Chapter 6 Daisy
The vast grounds of the Vatican stretched before us as Damian and I stepped through the main gate.
Sunlight struck the cobblestones, sharp against their age, and the facades rose around us, carved with centuries of stories.
Despite the magnificence, calm pressed in, broken only by the murmur of tourists and the frantic wings of pigeons.
The air felt charged—tangible, saturated with old secrets.
With every step toward the library, my pulse climbed.
Memories of my last visit stirred—back then, I had entered only once, permitted by a letter from my former teacher.
Inside the foyer, stained glass scattered color across the cold mosaic floors. At the reception desk, a young man greeted us with a detached nod. Damian slid him the confirmation email granting our access. Fingers tapped quickly over keys.
“Identification, please,” he said, expression flat.
A moment later: “Welcome to the Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana.” His voice was drained of life, mechanical.
We handed over our passports. He returned them after a cursory glance and pushed two visitor passes across the desk.
“Straight down the corridor to the main hall.”
The library walls rose high around us, lined with maps and manuscripts older than nations.
We hadn’t been inside long when an older gentleman approached.
His dark gray suit was immaculate, his white hair combed with precision.
A silver pair of glasses perched on his nose.
In his hand, he carried a leather notebook as if it were a relic rather than paper.
“May I see your visitor passes?” His tone was calm but edged with authority—one that left no room for disobedience. His eyes studied us with the severity of a man long used to order.
Damian offered the passes. The man inspected them, gave a single nod, and gestured toward a corridor of towering shelves.
“Please follow me.”
He led us to a heavy wooden table, where several manuscripts lay stacked in neat piles.
“You may sit here.” His voice softened, but only slightly. “Handle these writings with the utmost care. Some are more than five centuries old. Outside the library, there is a refreshment room, but no food or drink is allowed within. If you require assistance, let me know.”
His gaze lingered, weighing us, as if measuring whether we deserved to breathe this air.
“I have a question,” Damian said smoothly. “Could you point us to the section on Egypt? We’re looking for manuscripts dealing with Egyptian amulets.”
The librarian inclined his head and guided us deeper into the building.
We passed through several security doors before entering a climate-controlled chamber where shelves upon shelves guarded ancient treasures.
Some were bound in fragile parchment, others in cracked leather.
The air carried dust and age—time itself preserved.
The man pointed toward two rows. “Here you will find the Egyptian texts.”
“Thank you,” I said, and immediately began scanning the shelves.
“Do you remember which book you saw the amulet in?” Damian asked.
“Not exactly. It’s been too long, and I saw too many.”
My fingertips dragged over the spines, tracing centuries. Beside me, Damian searched with relentless focus, his eyes moving fast from one title to the next. After a while, I had gathered a small stack and carried them to the table.
Sitting across from him, I opened the first. The pages were yellowed and dry, exhaling dust—a scent that stirred both reverence and hunger.
We read in silence, turning pages carefully, pausing on each fragment of script.
At times, our eyes met. Once, when we reached for the same volume, his fingertips brushed mine.
The contact was brief, yet a wave of heat shot through me. My heartbeat faltered, then raced—a wild flutter that almost stole my breath. I cursed myself. How could the briefest touch undo me? One single, damn touch.
I tried to drag my focus back to the pages, but across from me sat a man whose presence refused to be ignored—magnetic, dangerous, irresistible.
Hours slipped past in concentrated silence until, at last, we found something.
A manuscript lay open before me, its illustrations vivid despite the centuries. My breath caught.
“Look here,” I said, pointing to the drawing of an Egyptian amulet—the Phoenix pendant. The image was paired with wall paintings of Ramses III wearing the same piece. “I think this is it.”
Damian leaned in, his shoulder nearly brushing mine. He studied the images, then pulled out his laptop and opened the photographs of the pendant. We compared every detail.
I began reading aloud, my voice low in the hushed air:
The Phoenix pendant, depicted here in an illustration from the late Egyptian dynasty, symbolizes eternal renewal and immortality in ancient Egypt.
The amulet was worn by Ramses III as a protective symbol, believed to grant him strength and the power of rebirth.
A wall painting shows Ramses III with this very pendant, emphasizing both his royal authority and his divine connection.
“You’re right. This is the pendant. Tomorrow we’ll visit the Egyptian Museum in Rome, study jewelry from the same era, and identify its defining features.
Then we’ll search for artifacts and wall paintings that might give us more clues about the Phoenix pendant.
And if we’re still not certain, we’ll take everything we’ve gathered to a renowned archaeologist here in Rome. He can confirm or disprove our theory.”
“This is so exciting,” I said.
“I agree.” Damian pulled out his phone and began photographing every page of the manuscript.
“Are we even allowed to do that?”
“It’s for research purposes. And I secured permission.”
Without another word, Damian sat beside me. So close his thigh brushed mine. My pulse spiked. I wanted to lean away, reclaim the distance, but my body refused to move.
“You’ve done good work,” he murmured. “But there’s something else we need to discuss.”
“And that would be?”
His hand rested on my thigh. Fingers deliberate. Unhurried. Sliding beneath the hem of my dress without hesitation.
“Damian…” My voice faltered, my heart stumbling over itself.
“I like the way you say my name. Say it when I fuck you.”
“I thought you were going to control yourself.”
“We both know I’m not capable of that.” His hand lingered possessively on the inside of my thigh.
A rush of heat tore through me. I tried to anchor myself in the sanctity of the library—the centuries-old table, the sacred manuscripts, the oppressive silence of this place. But none of it was stronger than his touch. None of it could stop him. His hand crept higher, and I held my breath.
“Damian… we’re… we’re in the Vatican Library.”
His lips touched my cheek. No gentleness. Only fire. “Then you’d better be very quiet.”
I wanted to protest, to pull away. I couldn’t.
“Do you know how insane it drives me not to be able to have you?”
His fingers pressed against my underwear, finding the most sensitive part of me. A shiver cut through my body. When a quiet gasp slipped out, he shoved the fabric aside and whispered, “Quiet now. Or do you want someone to walk in?”
My head tilted, my fingers digging into the edge of the table.
“I’m not going to fuck you. Not yet. But I’m going to remind you how badly you want it.” His touch was hard, merciless. Fingers circling, demanding. I lost everything. The sanctity of the room, the weight of history—it all fell away. There was only his voice in my ear, and his hand between my legs.
“I want you to know what it feels like when I touch you and you can’t scream. When you come and no one hears it. When you want everything and I give you nothing.”
A whimper broke free. Inevitably, I spread my legs.
“That’s it, Daisy. Let me feel your heat.”
My body shook.
“You’re already soaked. Do you imagine what it would feel like if my cock were inside you right now?
” His fingers drove into me, hard enough that a moan tore loose.
“Shh… do you imagine me fucking you until you break apart?” He pulled back, only to thrust again, relentless.
“Do you imagine me finishing in your mouth, my cum coating your tongue?” His palm crushed against my clit while his fingers plunged deeper, merciless.
The tension snapped. A sharp pull coiled in my belly and then unraveled in violent waves, each one hotter, fiercer than the last. I came undone around his fingers, clenching, breaking apart, every nerve shattering with pleasure.
He pulled his hand from me, but the burn stayed, seared deep. It was a darkness, a curse I would carry. I sat wrecked—shaken, desperate, addicted.
Then he slid his fingers into my mouth. “Suck. Taste yourself.”
And I did.
“Oh fuck, Daisy,” he groaned. “That makes me so hard. It’s taking everything I have not to clear this table, bend you over it, and fuck you until you forget how to breathe.”
Later that evening, Damian took me to a club called La Roma.
“The owner is a friend,” he explained as we moved through the crowd.
The music throbbed, lights cutting faces into shimmering shards.
He led me into a lounge where several people lingered.
A striking woman rose the moment she saw him.
Her body moved like molten red silk, her dress clinging.
When she greeted Damian with a kiss on the mouth, something inside me twisted.
“Alessandra. It’s been a long time.” His voice softened in a way I hadn’t heard before. “This is Daisy Elfhorn. She’s helping me research an artifact.”
Alessandra smiled and extended a hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, forcing my voice steady as I took it.
The narrow couch had room for two. Damian sat beside her—no hesitation, no glance my way, no quiet Sit with me.
Of course there was no space left next to him. Of course she was there. Of course he didn’t look.