his voice and the ache building between my thighs.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze. I tried to work from home, but my mind kept drifting to Damien’s office, to the way his eyes had devoured me in that emerald silk. When the sun began to set, another message arrived.

**D:** Dinner at my penthouse. 8pm. Same car.

This time I didn’t hesitate.

The penthouse occupied the entire top two floors of one of the most exclusive buildings in the city. When the elevator opened directly into the living space, I stepped into pure luxury dark wood, leather, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a breathtaking view of the glittering skyline and the distant shimmer of the river.

Damien waited near the windows, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He had changed into a black button-down, sleeves rolled up again, looking every inch the powerful man who could ruin lives with a signature.

“You kept the dress on,” he noted, setting the glass down.

“I did.”

He crossed the room with deliberate steps and stopped in front of me. This time he didn’t hold back completely. One large hand settled on my waist, pulling me gently but firmly against him. The silk of the dress did nothing to hide the heat of his body.

“You have no idea what you do to me, little one,” he murmured, voice rougher now. “Walking around all day in something I chose for you… knowing every man who looked at you was seeing what belongs to me.”

My hands came up to rest on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat steady, controlled, but faster than usual.

“Damien…”

“Tell me to stop,” he said, lowering his head until his lips hovered just above mine. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

I couldn’t.

Instead, I rose on my toes and pressed my mouth to his.

The kiss started slow a careful exploration. Then something snapped. His hand slid to the small of my back, pressing me closer as the kiss deepened, turning hungry. I tasted whiskey and raw desire on his tongue. My fingers curled into his shirt as a soft whimper escaped me.

He pulled back first, breathing hard, forehead resting against mine.

“Not yet,” he rasped. “Not like this.”

I blinked up at him, dazed. “Why?”

“Because when I finally take you, Isla, I want you to beg for it. I want you to understand exactly what you’re choosing.” His thumb traced my swollen lower lip. “I want you to be sure you’re ready to be mine completely.”

He stepped back, releasing me, though his eyes still burned.

“Dinner first,” he said, voice regaining some control. “Then we talk. Really talk.”

We ate on the terrace overlooking the city candlelight, excellent wine, and conversation that flowed easier than I expected. He told me about building Voss Enterprises from nothing after his father lost everything. I told him about growing up feeling invisible in my own home. For the first time, the age gap and the forbidden nature of what we were doing felt less like a wall and more like a bridge.

Later, he walked me to the guest room he had prepared.

“Sleep here tonight,” he said at the door. “I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

I nodded, throat tight with emotion and need.

As he turned to leave, I caught his hand.

“Damien?”

He looked back.

“Thank you… for not rushing me.”

His expression softened for the briefest moment. “You’re worth waiting for, Isla.”

He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

I changed into the silk robe he had left for me and climbed into the enormous bed. Sleep didn’t come easily. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hand on my waist, his lips on mine, the promise in his words.

Somewhere in the early hours, I finally drifted off, the emerald dress folded carefully on the chair beside the bed like a symbol of surrender I was slowly learning to embrace.

Tomorrow, I knew, the restraint would stretch thinner.

And part of me the part that had been drowning for years couldn’t wait to see how deep the water would get.