The question caught me completely off guard. I studied his expression, trying to understand what he was really asking, why it seemed so important to him.
“Every day,” I admitted honestly, my voice barely audible. “Not because I need rescuing or anything like that. Adrian deserves to know his father. He deserves to have someone who chose to be there, not just someone who accidentally created him.”
“And if that man showed up tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered honestly. “I guess I’d want to hear his explanation before I decided whether to forgive him or tear his throat out.”
Damien’s laugh was quiet but genuine. “Fair enough.”
I led him into Adrian’s small room and watched as he settled my son into his dinosaur-covered bed with the gentle care of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. Adrian stirred slightly as Damien pulled the blankets up to his chin, but didn’t wake.
“Sweet dreams, little man,” Damien murmured, his voice so soft I almost didn’t hear it.
When we returned to the living room, the atmosphere between us shifted again. The casual family dynamic we’d shared at the beach was replaced by something more electric, more adult. I was suddenly hyperaware that we were alone, that Adrian was asleep down the hall, that nothing was stopping us from finishing what we’d started in my bedroom the night before.
“I should go,” Damien said, but he made no move toward the door. Instead, he stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look into his eyes.
“Should you?” I asked, my voice coming out breathier than intended.
His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone with exquisite gentleness. “I don’t want to rush this,” he said, his voice rough with barely controlled desire. “You’ve been through so much. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage.”
“What if I want you to take advantage?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, making heat flood my cheeks.
Seraphina’s POV
Fire flooded my cheeks, scorching down my neck. The sheer, raw audacity of it vibrated in my own throat.
Damien froze. The air turned thick, viscous, saturated with the scent of salt still clinging to our skin, the fading sweetness of my child on Damien’s shoulder, and the overwhelming, heady musk of him – sandalwood, and the undeniable spice of male arousal. I felt it shatter through the heat of his palm against my skin, vibrating in the coiled tension radiating from his utterly immobile frame.
He didn’t repeat his question about leaving. He simply leaned in.
His other hand lifted, fingers plunging into the hair at my nape, tangling possessively, tilting my head back just enough to expose the vulnerable column of my throat. My breath seized, trapped somewhere near my pounding heart.
The first touch of his lips was deceptive – devastatingly soft. A sigh tore from me. It felt like my first true breath since the world had shattered. Everything narrowed to the burning point of contact: the firm warmth of his mouth moving over mine, the intoxicating heat of his skin inches away, the slightly rough texture of his palm cradling my jaw.
His kiss deepened, turned possessive, stealing my breath while melting the strength from my very bones. A low moan ripped from my throat as my tongue tangled desperately with his.
My hands, paralyzed before, found life. They slid up the hard planes of his chest under the thin cotton of his t-shirt, feeling the frantic thunder of his heart beneath my palms, the powerful muscles flexing as his breathing grew ragged, matching my own frantic gasps. I fisted the fabric at his shoulders, pulling him against me with a strength I didn’t know I had. One thick arm locked like an iron band around my waist, hauling me flush against the rock-hard heat of his body. There was no mistaking the thick, rigid evidence of his desire pressed insistently against my belly, a searing brand. His other hand swept down my spine, tracing the indentation until his fingers splayed wide over the curve of my ass, grasping possessively, pulling my hips tighter against that demanding ridge.
He propelled us blindly backwards through the open apartment door. I stumbled, breaking the kiss on a sharp gasp. He steadied me instantly. We moved through the shadows of the living room, past the mundane debris of our separate lives, down the short hall to my bedroom. His lips abandoned mine to blaze a trail downwards. He found the exquisitely sensitive spot beneath my ear, teeth scraping lightly before his tongue soothed it. He nipped the curve of my shoulder through the sweater, sending shockwaves of pure electricity straight to the molten core between my thighs.
“Yes,” I breathed, the word raw and dripping with desire. “Damien, *fuck*, yes.”
He yanked the sweater off in one swift, powerful movement, sending it flying. Moonlight bathed my skin. His gaze dropped, a visceral sweep from my throat down over my lace-covered breasts, down my trembling belly, to where my jeans clung.
His fingers traced the swell of my breasts above the lace, brushing deliberately across the stiff peaks. Shivers of electric pleasure chased his touch. He dipped his head, his breath scalding hot against my skin. His mouth closed over the lace-covered peak of one breast, sucking hard, the wet heat seeping through the fabric, the pressure sending jagged spears of pleasure-pain straight to my core. My head slammed back against the frame with a thud, my fingers knotting in his thick, dark hair, holding him fiercely against me. I gasped out his name, a desperate plea for more.
He pushed jeans and panties down my hips in one urgent motion, peeling them away. He sank to his knees momentarily, his strong hands guiding my legs as I stepped out of them, the rough denim catching slightly against my ankles. They pooled at my feet.
He crushed his mouth to mine again, his scent drowning me, his powerful arms supporting me. The rough texture of his erection pressed insistently at my softness, spreading my slickness against it. My inner muscles clenched instinctively, trying to draw him in.
He adjusted his grip, holding me securely against the frame with one arm banded around my back. His other hand slid between us, his fingers finding the slick, swollen heat of me. A thick finger dipped inside, testing my readiness, making me cry out into his mouth, my hips bucking against his hand. He growled, a sound of pure satisfaction. He withdrew his finger and positioned himself.
He pressed forward, his cockhead pushing past the tight ring of muscle guarding my entrance. There was resistance, then an exquisitely slow yielding as the broad crown speared me. My head thrashed back against the wood, a raw gasp tearing from my throat. He pushed deeper, inch by agonizing, ecstatic inch, filling me with a slow, relentless force that burned and stretched me beyond anything I could have imagined. He breached me fully, driving deep until his hips slammed flush against mine, his balls tight against my ass. He was buried to the hilt, impossibly deep, wedged within my clutching heat, claiming every inch of space. A deep, primal roar ripped from his chest, raw and triumphant, as his forehead pressed hard against mine, our harsh breaths mingling.
“Seraphina…” he gasped, his voice shredded, guttural. “Made. For. Me.”
“I am,” I sobbed, my nails biting deep into the muscles of his shoulders, my body stretching to accommodate his brutal thickness, my inner muscles spasming around the intrusion. “And you… fuck… you are mine!”
He pulled back, almost entirely withdrawing, the friction excruciating, leaving me feeling hollow, bereft. Then he slammed back into me, hard, deep, hitting the very depths of my womb with shocking precision. The sound that tore from my throat was wild, feral.
He began to move in earnest.
Deep, powerful strokes that forced my body up the frame, his hips pistoning against mine with controlled violence. My arms locked around his neck, my legs clamped around his waist, riding him, taking the force of his claiming. His thickness stretched me wide, the ridge of his cockhead scraping blissfully inside me with every surge. My inner muscles squeezed him convulsively, trying to hold him, milk him deeper. His groans turned to savage grunts.
“Yes!” he snarled, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. “Squeeze my cock… Take it… Take it all!” He punctuated the command with a brutal snap of his hips, grinding his pelvis against my clit as he buried himself to the root. Sparks exploded behind my eyes. Intense pleasure, sharp and almost painful, radiated out from where we were joined.
The pressure built, a relentless coil tightening in my lower belly, radiating up into my chest, down my thighs. He shifted his angle infinitesimally, grinding the base of his shaft against my swollen clit as he thrust, brushing a spot deep inside that detonated sensation. An involuntary scream ripped from my mouth, echoing off the walls.
“Right there, Seraphina?” His voice was pure command, rough with animal triumph. He adjusted again, anchoring his thrusts to hammer that spot relentlessly, ruthlessly, with devastating accuracy.
The sounds were obscene: the sharp smack of flesh against flesh, the wet, sucking sounds of my body gripping his cock, the desperate cries he ripped from my throat, the guttural rasp of his breathing. Sweat drenched him, catching moonlight as it ran down his powerful neck, his straining chest. His face was etched with fierce concentration and ecstasy, the cords in his neck standing out like cables.
A broken, ragged scream tore from my throat, raw and primal, the sound swallowed by his mouth crashing down on mine again.
He drove into me, once, twice, deep, hard, slamming strokes that forced my wracked body higher against the frame. His hips jerked violently as his cock swelled impossibly thicker inside my still-pulsing sheath. Hot jets of release exploded within me, a scalding pulse of his essence that seemed to burn its way into my womb. He shuddered against me, a full-body convulsion, burying his face in my neck, teeth scraping hard over the tender flesh where his mating mark would someday reside.
“Seraphina… *Mine*… Fucking… *mine*!”
Seraphina’s POV
The morning sun streaming through my bedroom curtains felt different somehow -warmer, more golden, like the entire world had shifted on its axis overnight. I stretched languidly beneath my sheets, every muscle in my body deliciously sore in ways that made me blush even though I was alone. The scent of sandalwood still clung to my pillows, a heady reminder of everything that had transpired between Damien and me just hours before.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Ayla purred in my mind, her mental voice practically dripping with satisfied smugness. “How are you feeling?”
Heat flooded my cheeks as memories from the previous night crashed over me in vivid detail -Damien’s hands on my skin, his mouth trailing fire down my throat, the exquisite stretch and burn as he’d claimed me against my bedroom door with a passion that had left me breathless and shaking.
I muttered, though even I could hear how unconvincing that sounded. “It was just…”
“Just what? Just the most intense, earth-shattering sex of our entire existence?” Ayla’s laughter echoed through my consciousness. “Face it, Sera -that man is ours now, whether we’re ready to admit it or not.”
I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow that still smelled like him, fighting the urge to stay in bed all day and relive every moment. But reality intruded in the form of Adrian’s cheerful voice calling from the kitchen.
“Mommy! I made coffee!”
The panic that shot through me was immediate and intense. “Adrian!” I called back, scrambling out of bed and throwing on my robe. “Sweetheart, you’re not supposed to touch the coffee maker!”
I rushed to the kitchen, only to find my four-year-old son standing proudly beside our small coffee maker with a steaming mug in his hands.
“I wanted to surprise you,” he said, his face glowing with achievement. “Mr. Damien showed me how to push the buttons last night after you fell asleep.”
“He did, did he?”
“Uh-huh!” Adrian bounced excitedly on his toes. “He said good coffee was important for hardworking mommies. He also taught me how to butter toast without tearing it!”
Sure enough, there was a plate of perfectly buttered toast waiting on the counter, along with Adrian’s favorite strawberry jam arranged in a neat little pattern.
“That was very thoughtful of both of you,” I said softly, accepting the mug and taking a careful sip. It was actually quite good. “Did you eat breakfast already?”
“I had cereal and orange juice,” Adrian reported dutifully. “Mr. Damien said I should let you sleep because you had a very hard week.”
An hour later, I stood in the executive elevator at Nightshadow Industries, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened with each passing floor. My lips seemed fuller, still slightly swollen from Damien’s kisses, and there was a glow to my skin that had nothing to do with expensive cosmetics.
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the executive floor. I stepped into the familiar marble corridor, noting with relief that Anna’s desk was empty. Apparently, she was running late this morning -a small blessing that would give me a few peaceful moments to collect myself before facing whatever fresh hell she’d cooked up.
“Good morning, Seraphina,” Claire’s warm voice greeted me as I settled into my desk chair. “You look… radiant today. Did you sleep well?”
Heat flooded my cheeks at the knowing glint in her eyes. “Very well, thank you,” I managed, grateful when my computer screen gave me something to focus on besides Claire’s amused expression.
I’d barely opened my email when I heard the distinctive sound of Damien’s office door opening. Every nerve ending in my body suddenly came alive, hyperaware of his presence even though I kept my eyes fixed firmly on my monitor.
“Good morning, ladies,” his deep voice carried that familiar note of authority, but when I finally looked up, the intensity in his blue eyes was focused entirely on me. “Seraphina, could I see you for a moment?”
Professional. Casual. As if he hadn’t been buried inside me just hours earlier, claiming me with a passion that had left fingernail marks on his shoulders and my name torn from his throat like a prayer.
“Of course, Mr. Nightshadow,” I replied, proud of how steady my voice sounded even as my pulse hammered against my ribs.
I followed him into his office, hyperaware of the way his expensive suit molded to his broad shoulders and the memory of what all those perfectly tailored clothes concealed. The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the professional facade fell away like a discarded mask.
Damien moved with predatory grace, closing the distance between us in two quick strides. His hands framed my face with devastating gentleness, and then his mouth was on mine -hot, demanding, completely possessive. I melted into him with embarrassing eagerness, my hands fisting in his shirt as he deepened the kiss until I was dizzy with want.
“I’ve been thinking about you all morning,” he murmured against my lips, his voice rough with barely controlled desire. “About the way you felt in my arms, the sounds you made…”
“Damien,” I breathed, though whether it was a protest or encouragement, I couldn’t say. “We’re at work. Anyone could -“
“Let them,” he growled, his mouth finding the sensitive spot behind my ear that made me gasp. “Let the whole damn building know you’re mine.”
His hands slid down to cup my ass through my pencil skirt, pulling me flush against the hard ridge of his arousal. The casual possessiveness of the gesture, combined with the intoxicating heat of his body pressed against mine, made rational thought nearly impossible.
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