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Damian’s jaw flexed once. His hands tightened into fists at his sides. “Still sure?” he asked, voice a little rougher now. As if hoping I'd say no. As if daring me to say yes.
I didn't answer. I didn’t need to.
Instead, I stepped into his space, rose onto my toes, and kissed him—soft at first, then harder when he groaned low in his throat and grabbed my hips like he couldn’t stand not touching me another second.
More clothes came off next. Fast, messy, no pretenses. His shirt buttons popped under my fumbling fingers, one scattering across the tile like a tiny gunshot.
He didn't care.
Neither did I.
When he stripped me down to my bra and panties, I felt the tremor in his hands. It undid me more than anything else. Without breaking the kiss, I pushed him backward until the backs of his legs hit the edge of the bed. He sat, legs spread slightly, looking up at me like I was the only thing in the world worth having.
Still holding his gaze, I dropped the condom onto the bedspread beside him.
My fingers went to his belt, working it open slowly. Damian watched every move, breathing harder now, his hands flexing on his thighs like he was seconds from grabbing me.
When I pulled off his designer jeans, he was already hard—hot, thick, straining for me. I picked up the condom, tearing it open carefully between my teeth while his eyes darkened to almost black. Then, without rushing, I rolled it onto him—my hands slow, sure, reverent.
Damian hissed through his teeth, his head falling back for half a second like he couldn’t take how good it felt. “Jesus, Jules,” he muttered. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I smiled, wicked and slow. “Better to die happy.”
He surged up, kissing me like he agreed—dragging me down onto his lap, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. I gasped into him ashis hands gripped my hips, lifting me just enough to guide me over him.
One slow, devastating thrust, and he was inside me.
We both froze, caught in that first unbearable stretch of feeling too much, wanting too badly. Then we moved. Together. My hands braced on his shoulders, his mouth everywhere—my neck, my collarbone, the curve of my breast. Every grind of his hips made me feel more and lose more control.
He lifted me, let me take him deeper, let me find my own rhythm. It wasn’t frantic, and it wasn’t polished.
It was desperate. Hungry.
I rode him slowly at first, savoring the way his breath hitched every time I shifted my angle, every time I squeezed a little tighter around him.
Then faster—when the need climbed higher than either of us could control. He caught my face in both hands, staring up at me like I was something he wasn’t sure he deserved but couldn't stop worshiping anyway.
When I came, it ripped through me like wildfire—blinding, burning, beautiful. I felt him break right after, hips jerking up into mine, his low, broken groan vibrating against my chest where he buried his face.
We settled with our heads against the pillows, tangled and breathless and still too wound up to let go completely. His arms stayed wrapped around me. I stayed exactly where I was—legs tangled with his, heart hammering against his ribs.
As I lay there, feeling him slowly soften inside me, feeling his fingers stroke lazy, possessive circles over the small of my back, one terrifying, breathtaking thought crystallized in my mind.
This wasn’t just about sex anymore. Not even close.
The first thing that struck me was the weight of his arm draped around my waist. Damian lay asleep, his breaths deep and rhythmic, while the morning light streamed through a narrow gap in the blackout curtains, spilling softly across his bare shoulder.
He felt warm and solid, an embodiment of comfort I had been reluctant to acknowledge until now. For a brief moment, I remained still, allowing myself to forget everything else. Just two people sharing one hotel room—no baggage, past, or lies lingering between us.
My phone buzzed faintly on the nightstand. Work emails. A client confirmation. Real life waiting just beyond the soft cocoon of tangled sheets and skin.
I slipped carefully out from under his arm, grabbing the thin hotel robe and wrapping it around myself as I padded across the carpet toward the small sitting area. I wasn’t ready to start the day yet. I just needed a moment to collect my random thoughts.
A sleek tablet rested on the coffee table—Damian’s, unmistakably. Its screen flickered softly, a constellation of notifications illuminating the dim room. I hadn’t intended to glance at it; I swear to God, I didn’t. But the allure of its glow beckoned me, a siren call that tugged at my curiosity. The topmessage caught my eye: a bold subject line flashing from his PR team.
URGENT: Major Donor Withdrawal – Vérité Foundation
My stomach twisted, and I blinked, pretending for half a second that I hadn’t seen it. But the email preview scrolled slowly upward on its own.