Her hands were pressed against her chest, her breathing rapid and shallow as whatever drug that bastard had given her coursed through her system. The scent of her arousal hit me like a physical blow, sweet and intoxicating and absolutely devastating to my already fraying control.
“Sera, you’re not thinking clearly,” I managed to rasp, even as Alex clawed frantically at my consciousness, howling with desperate need as the mate bond between us pulled tighter with each passing second. “The drug -“
“I don’t care about the drug,” she whispered, her voice thick with need and confusion. “I just… God, Damien, it hurts. Everything hurts except when I think about you touching me.”
My knuckles went white on the steering wheel. I pressed harder on the accelerator, but instead of heading toward the hospital, I found myself taking the turn toward the industrial district, toward the empty warehouses and deserted streets where no one would interrupt us.
The moment I pulled into an empty parking lot surrounded by dark warehouses, she was moving. With surprising grace despite her drugged state, she climbed over the center console, her movements fluid but unsteady, driven by pure instinct rather than conscious thought.
“Sera -” I started to protest, but then she was straddling my lap, her hands fisting desperately in my shirt, and every coherent thought simply evaporated under the onslaught of her heat and scent.
“Don’t,” she whispered, her face inches from mine, pupils blown wide with chemical desire. Her breath was warm and unsteady against my lips, her body trembling with need. “I need you to make it stop burning.”
Her proximity was overwhelming -the heat of her body, the way her dress had ridden up to reveal the smooth skin of her thighs, the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. My hands moved to her waist without conscious thought, spanning the narrow curve and pulling her closer until there was no space between us.
“What you want?” I asked, my voice barely recognizable as my own.
“You,” she said simply, and the word hit me like a punch to the solar plexus. “I want you. I want my mate.”
The last shred of my control snapped like a breaking wire. My mouth crashed against hers, hungry and desperate and probably too rough, but she met me with equal fervor, her lips opening under mine as her nails dug into my shoulders through the fabric of my shirt.
She tasted like wine and something indefinably sweet, something that was purely her, and I couldn’t get enough. My hands roamed her back, tracing the elegant line of her spine through the silk of her dress, while she made soft sounds against my mouth that drove me absolutely wild.
“Sera,” I breathed against her lips, my voice rough with barely controlled desire, “you’re driving me insane.”
She whispered back, her words slightly slurred but heavy with want. Her teeth found my lower lip, biting with just enough pressure to make me groan. The drug had lowered her inhibitions, made her bolder, more demanding.
My hands trembled as they found the zipper of her dress. She arched against me like a cat seeking warmth, her movements fluid but unsteady. The emerald fabric whispered down her shoulders, revealing inch after inch of porcelain skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight.
When the dress pooled around her waist, leaving her in nothing but black lace that contrasted starkly with her pale skin, I had to grip the steering wheel to keep from losing all control. My breathing was ragged, my pulse thundering.
“Damien,” she breathed, my name sounding like a prayer on her lips. Her hips moved against mine instinctively, seeking friction, seeking relief from the fire building between us. “Please… I need…”
Her words dissolved into soft moans as she rocked against me, the friction driving us both toward madness. Her movements were uncoordinated from the drug but filled with raw need that made my control snap like a breaking chain.
“Tell me what you need,” I growled against her throat, my hands guiding her movements as she writhed in my lap.
“You,” she gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders. “All of you. Make me forget everything else.”
When I pushed inside her, we both groaned loud enough to echo in the car. She was perfect – hot and tight and mine. Everything I’d ever wanted without knowing it.
“Move,” she gasped, her words slurred but desperate. “Damien… please…”
I gripped her hips hard and started moving. Not gentle. Not careful. She wanted it rough, and I gave it to her. Her head snapped back, showing me that pale throat, and I nearly lost it right there.
“Fuck, yes,” she moaned, her nails scratching down my chest. “Harder.”
I fucked her with desperate, driving thrusts in the cramped backseat. Her cries -sharp, gasping, unrestrained -echoed around us, shattering what little control I had left. This wasn’t just sex.
My mouth crashed down on her throat, biting kisses into her collarbone. She arched off the seat, a raw moan tearing from her lips. The drug in her veins had burned away every thought, leaving only naked need. She was pure sensation under my hands.
“More,” she gasped, fingers twisted tight in my hair. “Please, Damien…”
I slammed into her harder. The wildness of her hips, the desperate plea in her voice -it pushed me toward madness. My grip tightened on her waist, forcing her deeper onto me, driving us both toward the edge.
Her hands clawed at my back. “Mark me!” she screamed, voice breaking. “Bite me! Make me fucking yours!”
I ripped her top down. My teeth scraped hard over her nipple, biting down until she jerked with a sharp cry. My palm cracked against her ass, again and again, the slap echoing each thrust. Her thighs clamped hard around my hips.
“I’m yours -fuck! DAMIEN!” she shrieked.
Her whole body locked tight. A violent tremble rocked her, then she screamed, a gush of wetness soaking my thighs as she came, shuddering uncontrollably against me.
I crushed my mouth onto hers, biting down on her swollen lower lip. With a guttural roar, my hips jerked deep. I pulsed inside her, warmth spilling out before pulling back to cream thick ropes across her trembling inner thigh.
Everything in me roared YES. Every instinct demanded I sink my teeth into her neck and claim her forever. But her eyes were still too bright, too wild. The drug was still in her system.
Instead I grabbed her face and kissed her hard as we both exploded. She shattered around me, her whole body shaking as I poured myself into her.
After, she collapsed against me, trembling and breathing hard. I could feel her pulse racing under my hands. My wolf was going crazy, demanding I mark her now while she was soft and willing in my arms.
But I couldn’t. Not like this.
“You’re still drugged,” I said roughly, my voice raw. “I won’t mark you until you’re clear.”
Damien’s POV
After our intense encounter in the car, Sera had collapsed against me, her breathing evening out into the deep rhythm of exhausted sleep. The drug, combined with everything she’d been through tonight, had finally claimed her consciousness. I held her for a long moment, watching the peaceful expression on her face, before carefully adjusting her torn dress and starting the car.
My wolf was restless, pacing anxiously in my mind. *She needs to be somewhere safe,* Alex insisted. *Home. She needs to be home.*
The problem was, I realized with growing frustration, I had no idea where home was for her. I’d hired her, worked beside her for days, claimed her as my mate, and yet I didn’t even know her address. The realization sat like a stone in my chest, highlighting just how much I still didn’t know about the woman who had turned my world upside down.
I pulled over and dialed Claire’s number, knowing she’d still be awake despite the late hour. She picked up on the second ring.
“Damien? Is everything alright? How did the dinner go?”
“Claire, I need Seraphina’s home address. Now.”
There was a pause. “What happened? Is she hurt?”
“She’s fine,” I said quickly, though the memory of finding her drugged and helpless in that bastard’s house made my hands clench on the steering wheel. “I just need to get her home safely.”
“I see.” Claire’s voice carried that particular tone she used when she suspected there was far more to the story than I was telling her. “She lives at 47 Maple Street, apartment 2B. It’s in the Riverside district.”
The Riverside district. I knew the area -older buildings, working-class neighborhood, the kind of place where people minded their own business and rent was cheap because the buildings hadn’t been updated since the 1970s. It was a twenty-minute drive from the glittering towers of the business district where I lived.
“Thank you,” I said simply.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing outside a narrow brick building that looked like it had seen better decades. The neighborhood was quiet, with streetlights casting pools of yellow light on cracked sidewalks. A few cars lined the street -older models.
I gathered Sera carefully in my arms, noting how her emerald dress -now wrinkled and torn from the evening’s events -caught the streetlight. She stirred slightly as I lifted her but didn’t wake, her head falling naturally against my shoulder.
The building’s front door was secured with an old-fashioned buzzer system. I found the button for 2B and pressed it, waiting in the cool night air as footsteps echoed from somewhere above.
The door opened to reveal a young woman with dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweater that suggested she’d been waiting up for Sera’s return. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of me -a stranger in an expensive suit holding her unconscious friend.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, stepping protectively into the doorway despite being barely five and a half feet tall. “And what did you do to Sera?”
“I’m Damien Nightshadow,” I said quietly, not wanting to wake Sera. “Seraphina’s… employer. Are you Ophelia?”
The woman’s mouth fell open, her eyes darting from my face to Sera’s still form and back again. “You’re… you? You’re the Alpha?”
I nodded, shifting Sera’s weight slightly. “She had too much to drink at the company dinner tonight. I wanted to make sure she got home safely.”
Ophelia’s eyes narrowed as she studied Sera’s appearance more closely -the flushed cheeks, the disheveled hair, the torn strap of her dress that I hadn’t noticed in the dim light of the car. “Too much to drink? She doesn’t look drunk, she looks…”
“May I bring her inside?” I interrupted, not wanting to explain the full story while standing in a public hallway. “She needs to rest.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Ophelia stepped aside, leading me up a narrow staircase to the second floor. The hallway was cramped and dimly lit, with thin carpeting that had seen better years. She unlocked a door marked 2B and gestured for me to follow her inside.
The apartment was tiny but immaculately clean. A small living room opened into an even smaller kitchen, and I could see a single bedroom beyond. Everything was organized with the precision of someone who couldn’t afford to waste space.
“The bedroom’s through here,” Ophelia said, still eyeing me with suspicion as she led the way.
I followed her into a space that was barely large enough for a double bed and a small dresser. The walls were painted a soft yellow, and I could see children’s drawings taped beside the bed -stick figures labeled “MOMMY” and “ME” in careful block letters.
I laid Sera gently on the bed, making sure her head was properly supported by the pillows. In the soft light from the bedside lamp, she looked fragile and young, her dark hair spread across the pale pillowcase. Without thinking, I reached out to brush a strand away from her face.
“She’ll be fine by morning,” I said quietly, though I wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “Just needs to sleep it off.”
Ophelia crossed her arms, studying me with the intensity of a protective older sister. Before I could respond, there was a sound from the living room -small footsteps padding across the floor. A moment later, a small figure appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleepy eyes with tiny fists.
“Ophelia? What’s wrong? Why are you talking so loud?”
I turned toward the voice and felt my entire world shift on its axis.
Standing in the doorway was a little boy who couldn’t have been more than four years old, with tousled dark brown curls and sleep-creased cheeks. He was wearing dinosaur pajamas and clutching a stuffed wolf that had seen better days.
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