The Wall & The Terms

For one long, terrifying second, Damon didn’t move at all.

Under my shaking palms, his broad frame felt like solid granite. The sleek black phone slipped from his loose fingers, landing on the plush gray carpet with a dull, muffled thud. I had caught him completely off guard, but standing on my tiptoes, pressing my mouth against his closed, unyielding lips, I felt a sudden jolt of pure panic.

What did I just do?

This was Damon. Ethan’s uncle. If he shoved me away right now, if he looked down at me with disgust and walked back into that ballroom to tell Ethan, my life would unravel in an instant.

I started to pull back, my heels dropping an inch toward the floor, my fingers loosening their grip on the satin lapels of his tuxedo jacket.

I never made it another millimeter.

Before I could draw a breath, his heavy hands clamped around my waist. His long, calloused fingers dug hard into the soft curve above my hips, his grip bruising and unrelenting.

With effortless, shocking strength, he spun me around and shoved me backward.

My spine hit the wallpapered corridor wall with a sharp thud that knocked every drop of air from my lungs. Before I could blink, he caged me completely, planting his massive chest hard against the swell of my breasts, trapping me between the solid, unyielding wall and six feet two inches of lean, corded muscle.

His mouth came down on mine with punishing, ruthless force.

He tasted like dark amber liquor, expensive cigars, and dangerous, forbidden adrenaline.

One of his large hands released my hip and slid upward, his rough palm flattening against my bare ribs, his fingers brushing the outer curve of my breast through the thin red silk. A violent shiver rippled straight down my spine. The hand continued upward, moving to the back of my neck, where his thick fingers tangled roughly into the dark curls piled there. 

My knees instantly buckled beneath the crimson gown.

Damon anticipated it. His other arm wrapped firmly around the small of my back, lifting me an inch off the floor, pinning my pelvis directly to his.

My hands, which had been frozen between our chests, gave up all resistance. I opened my mouth wider for him, letting out a small, helpless whimper that was swallowed entirely by his demanding tongue.

Every single nerve ending on my skin was firing like live wire. My core tightened, pooling with a sudden, aching wetness that made my head spin.

Slowly, deliberately, Damon broke the kiss.

His lips dragged across mine, swollen and slick, before pulling back just an inch. 

"What the hell are you doing, Robin?"

His voice was a low, gravelly rasp against my lips. It sounded rough, strained, like he had to force the words past his teeth. 

His fingers were burning hot as they stroked over the bare skin of my outer thigh.

"You have my nephew waiting for you in the ballroom," he muttered, his thumb tracing a slow, agonizing circle on my skin, right over the sensitive curve of my thigh. "He’s standing under the chandeliers playing the happy groom, and you’re in a dark service hall with your tongue down my throat."

I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes to stay locked with his. The heat in his gaze was terrifying, but the anger inside me was stronger.

"Ethan is busy," I whispered, my voice trembling with breathless defiance. "He’s busy staring at my cousin across the bar."

A slow, wicked curve tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Victoria?" he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue with total lack of surprise.

"You knew," I breathed, the realization hitting me like a splash of cold water.

"I'm not blind, Robin," Damon said softly, "Ethan has always been an entitled, sloppy little boy who takes whatever is dangling in front of him. I saw how he looked at her at the lake house two summers ago."

"So what is this?" Damon murmured, leaning down so his mouth hovered just beside my ear, his stubble grazing my jaw. "You caught them? And now you want payback? You want to use the uncle to get even with the nephew?"

"I don't care about getting even," I said, gasping as his fingers stroked higher, mere inches from the lace of my panties. My hands clutched at his broad shoulders for balance. "I don't love him. I don't think I ever did. I just... I want this."

"This?" he echoed, his voice vibrating right against my sensitive pulse point.

"An arrangement," I choked out, forcing the words out before my courage abandoned me entirely. "Just physical. No feelings. No romance. No sweet messages, no checking in, no promises. Whenever we’re alone, behind locked doors, we use each other. Total discretion. No one in your family can ever know."

Damon didn't answer right away. His hand slid all the way up my inner thigh, his knuckles deliberately grazing the silk crotch of my panties. He found the heat pooling there, his fingers pausing over the soaked fabric.

A sharp gasp tore from my throat, my head hitting the wallpaper as my back arched off the wall.

"Look at me," Damon ordered, his voice dark, dominant, and uncompromising.

I forced my heavy eyelids open. He was watching me with an intensity that made my chest tighten.

"You think you can handle an arrangement with me, little girl?" he whispered, his thumb pressing firmly against my center through the silk, teasing a slow, torturous circle that made my toes curl inside my heels. "You think you can walk up to me in the dark, drop a few rules, and call the shots?"

"I know what I want," I breathed, my hips rolling helplessly against his thumb.

"No, you don't have the faintest idea what you're asking for," Damon murmured. He adjusted his stance, pressing his hips firmly against mine.

I froze.

The ridge of his erection was pressed hard against my lower stomach through the heavy wool of his tuxedo trousers. He was thick, fully hard, and massive. Ethan had never felt like this—not even close.

"Ethan is an amateur who doesn't know what to do with a woman," Damon growled against my cheek, his breath scorching hot. "If you enter my bed, Robin, there are no half-measures. I don't rush. I don't finish in five minutes and turn my back on you. I take my time, and I don't stop until you're completely ruined and begging for mercy."

A wave of liquid heat flooded my veins, making my breath hitch in my throat.

"Behind closed doors, you surrender every single inch of control to me," he continued, his tone dangerously calm. His hand slid around to the back of my thigh, lifting my leg up and wrapping it around his waist. "You don't tell me no. You don't hold back. You let me do whatever I want to you."

He leaned down, his teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin right beneath my earlobe, sending a sharp, delicious shock through my entire body.

"And when we step outside that door," he added, his voice dropping to a low, warning rasp, "you act like I don't exist. You don't look at me, you don't speak to me, and you play the sweet, obedient bride until this wedding circus is over. Those are my terms. Take them or walk away right now."

I clutched his tuxedo jacket, my fingers digging into the expensive fabric as I stared into his dark, ruthless eyes.

"I take them," I whispered, my voice thick with raw craving. "I take your terms, Damon."

He pressed his hand against the small of my back, pulling me tight against his hardness for one agonizing, breathless second, letting me feel the promise of what was coming.

Then, he released my leg, letting my foot drop back to the carpet.

He reached down, scooped his phone off the carpet, and slipped it smoothly into his inner jacket pocket. Then, he looked down at me, his eyes sweeping over my trembling frame, my swollen lips, and the bare expanse of my chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice smooth, indifferent, and lethal. "Now go fix your lipstick in the powder room. Your fiancé is waiting."