The Touch She Didn’t Expect

Nova locked her bedroom door even though she knew it wouldn't matter. In a house like this, a lock was just decoration, something to make her feel like she still had control. But she didn't. Not when Damian Drăghici had been studying her for years.

Not when he'd drawn her curves like he owned them.

Not when he'd known her favorite flower before she remembered it herself. She didn't sleep that night. She couldn't. Not with the memory of his voice whispering against her skin.

"I don't expect your love. I expect your truth."

She'd expected the mansion to feel haunted. Instead, it felt like it was holding its breath. Watching her like Damian did, with quiet patience and unwavering attention.

The morning sun was harsh. Too bright for a girl unraveling. Nova dragged herself out of bed and wrapped a robe around her body, tugging it tighter than necessary. The wildflowers were still there. Still fresh. Still unexplained. She didn't touch them. Couldn't.

As she moved through the house, she passed a camera in the hallway's corner. This time, she stared at it—not in fear, just in awareness.

She poured herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen. No staff. No footsteps. Just silence and a freshly brewed pot that confirmed what she already knew.

He didn't need to be present to be watching.

Nova turned and nearly dropped the mug.

Damian stood in the doorway.

Shirtless. Barefoot. Gray sweatpants slung indecently low on his hips, the material so thin it traced an outline of the only thing Nova might be interested in this marriage, hanging there: temptation dressed down in sin.

Damian didn't smirk. He didn't tease. He just looked at Nova like she was something sacred.

"You didn't sleep," he said softly.

"You watched me?"

"I always watch you."

He said it without shame or hesitation.

Nova didn't respond.

Damian stepped into the kitchen slowly, his presence curling around her like smoke.

"I shouldn't have gone in that room," Nova murmured, voice tight.

"No. But I'm glad you did."

Her brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Because now you understand I didn't build this world for a stranger." Damian stepped closer. "I built it for you."

Nova scoffed, stepping back only to find herself boxed in by the counter. "You think knowing my favorite tea brand permits you to design my life?"

"No. But it gave me a starting point."

"That's insane." Nova barked.

"That's devotion," he corrected. "You don't have to like it, Nova. You just have to admit that no one else has ever given this much of a damn about you."

The words hit her harder than they should've. Nova hated that they held any weight.

"I don't need anyone to be obsessed with me," she snapped.

"But you need someone to choose you," he said, his voice velvet over steel. "And I have. Everyday For years."

Damian was standing right in front of her now.

The heat of his body seeped into her skin, raising goosebumps beneath the robe. She felt raw like every secret he'd uncovered had left her exposed, nerve endings tingling with awareness.

"Touch me," Damian said.

Nova blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're afraid of me," Damian murmured. "But not because you think I'll hurt you. You're afraid of what you feel when I'm near you."

Nova clenched her jaw. "That's not true."

"Then prove it. Touch me."

She hesitated. Nova's fingers curled around the edge of the counter.

"I won't move," he added. "Not unless you tell me to."

The way he said it, command and surrender wrapped in one, made her hand move.

Nova reached out slowly, pressing her palm flat against his chest.

His skin was warm. Firm. Alive with restraint. Nova could feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath her fingers, like it had been waiting just for her.

Her hand slid higher, tracing the line of his collarbone, then down to the scar that cut across his ribs. Her fingers hovered there.

"What happened?" Nova asked.

"A reminder," he said, voice quieter now. "That I used to be a man who lost things."

Her fingers paused.

"I don't want to lose you, too," Damian added.

Nova's heart flipped.

"You don't even have me."

His eyes burned into hers. "Then let me touch you."

She said yes.

Damian stepped in, one hand gently brushing the edge of her robe aside. His thumb skimmed along the soft dip of her collarbone, igniting nerves she hadn't felt in months.

"You always run cold in the mornings," Damian whispered. "You wrap yourself up tight, but your feet still dangle under the covers."

She stiffened. That was true. Intimately true.

"You watch everything."

"I study what I care about."

His fingers slipped beneath the robe, grazing the curve of her waist, then fanning across her stomach, squeezing her belly in a way that made her body arch slightly into his hand.

"You're not a fantasy," he murmured, eyes locked on hers. "You're better."

Damian leaned down, lips brushing the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

Nova gasped softly. Her fingers gripped his forearm. She didn't stop him.

He kissed her again, lower this time. Slower. His hands didn't grab or command. They worshipped.

Damian kissed her until she stopped thinking, stopped bracing, and stopped pretending she didn't feel his electric pull in every molecule of her being.

Nova's hands slid into his hair. Her body responded before her brain could catch up.

Damian lifted her effortlessly, settling her on the kitchen island with reverence. His hands framed her thighs, his mouth returning to hers like he couldn't stay away.

"This is messed up," Nova breathed, dazed.

"Yes," Damian agreed, kissing down her throat. "But so are we."

When he knelt in front of her, pushing the robe aside and pressing hot kisses to her skin, Nova stopped fighting.

She let herself feel.

She moaned, one hand gripping his hair as the other steadied herself on the marble counter behind her. When he found the place that made her breath stutter and her hips rise, she forgot what she came to the kitchen for in the first place.

He made her come apart with his mouth like he'd practiced. Like he'd dreamed of it.

Like she'd always been his to devour.

And maybe… she had.

Afterward, they sat on the cool kitchen floor, her head resting on his chest. He stroked her back in slow, lazy lines, his breathing steady.

It felt disturbingly normal.

"I should be angry," she murmured.

"You still can be."

Nova looked up at him. "You're dangerous."

Damian smiled. "Only to those who hurt what's mine."

She shifted slightly, robe still loose around her, exposing her bare thigh over his.

"I don't belong to anyone."

He leaned forward, lips brushing her jaw.

"Nova… you were the contract."