Chapter 3: Tangled Shadows

Sarah's heart hammered against her ribs as Damian's eyes met hers across the restaurant.

The elegant hum of conversation and clinking silverware faded into a distant buzz.

Uncomfortable heat flooded her cheeks, her stomach twisting with a mix of dread and unwelcome desire. Those dark eyes, the ones that had burned into her during their fevered night in Spain, now held a flicker of recognition that sent ice down her spine.

She shifted in her seat, fingers tightening around her napkin, willing herself to look away. But Damian's gaze lingered, a subtle nod forming on his lips as if to acknowledge their shared secret.

He took a step closer, his posture straightening with intent, mouth parting as though to say her name. Panic surged through Sarah.

She shook her head almost imperceptibly, her eyes darting to her mother before locking back on his with a sharp, silent plea: Deny it. Pretend you don't know me. Damian's expression faltered for a split second, surprise flashing before he masked it with a neutral smile, nodding once in understanding.

Eleanor, oblivious to the beneath, beamed as Damian reached their table.

"Sarah, this is Damian Thorne, the man who's turned my world upside down. Damian, my daughter, Sarah—the artist I told you so much about."

Damian extended his hand, his voice smooth and warm.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sarah. Your mother speaks of you with such pride."

Sarah rose hesitantly, placing her palm in his. The contact ignited a spark—electricity crackling up her arm, straight to her core.

His grip was firm, thumb brushing the back of her hand in a way that felt too intimate, too knowing. Memories assaulted her, those same fingers digging into her thighs as he drove his thick cock into her, her walls clenching around him in desperate release.

She yanked her hand back a fraction too quickly, forcing a smile.

"Nice to meet you too." Her voice came out steadier than she felt, but inside, turmoil churned.

They settled into small talk, Eleanor chattering about wedding plans while Damian's eyes occasionally flicked to Sarah, heavy with unspoken words.

The air between them thickened, charged like the moments before a storm. Sarah picked at her salad, appetite gone, every laugh from her mother a reminder of the betrayal simmering beneath the surface.

After the appetizers arrived, Eleanor excused herself with an apologetic smile.

"I need to freshen up—too much iced tea. Be right back, you two. Get to know each other!" She air-kissed Damian's cheek and hurried toward the restrooms, leaving Sarah and Damian alone at the table.

Sarah dabbed at her lips with a napkin, avoiding his gaze, the silk of her dress suddenly too constricting. Damian leaned forward, his voice low and rough, laced with raw hunger.

"I've missed you. You don't know how much you did to me—you made me stupid, thinking where the hell to find you."

Shock widened her eyes, her napkin crumpling in her fist.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, glancing toward the bathrooms. "Forget everything. Erase all that happened in Spain."

Damian's jaw tightened, his hand inching across the tablecloth toward hers.

"I can't. Disagree—I beg you to remember how good we were. That night... your body under mine, taking every inch of me. I need that again."

"What happened in Spain stays in Spain," Sarah whispered fiercely, pulling her hand away. "I don't want my mother heartbroken because of me. She's happy—don't ruin it."

He opened his mouth to respond, eyes darkening with persistence, but footsteps approached. Eleanor slid back into her seat, oblivious, her smile bright.

"Sorry about that! What did I miss? Damian, tell Sarah about that trip to Boracay—how we really met."

Damian straightened, his voice casual as he launched into a sanitized tale of beach sunsets and chance encounters, but his foot brushed Sarah's under the table—a deliberate graze that sent heat pooling between her legs despite her resolve.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of forced politeness, Sarah's mind reeling from the brush of forbidden fire.

Later that evening, as the city lights twinkled outside the taxi window, they arrived at Eleanor's apartment. The air inside felt heavier now, laced with the ghost of secrets.

Eleanor clung to Damian's arm, her eyes pleading as she turned to Sarah in the living room.

"Damian, stay the night? It's late, and I hate sending you off in traffic. Sarah, is that okay with you? Just this once—promise we won't cramp your style."

Sarah's soft heart for her mother won out, the plea in Eleanor's voice melting her resistance. She couldn't bear to dim that joy.

"Of course, Mom. It's fine."

The moment the words left her lips, Damian's mouth curved into a sly smile, his eyes locking on Sarah's with predatory promise.

He bid goodnight soon after, disappearing into Eleanor's room, but the weight of his gaze followed Sarah to her own.

---

Sleep evaded her that night, the sheets twisting around her legs as memories replayed in vivid detail, Damian's mouth on her breasts, sucking hard as he pounded into her from behind.

Frustrated and thirsty, she slipped from bed around 2 a.m., the silk lingerie clinging to her curves—a sheer black slip that barely contained her full, heavy breasts, nipples pebbling in the cool air.

She padded barefoot to the kitchen, the tile cold under her feet, and poured a glass of water from the pitcher.

Two sips in, a shadow moved in the doorway. The glass nearly slipped from her fingers, clattering against the counter as she spun.

Damian stood there, shirtless in loose pajama pants, his muscled chest rising and falling, eyes devouring her form.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he murmured, stepping closer, the air thickening with tension.

"Ssshhh," Sarah breathed, backing against the sink.

But he closed the distance, his hand trailing up her bare thigh, fingers rough against the smooth silk. Heat bloomed where he touched, her body betraying her with a shiver.

The lingerie rode up, exposing the lace edge of her panties, and Damian's breath hitched, his cock hardening visibly against the fabric of his pants at the sight of her ample cleavage spilling over the neckline.

His palm slid higher, dipping under the hem, brushing her inner thigh. Sarah gasped, thighs clenching.

"Please, stop." But her voice wavered, weak against the ache building low in her belly.

Damian didn't relent, his fingers pushing aside the thin barrier of her panties, stroking the slick folds of her pussy.

She was already wet, her body remembering him too well.

"You say stop, but this tells me otherwise," he growled, circling her clit with his thumb, making her hips buck involuntarily.

Before she could protest again, his mouth crashed onto hers, tongue invading, claiming.

He tasted of mint and desire, one hand cupping her breast through the silk, pinching her nipple until she moaned into the kiss.

His other hand delved deeper, two fingers sliding inside her, curling to hit that spot that made her knees buckle.

The creak of a door shattered the moment. They sprang apart, Sarah yanking her lingerie down, Damian stepping back to lean casually against the counter as if nothing had happened.

Eleanor's door swung open, her silhouette appearing in the hallway light, robe loosely tied.

"Eleanor?" Damian said smoothly, though his chest heaved.

"Why are you both awake?" Eleanor yawned, rubbing her eyes as she entered the kitchen.

Sarah steadied her voice, heart racing.

"Couldn't sleep, so I came for water. Damian was already here."

Damian chuckled, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl.

"Looking for some sweets, love. You know, fuel for that early morning sex exercise we talked about."

Eleanor laughed, the sound light and affectionate, waving them off.

"You two are impossible. Go back to bed—separately, I hope." She pecked Damian's cheek and shuffled back to her room, door clicking shut.

Sarah exhaled shakily, avoiding Damian's eyes as she fled to her bedroom.

He watched her go, that curved smile returning. Curled under the covers, sleep remained elusive, her body thrumming with unspent need, the forbidden pull of Damian's touch haunting her through the long hours until dawn.