I'd never been to his bedroom before. Our charade didn't extend to sharing living quarters, though Rosa and the staff assumed we sometimes did. I paused outside what I believed to be his door, suddenly uncertain. What was I doing? This wasn't part of our arrangement. This was crossing a line into territory neither of us had defined.Before I could retreat, lightning struck again, followed immediately by a deafening crack of thunder that made me gasp. My hand acted of its own accord, knocking on the solid wood door.Silence. Then the soft sound of footsteps.The door opened to reveal Damien in black pajama pants and nothing else. His hair was tousled, his chest bare in the dim light spilling from his room. He looked softer somehow, less impenetrable without his usual armor of tailored clothing."Angel?" His voice was rough with sleep. "What's wrong?""I — " Another crash of thunder made me flinch. "I'm sorry. The storm... I couldn't sleep."Understanding dawned in his eyes. He stepped
That single plea seemed to break something in him. He kissed me again, harder, deeper, his body pressing mine against the wall. I felt the evidence of his arousal against my stomach, hard and insistent through the thin fabric of his pajama pants.His mouth left mine to trace a burning path down my neck, teeth scraping lightly over my pulse point. I arched into him, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there. When he reached the junction of my neck and shoulder, he bit down gently, then soothed the sting with his tongue."Oh..!" I gasped, unprepared for the jolt of pleasure the action sent straight to my core.He pulled back slightly, eyes dark with desire but still watchful. "Too much?""Not enough," I answered truthfully.Something like a growl rumbled in his chest. His hands moved to the tie of my robe, pausing there. "May I ?"I nodded, unable to find my voice as he untied the sash and pushed the silk from my shoulders. It fell to the floor in a whisper of fabric, leaving me
"May I touch you here?" he asked, fingers dipping just beneath the elastic. "Yes," I breathed. "Please yes." His hand slipped inside both shorts and underwear, finding me already embarrassingly wet. He groaned against my breast when his fingers encountered the evidence of my arousal. "So wet for me," he murmured, circling my entrance teasingly before moving up to find the bundle of nerves that made me cry out when he touched it. "Oh god..." I whimpered as he began stroking in slow, deliberate circles. "No," he corrected, his voice a dark — almost teasing caress. "Just me." He continued his merciless attention to my body — mouth on my breasts, fingers between my legs, building a pressure that threatened to consume me. Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, he withdrew his hand, making me whimper at the loss. "Patience," he said, pressing a kiss to my sternum. "I want to taste you." The words sent a flood of new arousal through me. I'd never experienced that before, Georg
I woke before dawn, my body immediately alert to the unfamiliar weight against my chest. Angel slept soundly, her breathing deep and even, one hand curled beneath her chin, the other resting over my heart. Her hair spilled across my pillow, a chaotic tangle of gold in the dim light filtering through the curtains.Last night had crossed a line I'd carefully drawn when proposing our arrangement. Physical intimacy without emotional entanglement — that had been my intention. Yet I'd stopped before taking what she'd clearly been willing to give, because something about Angel Winters made me want to be... better. More careful. More considerate than I had any right or reason to be.Fuck.I eased away from her, careful not to wake her as I slipped from the bed. She stirred, making a small sound of protest before burrowing deeper into the warmth I'd left behind. I stood watching her for a moment, struck by how young she looked in sleep, how vulnerable.The power had come back sometime duri
That, at least, didn't surprise me. What did surprise me was the twist of satisfaction I felt knowing George had betrayed Angel even earlier than she realized. "Keep monitoring the situation," I instructed. "Especially any further contact between Sinclair and Luciano's people. And increase security around Angel, discreetly. If she asks, tell her it's standard procedure." "Of course." Marco hesitated, something unusual for him. "There's a personal matter I feel I should mention." I raised an eyebrow, waiting. "Ms Winters spent the night in your quarters," he said carefully. It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yes." "That... changes the parameters of your arrangement..?" Leave it to Marco to cut straight to the heart of the issue. "I'm aware." He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I've known you a long time, Damien. Long enough to recognize when you're...invested." "Your point?" I asked, my tone cooling. "Just that Ms. Winters isn't like your usua
She startled, turning to find me watching her. A blush immediately colored her cheeks — the first acknowledgment of last night. "Damien," she said, setting down the brush without having touched the canvas. "I didn't hear you." "Clearly." I entered the room, noting the organized chaos of her supplies, brushes meticulously arranged by size, paints grouped by color family, palette scraped clean in preparation. "You've been here a while." "Just... thinking," she admitted. "About painting? ...Or about last night?" Her blush deepened, but she met my eyes directly. "Both." I appreciated her honesty. It was refreshing after years of dealing with people who calculated every word for maximum advantage. "Regrets?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral. She considered the question, her head tilting slightly. "No" she said finally. "Do you?" "No." The simple exchange cleared some of the tension between us. Angel relaxed visibly, setting aside the brush she'd been clutching like a lifeline. "
ANGELINA ~ The gallery had become my sanctuary over the past few weeks - the one place where I could exist as simply Angel, not Damien Salvatore's fiancée. I loved, loved losing myself for hours arranging exhibits, researching artists, and occasionally sketching during quiet moments. Today, I was cataloging a new shipment of sculptures when Elena's excited voice broke my concentration. "Angel! You won't believe who just walked in," she said, practically bouncing with excitement. I looked up from my inventory list to see her barely contained enthusiasm. Despite learning of her betrayal the previous day, I'd forced myself to act normal around her, following Damien's advice to 'keep your enemies closer.' The words still tasted bitter in my mouth each time I smiled at her, but perhaps it was my fault for asking Damien to help her get a job here, after she'd claimed that she'd been fired. "Who?" I asked, feigning interest. "Richard Knight," she whispered dramatically.
"Oh my god!!" Elena squealed once he was out of earshot. "Richard Knight wants to see your work! Do you know how many artists would kill for that chance?" "It's probably just courtesy," I said, slipping the card into my pocket. "Don't be stupid" she chided, linking her arm through mine and leading me toward the staff room. "This is your chance to establish yourself independently. You know, so you're not just Damien Salvatore's arm candy." The barb stung more than it should have. "I'm not arm candy." Elena's expression softened into faux sympathy. "Of course not, honey. But let's be real - your engagement happened awfully fast after your divorce. People talk. Having your own career would shut them up." I disentangled myself from her arm, anger rising at her manipulative concern. "I don't really care what people say about my relationship." "You should," she persisted. "Especially since —" The gallery door chimed, cutting her off. We both turned to see George striding in, d
Sophia ignored me. "Promise me something, Angel." "Of course" Angel replied without hesitation. "Don't let him retreat when I'm gone. He'll try to shut down, lock everything away." My mother's eyes, so like my own, held a pleading quality I'd rarely seen. "He needs your light more than he knows." Angel's grip on my hand tightened. "I promise," she said softly. The simple exchange, laden with meaning I wasn't prepared to examine, made something twist painfully in my chest. Before I could respond, Sophia's eyes drifted closed, the sedatives finally taking effect. "We should go," I said, gently extracting my hand from hers. "She needs to rest." Outside the hospital, the night air was cool against my face, grounding me after the surreal conversation in my mother's room. Angel remained silent as Marco drove us back to the estate, her hand still in mine, as if she understood I needed the anchor but not the words. It wasn't until we reached the privacy of the mansion that she finally
DAMIEN~The hospital corridor stretched before me, sterile and unforgiving under fluorescent lights. .I'd spent the past three hours watching doctors come and go from my mother's room, their faces carefully neutral while delivering progressively worse news. Angel had remained by my side the entire time, her small hand occasionally finding mine when she sensed my tension rising.Now, as we waited for the latest round of test results, she'd finally succumbed to exhaustion, her head resting against my shoulder as she dozed. I studied her face in repose...the sweep of her lashes against her cheeks, the slight part of her lips as she breathed. The vulnerability she displayed without hesitation continued to baffle me."Mr Salvatore?" I looked up to find Dr Jones approaching, clipboard in hand. Her expression told me everything I needed to know before she spoke a word."I'll wake her," I said quietly, gently rousing Angel with a light touch to her arm.She blinked awake immediately, disor
As I came down from the high, I became aware of Damien watching me with naked hunger. "I want.... to taste you," I whispered, surprising myself with the admission. His eyes widened fractionally, the only sign of his shock at my requestb. "Angel, you don't have to— " "I want to," I insisted, sliding off the desk to kneel before him. "Show me how.... to please you." For a moment, I thought he might refuse. Then he nodded once, his hand gentle as he guided me. "Start slow," he instructed, his voice strained with restraint. "Use your tongue first." I followed his directions, exploring this new intimacy with curiosity and growing enthusiasm. The taste of him, the weight on my tongue, the way his breath caught when I found a particularly sensitive spot—all of it was intoxicating in its novelty. When I finally took him fully into my mouth, his hand tightened in my hair, not forcing but anchoring himself. "Christ, Angel," he groaned, the rare profanity telling me more about his pleasure
I had no answer that wouldn't reveal too much of myself. Instead, I did the only thing that made sense in that moment, I rose on tiptoe and pressed my mouth to his. Unlike our previous kisses, this one began gentle, almost questioning. His lips moved against mine with careful restraint, letting me set the pace. But when I parted my lips in invitation, something snapped in his control. His arms wrapped around me, hauling me against his chest as he deepened the kiss with a hunger that matched my own. I threaded my fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft it felt despite its controlled appearance. He walked me backward until I felt the edge of his desk pressing against my legs, his body caging mine against the solid wood. "Tell me to stop," he murmured against my lips, his voice rough with desire. "If this isn't what you want..." "Don't stop," I breathed. "Please." The plea broke his remaining restraint. He lifted me onto the desk in one fluid motion, stepping between my le
The tension between us was unbearable during the ride back to the estate. Damien's declaration, ' You're mine' — echoed in my mind, both thrilling and terrifying me. His hand remained possessively on mine, thumb occasionally brushing my palm in a way that sent shivers up my arm. Neither of us spoke, the silence filled with unresolved questions and unspoken desires. Marco kept his eyes carefully forward, though I caught him glancing at us in the rearview mirror once or twice. I wondered what he thought of this arrangement that had clearly evolved far beyond its original parameters. When we arrived, Damien escorted me inside with his hand on the small of my back, a touch I was becoming familiar with, even dependent on. The mansion felt emptier than usual, with Rosa having taken Izzy to a doctor's appointment in the city. "I'll be in my study," Damien said, his voice formal again as we reached the grand staircase. "Take some time to rest. Today was... eventful." I watched him retr
The possessive declaration should have triggered every feminist alarm in my body. Later, I'd examine why it had instead sent a thrill of something dangerously close to longing through me. For now, I stood silently beside Damien, aware of every patron and staff member watching the drama unfold.George's hands clenched at his sides. "You think you've won Salvatore. But I know Angel. She needs more than your money and your cold bed." His gaze shifted to me, suddenly gentle. "When you remember what real love feels like Angel, call me."With that parting shot, he stalked out, leaving uncomfortable silence in his wake.Damien's hand returned to my back, his touch steadying. " Are you alright?"I nodded, not trusting my voice yet. The confrontation had left me shaky, caught between anger at George's presumption and confusion over my reaction to Damien's territorial display.Elena approached, her expression a masterpiece of false concern"Oh my god, Angel! That was intense. Are you okay?""F
"Oh my god!!" Elena squealed once he was out of earshot. "Richard Knight wants to see your work! Do you know how many artists would kill for that chance?" "It's probably just courtesy," I said, slipping the card into my pocket. "Don't be stupid" she chided, linking her arm through mine and leading me toward the staff room. "This is your chance to establish yourself independently. You know, so you're not just Damien Salvatore's arm candy." The barb stung more than it should have. "I'm not arm candy." Elena's expression softened into faux sympathy. "Of course not, honey. But let's be real - your engagement happened awfully fast after your divorce. People talk. Having your own career would shut them up." I disentangled myself from her arm, anger rising at her manipulative concern. "I don't really care what people say about my relationship." "You should," she persisted. "Especially since —" The gallery door chimed, cutting her off. We both turned to see George striding in, d
ANGELINA ~ The gallery had become my sanctuary over the past few weeks - the one place where I could exist as simply Angel, not Damien Salvatore's fiancée. I loved, loved losing myself for hours arranging exhibits, researching artists, and occasionally sketching during quiet moments. Today, I was cataloging a new shipment of sculptures when Elena's excited voice broke my concentration. "Angel! You won't believe who just walked in," she said, practically bouncing with excitement. I looked up from my inventory list to see her barely contained enthusiasm. Despite learning of her betrayal the previous day, I'd forced myself to act normal around her, following Damien's advice to 'keep your enemies closer.' The words still tasted bitter in my mouth each time I smiled at her, but perhaps it was my fault for asking Damien to help her get a job here, after she'd claimed that she'd been fired. "Who?" I asked, feigning interest. "Richard Knight," she whispered dramatically.
She startled, turning to find me watching her. A blush immediately colored her cheeks — the first acknowledgment of last night. "Damien," she said, setting down the brush without having touched the canvas. "I didn't hear you." "Clearly." I entered the room, noting the organized chaos of her supplies, brushes meticulously arranged by size, paints grouped by color family, palette scraped clean in preparation. "You've been here a while." "Just... thinking," she admitted. "About painting? ...Or about last night?" Her blush deepened, but she met my eyes directly. "Both." I appreciated her honesty. It was refreshing after years of dealing with people who calculated every word for maximum advantage. "Regrets?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral. She considered the question, her head tilting slightly. "No" she said finally. "Do you?" "No." The simple exchange cleared some of the tension between us. Angel relaxed visibly, setting aside the brush she'd been clutching like a lifeline. "