CHAPTER 6

Fire Behind Closed doors

Damian's POV

Since Eliot told me those words in the garden, my heart had not stopped beating fast.

“You can fake love. But not desire.”

I felt like my whole world had been turned upside down by him.

Now I was walking back and forth in my penthouse living room with my phone still in my hand. I couldn't sleep at my room in the estate.

I sent him a text message with just one word: Come.

I knew it was wrong to text him.

As soon as I hit send, I knew. But it's hard to ignore some things. Especially when they speed up your heart rate and send your thoughts in circles you shouldn't go in.

My fingers trembled around my phone as I re-read Eliot’s last message: " I know you’re not done with me. Not yet."

It sounded louder than it should have.

I stood in front of my penthouse door and stared at the it as if opening it would mean opening something else. Something bad. Something that can't be undone.

Then someone knocked.

Three slow knocks. Confident. As if he seemed to know I would be waiting.

I opened the door.

With his hands in his pockets and eyes burning like he had already taken off my clothes, Eliot stood there. There was a knowing smirk on the edge of his mouth. He didn't wait for me to invite him before stepping in.

"Took you long enough,” he said, as he walked by me and touched my shoulder. "Nice place. Figures."

With each step he took, my heart beat faster as I shut the door behind him.

"Why did you come?" I asked, but I already knew the answer.

He turned around and crossed his arms. "Don't act like you didn't want this. You asked me to come.

I took a breath. "That was a mistake.” I lied.

Eliot moved toward her. "Perhaps. But it’s your mistake keeps repeating itself."

He was too close now. His breath felt good on my skin. Before my mind could gave permission my body responded. Everything between us was being pulled, drawn, and squashed together like gravity.

He followed me as I backed into the kitchen counter.

"You said you’ve never felt this way before," Eliot whispered. "Tell me again."

I reached out to push him away, but I grabbed his shirt instead. My voice was rough. "I don’t know what this is. But it scares me."

Eliot touched my face with his hand. "Good. That means it's real."

When our lips touched, everything became fuzzy.

Heat surged between us. I got my fingers caught in his hair. He tasted like trouble—sweet, sharp, and not forgiving. Like sin in a suit.

His mouth was on fire as it touched mine. I pushed him closer and squished my fingers into his shirt because I wanted to feel every part of him.

We stumbled down the living room, lips together the whole time, bumping into the wall like clumsy teens.

"Bedroom?" he asked in the middle of kisses.

"Left," I gasped

We stumbled in my room. He took my jacket off and threw it across the room. I pulled on his shirt like it was the only thing that could save me.

One by one, the clothes fall to the ground. Touch by touch.

The bed twisted our arms and legs and made us moan in pleasure. I couldn't think of anything. Couldn't breathe.

When his skin touched mine, I felt like something inside me broke. In the best way.

I've never wanted something so badly before. Not with anyone. Not even close.

His mouth was on my neck, chest, and waist. He said my name out loud like a prayer. I could feel the bumps on his back like a blind person could see stars.

Eliot was full of fire. Confident. Unrelenting. He kissed me like he was claiming something, like he already had own me.

"You feel this too," I said in a low voice.

"Like wildfire," he said, out of breath.

"Say it again," he whispered as he kissed me on the neck.

"I’ve never—" I let out a gasp. "Never felt like this."

The night was a blur of sweat, heat, and names being moaned.

He was good at it. Every touch, every glance, and breath was meant to break me apart.

I let him.

Because I wanted him. All of him. Even though I wasn't supposed to want it.

Even if it could ruin everything.

We later got caught in the sheets. My chest rose and fell like I’d run a marathon. Eliot put his head on my shoulder and ran his fingers slowly over my skin in circles.

It felt dangerous.

It felt good.

"You’re quiet," he said breaking the silence

"I’m trying not to think."

"Why?"

"Because if I do, I’ll remember who you are. And who I’m supposed to be."

He raised his head. “That not who you are. You're not that perfect heir everyone wants. You are this—us. Right here."

I turned away. "It’s not that simple as you said."

"It could be," he said. "If you stop running."

He made me want to believe him.

But believing doesn't change consequences.

Finally, got up and put his shirt over his head.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at his back through the window light.

"This doesn’t change anything," I said.

He turned, smiling. "Of course it does. You’re not pretending anymore."

I did not reply. Instead I headed for the door when he was done dressing.

As we walked to the door, I opened it with just a crack—and I froze.

And there she was: Maria. My dad's maid for a long time.

We looked at each other.

Her gaze trailed off to Eliot beside me.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

"Sir... I... I was just cleaning the hall," she said in a hurry.

Eliot looked back at me, his face unreadable.

Maria looked back and forth between us. And I knew—she knew.

I tried to keep my smile calm. “It’s okay, Maria. Goodnight.”

She nodded too quickly. “Goodnight, Mr. Damian.”

As she scurried away, my chest tightened.

Not because I cared about what she said.

But because every whispers in my world became a news story.

Someone had just seen what was going on behind the curtain.

I knew right then that things were going to get worse.