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Todos os capítulos de Contract Marriage To The Alpha King : Capítulo 141 - Capítulo 150

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“You look beautiful when you’re bossy.”

Damian's POV By noon, productivity was a distant dream. She finished typing an agenda for tomorrow’s quarterly board meeting, eyes flickering between the screen and me. I watched her lips move as she whispered each item, double-checking for mistakes. My gaze lingered until she looked up, mocking impatience in her stare. “Am I boring you?” “On the contrary,” I replied. “I’m mesmerized.” My grin was wolfish. “You look beautiful when you’re bossy.” She tried to glare but failed, her lips twitching. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to start mispronouncing all our clients’ names.” I leaned back, folding my arms. “Maybe I want to see you make mistakes. Forces me to keep you after hours to correct them.” She blushed. “You sound like you already plan to.” I dropped the act for a moment, letting the truth show in my voice—raw, honest. “I want you every minute, Ava.” My gaze raked down, not even trying to hide my hunger. “You don’t realize how badly I need to taste

“Have you been waiting all day?” she teased, gentle but challenging. She took a step, closing the distance, hips swaying, eyes locked on mine.

Damian’s POV The elevator thrummed floor by floor, the metallic hush swallowed by the sound of her breath against mine—quick, uneven, reckless. My reflection flashed in the mirror: jaw clenched, eyes dilated, hair mussed by her hands. I looked like a man possessed. No—worse. A man undone. Ava’s mouth parted beneath mine, her lips yielding with every hungry kiss. The taste of her—clean and sweet, threaded with vanilla and something wild—pulled me deeper. My wolf pressed impossibly close, teeth grazing the inside of my mind, yanking at the leash. Claim her here. Now. Let the whole damn building smell it. Not yet, I ground out, though my restraint was little more than a fraying thread. My hands curved around Ava’s waist, pulling her tighter, fingers splayed to feel every inch of heat. Her fingers knotted in my hair, tugging, spurring me on. I grazed my teeth across her jaw, barely holding back the urge to bite. “You’re supposed to be patient,” she whispered, voice shaking against

“Damian,” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders. “I’m close.”

Ava’s POV The first thing I registered was the scent of roses. Not faint—heady, overwhelming, filling the entire room as if the walls themselves had bloomed overnight. The aroma was so intense it was almost intoxicating, a sweet, musky perfume that seemed to seep into my skin. I blinked awake, sheets still tangled around me, Damian’s arm heavy across my waist. His chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths. He wasn’t truly asleep—I’d learned the difference. His body was too alert, too taut, even when he pretended. “Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood,” he murmured against my hair, voice deep and gravelly from sleep. The title still made my heart jolt. No one else in the world knew. To everyone, I was just his personal secretary. To him, I was… everything. I rolled in his hold, facing him. “Good morning, Mr. Blackwood.” My lips brushed his jaw, stubble rough beneath my mouth. “You planned something.” His smirk was pure sin. “Guilty.” Before I could question further, he scooped m

“You should still be in bed,” he says, voice carrying a low, private warmth meant for my ears alone.

Damian’s POV I hold her, my Ava—my wife—between worlds. Heat and water swirl with crushed rose petals around us, their scent thick and heady enough to drug my wolf. The remnants of our night linger in the air, imprinted between the lines of her skin: moans muffled by my mouth, whispered confessions, raw promises made with trembling hands. No one would ever know. The world only saw her as my secretary—obedient, useful, unworthy of a second look—but right now she is everything; she is mine. Her body shivers faintly against mine, the bath gone tepid but the aftermath still burning. I keep tracing slow circles on her back, memorizing every dip and ridge, every freckle hidden beneath damp skin and half-drowned rose petals. She’s more beautiful after pleasure, her guard broken, lips swollen, eyes soft and glazed. Under my palm I feel her pulse—steady, alive, fragile—and my heart threatens to shatter with it. She breathes quietly, breaths feathering my jaw and stirring my chest hair. F

I clear my throat. “Coffee?” The word is both invitation and confession.

Damian’s POV The walk to the breakfast nook is a torment of restraint. Ava trails behind, lost in the silence that falls between us while I check my phone—wary, alert. My hand aches to reach for her, to claim her in daylight. But I settle for glancing back, finding her peeking around the kitchen corner in one of my shirts—the hem brushing her bare thighs, her hair falling wild over fragile shoulders. The sight makes me want to call in sick and lock the world out. I clear my throat. “Coffee?” The word is both invitation and confession. She beams, padding across the kitchen with bare feet. “Strong.” I watch her pour the mugs, hands shaking subtly. I want to steal each one, cover them in my mouth and mark her where no one else can see. She hands me a cup, fingers brushing mine. “Your calls start in five minutes,” she murmurs, gaze radiating longing. I lean close—just enough so only she can hear. “Come to my office after the meeting. I want you under my desk.” My voice is gravel, lo

You think I’ll ever be finished with you?

Damian’s POV The water in the bath had cooled, thin wisps of steam curling above the surface before dissolving in the candlelit air. Ava’s body was draped across my lap, liquid and boneless, her pulse fluttering beneath my palm as I cradled her against my chest. Locks of her dark hair trailed over my arm and floated in the water, catching stray rose petals as she shivered. The scent of those petals wound around us—delicate, intoxicating—woven now with the rawer, hungrier scent of skin and sweat and the lingering echo of her release. My wolf paced, restless, beneath my skin—his satisfaction deep but never sated. I could feel him in my blood, humming with pride, demanding I mark every inch of her. That she was still here, trembling and pliant in my arms, wasn’t enough. He wanted permanence. I pressed my lips to her hairline, inhaling deeply. The rim of her ear was flushed, her breath still uneven against the hollow of my throat. “Mine,” the word left my lips, stripped bare of pre

“You staring, Mr. Blackwood?”

Damian’s POV Light seeped in slow through the blinds, molten gold fingers trailing across our tangled sheets like the afterthoughts of a dream. For once, the world felt like it was waking up in the right order. No alarms. No pending disasters. Just the cadence of Ava’s breathing pressed into my chest, the small, grounding weight of her head curled beneath my collarbone. I watched her—her lips soft, her brow untroubled—and let myself believe, for a long, unguarded beat, that nothing could touch us here. Not the city, not my doubts. The world could burn, and I wouldn’t care. Not as long as she fit in this hollow I’d never let anyone fill, the secret I’d finally told even myself. My wolf purred—a sound that, after years of discipline, still made me wary. But this morning, there was contentment in its vibration, a lazy rumble threading through bone and blood. Ours, he murmured, and for once there was no edge, no hunger—only a full, released breath. Ours. Ava stirred. Lashes fluttered,

we toweled off.

Damian's POV I ran my nose along her jaw, breathing in the scent of her skin and my soap, a combination that made some instinct in me settle, made some other urge burn. “I feel it. God, I do.” I let my hand splay wide over her stomach. “But you’re not a prize, Ava. You’re a partner. When you’re ready, all of you—then I’ll mark you, and the world can go to hell if they try to take you from me.” She stilled, then twisted and pressed her mouth to mine, tasting the promise like it was something sweet she’d spent her life looking for. After a moment, we finished in a haze of giggles and gentle touches, more playful now, more assured. We toweled off. Ava borrowed my old button-down, buttoning it only halfway up her chest—a semaphore of comfort and danger I wanted to bury my face in, even though a clock somewhere was ticking. I slipped into a crisp suit, ran my fingers through my damp hair, and fastened my cufflinks. When I looked up, she was reaching up to pin her hair into a sleek twis

At 3:14 p.m., trouble found me.

Damian’s POV The day ticked forward, each hour measured in the sharp clicks of my Montblanc against glass, each minute marked by decisions only I could make. My calendar glowed with back-to-back demands—high-stakes meetings, backdoor negotiations, faces too polished to trust. It was my kingdom, this empire on floors of glass and steel, and I was the ruler who trusted almost no one. Only a handful of people crossed the perimeter of confidence. And at the top of that list—the one I’d replace only over my dead body—stood Oliver. If my life was a machine, Oliver was the cog I’d built myself: loyal, tireless, almost preternaturally perceptive. He handled the dirty jobs with a surgeon’s restraint, a sniper’s patience. But even he knew, without being told, not to mention the woman whose presence haunted every synapse of mine today. Ava. Below all the boardroom bluster churned a private war: memory of her lips; the echo of her voice murmuring my name under city lights; the way she’d lo

“Your protocols don’t matter,” I snapped. “Only results. And right now, you aren’t delivering those.”

Damian’s POVThe boardroom glass gleamed, sterile and cold. Reflections of the skyline cut across the polished table, sharp as blades—an ironic nod to the way business here was done: surgical, precise, merciless. Blackwood Estate’s penthouse office was designed to intimidate, and it performed admirably. At this hour, with the sky bruised violet behind the city’s towers, only the bravest of fools would willingly sit in front of me.Yet here they were—my legal team, gathered in a half-circle flanked by silent assistants. Glossy portfolios, tablet screens, crystal water pitchers left untouched. Most of them had ditched suit jackets in the restroom, an effort to look informal, trustworthy, harmless. As if anything could soften the impression I’d carved into their minds over years of relentless deals.Tonight, their anxiety hung in the air, thick enough to taste. Sweat prickled above starched collars, and every movement carried the faint tang of fear—exposed throats, nervous glances, minu

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