002: “Hot Texts & Dark Promises”

Lydia’s phone buzzed just after midnight.

Her heart leapt before her brain caught up. She shouldn’t be expecting anything—or anyone—but somehow, she was.

Damian.

Her breath hitched as she picked up the phone, the glow of the screen casting shadows across her skin.

Are you alone?

Two simple words.

And yet they made her thighs press together in instinctive anticipation.

She hesitated… then typed:

Yes.

The reply was almost instant.

Good. I want you to do something for me.

Lydia swallowed hard, staring at the words like they might burn into her soul.

She’d known him for less than twenty-four hours.

And yet the heat in his gaze haunted her dreams. The way he’d touched her chin like a challenge. The way he’d walked away—like he knew she’d follow eventually.

Touch yourself. But don’t finish. Not unless I say so.

Her fingers trembled. Was this really happening?

A thrill surged through her body, part fear, part arousal. A man she barely knew was commanding her through a screen… and she wanted to obey.

God help her, she was already sinking.

She typed a shaky response:

You don’t even know me.

I know exactly who you are. And I know what you need. The question is—are you brave enough to admit it?

The ache between her legs intensified. Lydia threw her phone onto the bed, pacing.

This wasn’t her. She was the composed one. The planner. The one who never lost control.

But something about Damian stripped away every layer of pretense she wore. He saw through her, and worse—he wanted the real her. The messy her. The aching, needing, sinful her.

The phone buzzed again.

Still there, sweetheart? Or are you already touching yourself without permission? Naughty girl.

She gasped, heat flooding her cheeks.

She shouldn’t be smiling.

She shouldn’t be wet.

And yet here she was, teetering on the edge of surrender to a man who hadn’t even kissed her yet.

You’re dangerous.

You’ve got no idea.

She climbed into bed, the silk sheets whispering against her bare skin. Her hand moved down instinctively as she bit her lip.

The next message arrived:

I want to hear you say it. Tell me you want more.

She hesitated, her fingers hovering above the screen.

I want more.

Seconds later, the response came.

Then earn it. Tomorrow. Same place. But this time… no underwear.

Lydia’s mouth fell open.

He was setting rules now? Was she even going to show up?

She should say no.

She should block his number.

Instead, she stared at the screen, a wicked smile curving her lips.

And she typed:

You’re on.

Lydia shows up the next night. No panties. No safety net. Just desire and a man who has no intention of playing by anyone’s rules but his own.

The next morning, Lydia woke with the taste of adrenaline on her tongue and a dull ache between her legs.

She hadn’t obeyed his order. Not all the way. But she’d gotten close—too close.

And that scared her more than she cared to admit.

She stared at herself in the mirror while brushing her teeth, silently questioning every decision she’d made since meeting Damian Moretti. Her fingers were still tingling from last night. Her phone, lying innocently on her dresser, might as well have been laced with dynamite.

No underwear.

Was she really going to show up like that?

What kind of woman did that make her?

The kind who finally felt something again.

And that, terrifyingly, felt like a relief.

—

By the time evening rolled around, Lydia had told herself she wasn’t going. Then told herself she’d only go to confront him. Then told herself she’d go—but only to prove she was in control.

Now, standing outside the dimly lit rooftop bar in a dangerously short black dress and not a single scrap of fabric beneath it, she had no excuses left.

Only need.

Only hunger.

Only him.

She walked in like a woman who knew she was being watched. Because she was.

He was already seated at the far corner of the bar, a glass of bourbon in his hand, his dark eyes flickering with a slow-burning fire when they landed on her.

Damian stood as she approached, his gaze dropping unapologetically to her legs. His smile was slow. Predatory.

“I see you followed orders,” he said, voice low enough to make her toes curl.

“You like giving orders, don’t you?”

“I like watching you struggle to obey them.”

The air between them sparked.

He offered her a drink, but she ignored it, too aware of how his presence made her skin feel too tight, like she was vibrating from the inside out.

“You’re dangerous,” she said again, more to herself than him.

He took a step closer, brushing her hair behind her ear. “And you like danger. That’s the part that scares you.”

Lydia swallowed hard. “Why me?”

His eyes darkened. “Because you pretend you don’t burn. But I see the smoke.”

The next moments blurred—one drink, two—words like matches against gasoline.

And then, his hand slid down her thigh beneath the table, unapologetically bold.

No underwear.

She was wide open to him.

Exposed.

He grazed her skin, just barely, and she gasped—a sound that felt stolen from her chest.

“You’re soaked already,” he whispered against her ear. “You came here wet for me, didn’t you?”

She nodded, unable to lie.

“I haven’t even kissed you yet,” he said, his voice deliciously cruel.

She turned toward him, desperate, breathless. “Then what are you waiting for?”

But he leaned in—not for her mouth. For her throat. He brushed his lips there, warm and slow.

“You haven’t earned it,” he whispered.

—

Before she can respond, a phone rings. Not hers. His.

One look at the screen—and Damian’s entire expression changes.

The dangerous charm vanishes. What’s left is cold. Calculating.

“I have to go,” he says, standing abruptly.

“But—”

He drops a kiss on her forehead, like a cruel reward.

“I told you,” he murmurs. “You don’t know me yet.”

And then he’s gone.

Leaving Lydia aching, confused—and desperate to understand the man who’s already started to ruin her.