Chapter 5: (Part 2) Temptation behind close Doors

Damian’s place was a penthouse downtown, all floor-to-ceiling windows and sleek, modern furniture that looked like it cost more than her annual salary.

The elevator ride up was suffocating, the mirrored walls reflecting her flushed face, the way her nipples were still hard from the chill of the parking garage—or maybe from something else.

Damian stood beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that if she turned her head, her lips would brush his jaw.

The doors slid open directly into his living room, the city sprawled out beyond the glass like a glittering promise.

Sarah barely had time to take it in before Damian was moving, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it onto the back of the couch.

His fingers went to his tie, loosening it with a sharp tug before he pulled it free and draped it over the jacket.

Sarah’s breath hitched as he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing the dark ink of a tattoo snaking up his forearm—something in Latin, the letters elegant and precise.

“Drink?” he asked, not looking at her as he walked toward the wet bar.

Sarah swallowed. “No.”

He poured himself two fingers of amber liquid anyway, the ice clinking against the glass. 

“Suit yourself.” He turned, leaning back against the counter, his gaze raking over her in a way that made her skin prickle. 

“You’re still wound tight as a coil. What’s eating at you?”

Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly hyper-aware of how thin her blouse was, how the lace of her bra was probably visible if he looked hard enough. 

“You know exactly what’s eating at me.”

Damian took a slow sip of his drink, his throat working as he swallowed. 

“Men are pigs. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You’re one of them.”

He smirked, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. 

“Guilty as charged.” Then, without warning, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion.

Sarah’s breath caught. His torso was a study in controlled power—broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, the ridges of his abs sharply defined, a trail of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his slacks.

The tattoo continued onto his chest, the script wrapping around his pec, the meaning lost on her but the intent clear: mine.

Her gaze snagged on the way his muscles flexed as he moved, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the dark nip—

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her voice higher than she wanted it to be.

Damian stepped closer, his bare feet silent against the hardwood. 

“What does it look like?” His voice was low, rough, the kind of tone that slid under her skin and settled between her thighs. 

“I’m undressing.”

Sarah’s pulse spiked. “Damian—”

“Next week,” he interrupted, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was fighting the urge to reach for her, 

“I’m marrying Eleanor.” He took another step, close enough now that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark irises, the way his pupils were blown wide with something raw and hungry. 

“And after that, I won’t be able to do this.”

Sarah’s back hit the wall before she realized she’d retreated. The cool glass pressed against her shoulder blades, the city lights bleeding through the windows, painting Damian’s skin in shifting hues of blue and gold.

He was so close she could feel the heat of him, smell the scent of his skin beneath the cologne—salt and musk and something uniquely him.

Her body reacted before her brain could catch up, her nipples tightening, a slow ache building between her legs.

“You can’t just—”

“Say no,” he challenged, his voice a dark caress. “Say no, and I’ll stop.”

Sarah’s lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. Because she should say no. She should push him away, storm out, never look back.

But the way he was looking at her—like she was the only thing in the world worth wanting—made her knees weak.

Damian’s hand came up, his knuckles brushing against her cheekbone, his touch feather-light but electric. 

“Say it,” he murmured.

She didn’t.

His mouth crashed down on hers before she could breathe, his lips hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping past her teeth to claim her in a kiss that was all heat and hunger.

Sarah gasped, her hands flying to his chest—whether to push him away or pull him closer, she didn’t know. His skin was burning under her palms, the steady thud of his heartbeat matching the frantic rhythm of her own.

Damian groaned into the kiss, his free hand sliding down to grip her hip, his fingers digging in possessively as he pressed her harder against the wall.

“Fuck, Sarah,” he growled, his lips trailing down her jaw, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. “You drive me crazy.”

She should stop him. She should. But when his hand slid up to cup her breast through her blouse, his thumb finding her nipple and rolling it between his fingers, a broken whimper escaped her.

His chuckle was dark, triumphant, his breath hot against her collarbone as he nipped at the delicate skin.

“That’s what I thought.” His fingers worked at the buttons of her blouse, popping them open one by one, his knuckles brushing against the swell of her breasts.

The cool air hit her exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Damian’s gaze as he pushed the fabric apart, revealing the black lace bra she’d put on that morning without a second thought. Now, under his stare, it felt obscene.

“Damian—” Her protest died as his mouth closed over the lace, his tongue flicking against her nipple through the thin fabric.

Sarah’s head fell back against the glass with a soft thud, her fingers tangling in his hair as pleasure arced through her, sharp and insistent. He bit down gently, then soothed the sting with his lips, his hands sliding down to grip the hem of her skirt.

“Lift your arms,” he ordered, his voice rough.

Sarah hesitated for half a second before obeying, her blouse slipping down her arms to pool on the floor. Damian’s hands were on her skirt next, the zipper whispering as he tugged it down her hips, the fabric slithering to her ankles.

She stood there in nothing but her bra, panties, and heels, the city sprawled out behind her like an audience to her undoing. Damian’s gaze raked over her, dark and possessive, before his hands were on her again, palming her ass, lifting her effortlessly.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded, and Sarah did, her thighs locking around his waist as he carried her to the couch.

He didn’t sit—just pressed her back against the armrest, his body covering hers, his cock a thick ridge against her core.

Sarah could feel how hard he was, even through his slacks, the heat of him branding her through the thin lace of her panties.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groaned, his hips rolling against hers, the friction making her gasp.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her legs before tossing them aside.

The cool air hit her wetness, but it was the way Damian’s eyes darkened as he looked at her that made her squirm.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, his fingers sliding between her folds, teasing her entrance. 

“Even when you’re pissed at me.” He pushed one finger inside her, then two, pumping slowly, his thumb circling her clit in lazy strokes that had her hips bucking against his hand. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

Sarah bit her lip, trying to stifle the moan building in her throat, but it escaped anyway, a broken, needy sound that made Damian’s cock jerk against her thigh.

His fingers curled inside her, finding that spot that made her see stars, his mouth crashing down on hers to swallow her cries.

“Please,” she whimpered against his lips, her nails digging into his shoulders.

Damian smirked, pulling his fingers free with a wet sound. 

“Please what, Sarah?” He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean, his eyes never leaving hers. “Use your words.”

Her face burned. “I want—”

“What?” His voice was a dark purr, his free hand sliding up to grip her throat, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who was in control. 

“Tell me.”

Sarah’s breath hitched. “I want your cock.”

Damian groaned, his forehead dropping to hers, his grip on her throat tightening just a fraction. 

“Fuck, baby.” He stood abruptly, his hands going to his belt, the leather hissing as he pulled it free.

Sarah watched, her pulse roaring in her ears, as he unbuttoned his slacks, shoved them down his thighs. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. Sarah’s mouth watered.

Damian didn’t give her time to admire it. He was on her again in an instant, his cock pressing against her entrance, the head slipping through her folds, teasing her. 

“You sure about this?” he growled, his voice strained.

Sarah didn’t answer. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him down, gasping as he filled her in one deep thrust.

The stretch burned, but it was good, so good, the way he bottomed out inside her, his hips flush against hers.

“Fuck,” Damian groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled back and thrust again, harder this time. “You feel incredible.”

Sarah’s nails raked down his back, her body arching into his as he set a punishing rhythm. The couch creaked beneath them, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin, the ragged sounds of their breathing.

Damian’s mouth found hers again, his kisses messy and desperate, his tongue tangling with hers as he fucked her like he was trying to brand her from the inside out.

“Damian—” Sarah’s voice broke, her orgasm coiling tight in her belly, her walls fluttering around his cock. “I’m—”

“Come for me,” he ordered, his hand slipping between them to circle her clit, his fingers moving in tight, relentless circles. “Now, Sarah.”

The command sent her over the edge. Her back bowed off the couch, a broken cry tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her, her pussy clenching around Damian’s cock.

He groaned, his thrusts turning erratic as he chased his own release, his hips stuttering before he buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, his cum filling her in hot pulses.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Damian’s forehead rested against hers, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his cock still twitching inside her.

Sarah’s body hummed, oversensitive, her mind a haze of pleasure and something darker, something she didn’t want to name.

Damian pulled back slowly, his cock slipping free, a rush of his cum dripping down her thighs. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. 

“Next week,” he murmured, his voice quiet, almost sad, “everything changes.”

Sarah turned her head, her gaze fixed on the city lights beyond the window. She could still feel him between her legs, still taste him on her tongue. And she knew, with a sinking certainty, that he was right.

Nothing would ever be the same.