Chapter 5 Perry
PERRY
We don’t separate right away. That’s how I know this isn’t over.
We’re stretched out across the bed in a lazy tangle of limbs, the sheets twisted and no longer pristine, my back pressed to his chest, his arm heavy and warm around my waist. My leg is draped over his, and it feels…
natural. Comfortable. Like this is where we were always going to end up once we started.
Jason’s bed.
The thought flickers through my head, sharp and satisfying, but it doesn’t pull me out of the moment. If anything, it anchors me in it. This room was always about him—his needs, his entitlement, his belief that everything eventually bent his way.
Not tonight.
I still remember the first time he brought me here to meet no one at all.
I had thought he brought me here to introduce me to his family.
But as it turned out, he’d planned the visit for a weekend no one would be here.
As he put it, “There’s no need for you to meet them. They’re no fun. You’d be bored.”
Like he was doing me a favor.
We had been dating for over a year, and I thought it meant something to go to his grandmother’s estate for the weekend. But she was shopping in Paris. His father was working, and his mother was getting a little something done around the eyes. His brothers had lives of their own to attend.
No one cared that we were there. Jason merely wanted to show off the ancient, expensive estate and screw me in his childhood bed.
So now, I’m screwing him.
Damian’s breath is steady against the back of my neck, slower now, deeper. He isn’t asleep. He’s too aware for that. I can feel it in the way his fingers flex absently at my hip, like he’s still half deciding what to do with them.
I tilt my head just enough to look back at him. Up close, he looks different than he did downstairs. Less composed. Less armored. His silver hair is mussed, his jaw relaxed, blue eyes darker than before, like something has finally taken the edge off him.
“This is…reckless,” he murmurs, not moving.
I smile. “You already said that.”
“And you didn’t argue.”
“My mouth was full.”
He exhales softly, a quiet laugh vibrating through his chest. “You’re dangerous.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Silence settles again, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged. Waiting. The kind that stretches until someone breaks it on purpose. His hand slides slowly up my side, unhurried, exploratory. Not grabbing. Not demanding. Just asking.
Nothing like his son.
I answer by shifting closer, pressing back into him, letting my body say yes before my mouth ever could.
That’s all it takes.
The air changes instantly. His arm tightens, his other hand coming up to cradle my jaw, turning me so he can kiss me properly this time. It’s deeper than before. Slower. Like he’s no longer pretending this is a lapse in judgment and has decided to fully participate.
I kiss him back with equal intent, my hand sliding across his chest, feeling the solid warmth there, the steady heartbeat underneath. He groans softly, the sound low and restrained, and it sends a shiver straight through me. We peel away layers, and my dress flashes through the air.
Finally naked except for my mask, we roll together without breaking contact, the bed shifting beneath us, the room narrowing down to heat and breath and the soft slide of skin. There’s nothing rushed about it. No frantic need. Just inevitability.
I pull back just long enough to look at him. “Still okay not knowing my name?”
His gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Right now, I don’t want anything that makes this real.”
I grin. “Good.”
But it is. It’s all real, and that’s the point. It’s real enough to crush Jason. Real enough to ruin his engagement to my evil sister.
Once we start again, there’s no pretending this is casual.
The shift is subtle at first—his hand firming at my hip, my fingers curling into his shoulder—but the intention snaps into place fast. Whatever restraint he was practicing downstairs is gone. Whatever line I thought we were dancing around evaporates the second he pulls me closer, and I let him.
He presses me back onto the bed, sliding on top of me like he belongs there. His hand curls around my neck and his thumb lines my jaw as he stares into my eyes. “Take off the mask?”
“Never.”
He nods once, and as he kisses me, his cock nudges against my wet pussy. I can’t deny that my body wants this man. He’s the same man who raised Jason, and it’s hard to forgive that, but I do anyway, cocking my hips to receive him.
When he thrusts in, we both gasp and groan. We move together like we’ve both agreed this moment deserves time. He kisses me deeper, slower, like he’s learning me instead of just reacting. I feel it in the way he pauses, adjusts, waits for my response before continuing.
I’m not used to that. He doesn’t hammer into me until he’s done. He’s paying attention to me.
No wonder Amber wants him back.
I slide my leg over his hip, the motion unhurried, inviting. His breath changes immediately—sharp inhale, quiet exhale—and his hand tightens on my throat. Not squeezing. Claiming.
When he arches his back and angles himself just right, pleasure bursts in my core. I didn’t see it coming, and it makes me gasp. Then he switches it up again, his pubic bone pressing against my clit. I can’t keep up. Not from this angle, not if he keeps going.
He leans down to my ear, says in a voice made of raw heat, “That’s it, isn’t it, Red? Just like that?”
I manage a nod before he moves again and my eyes roll back.
The bed shifts beneath us as he rolls us, positioning himself without breaking contact.
I register details in flashes—the headboard, the window, the moonlight catching on his silver hair—but my focus keeps snapping back to him.
To the weight of his body, the warmth, the way his presence fills the space like it was always meant to.
The way his cock does too. My body locks down, and I can’t do much more than let him have his way with me. A hand on my throat, him playing my body with his… It’s too much. I’m going to come—
I never come, not with a man. With toys by myself? All the time. But Damian hunts my orgasm like a predator, working me over and over again until I can’t see straight. He locks eyes with me, murmuring, “Come for—”
I tip over the edge, following his order as I let out an ugly sound. He kisses me, his tongue taking over like he owns my mouth as much as my body. Jason’s bed creaks softly beneath us, and the thought sends a rough thrill straight through me.
Damian presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed, breath uneven. “You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
I smile against his mouth, weak and loose-minded. “You followed me upstairs.”
A soft laugh leaves him, more breath than sound. “I did.”
We move together again, heat building, the night narrowing to sensation and sound and the unspoken agreement that this is happening because we both want it to. Because we’ve both chosen not to care about tomorrow.
I let myself sink into it completely.
He pulls out, flipping me over until he’s behind me and my face is buried in the pillows just before he plows into me. I’ll wake up with fingerprint bruises on my hips tomorrow, and the thought makes me grin into the five-hundred-thread-count blue pillowcase.
Damian is far more than I expected.
His body smacks mine so hard that my clit vibrates every time he hammers into me. I’m on the edge again before I know it, and then I turn my head to breathe, catching a photo of Jason’s college graduation on the nightstand.
I come again right then and there.
The world blurs. The music downstairs is nothing—I can’t hear it over the sound of our bodies coming together. Time stretches and then disappears entirely, leaving only the aftermath—the quiet, the shared breath, the sense of something completed without being concluded.
Damian growls behind me, “Fuck, I’m coming!”
I purr encouragement, bouncing back to meet his movements. He grips me harder still when he comes inside me, and his body keeps going even as he softens. When we finally slow, we stay close. And that somehow feels more intimate than anything that came before.
Eventually, though, I overheat, like always. So I lie on my side, propped on one elbow, watching Damian like he’s a painting I’m not allowed to touch anymore but refuse to stop looking at.
He’s on his back, one arm bent behind his head, chest rising and falling evenly.
Even his chest hair—what little there is—is silver.
The lines of him are softer now. Less guarded.
His hair catches the moonlight from the window, and I have the absurd thought that he looks younger like this—lighter. Content.
That does something strange to me, but I ignore it.
“This is usually where names come out, I think,” he says, voice casual, eyes still closed.
I smile. “Usually.”
He opens one eye, glancing at me. “You’re very committed to the bit. There’s no need for that.”
“Mystery ages well in the memory, and I want to remember tonight for what it is.”
He studies me for a long moment, like he’s testing that answer against something inside himself. Then he nods once, decisive.
We lapse into a comfortable silence, the kind that doesn’t demand filling. My gaze drifts around the room again. The bed. The pillows. The deliberate neatness that’s been undone just enough to tell a story. That picture on the nightstand makes me smile.
Jason will sleep here tonight.
I shift closer, resting my head briefly against Damian’s shoulder. He stiffens for half a second, then relaxes, arm coming around me without thinking. The gesture feels instinctive, unplanned.
But I don’t linger. I’m careful not to let this tip into something else. Expectations are not the point.
“Your house has excellent soundproofing,” I say lightly.
He huffs a laugh. “Old money perk.”
“Figures.”
We lie there a moment longer, bodies cooling, adrenaline fading. I can feel the night inching forward, the sense that this particular pocket of time is approaching its natural end.
When Damian shifts, stretching slightly, I know what’s coming next even before he says it. “We should clean up.”
I smile to myself, already planning my exit. “You first. I don’t think my legs will work. You wore me out.”
He laughs fully now, his eyes taking in the room again. They land somewhere distant. “Can’t believe I forgot to lock the door. Twice.”
“I can’t believe a man your age could go twice in a row.”
He swats my ass as he gets up. “I’m not that old.”
“Men younger than you have disappointed me.”
“The fools should have used something to help them go again. I’m glad I did.”
“Me too.”
He smiles, closes the door, and I’m off to the races. I slide off the bed, gathering my dress and smoothing it back into place. The silk falls just right, as if it’s been waiting for this moment. My heels are where I left them.
And then there’s the underwear. Red. Soft. Embroidered with Jason’s first name. I shimmied them off before Damian saw them, and now everyone will know where they were.
Jason gave them to me early on, presenting them like a naughty secret. It took me longer than I’m proud of to realize they weren’t special. That he gave a pair to every woman he slept with. His way of marking territory. His way of pretending exclusivity meant something.
The tacky asshole.
I fold them carefully, then reconsider. No. Careful is wrong.
I tuck them haphazardly between the pillows instead, just visible enough to be unmistakable, red against blue, his name catching the light. Anyone with eyes will know they don’t belong to a future bride. Anyone with a history with Jason will know exactly what they mean.
Presentation matters.
I take one last look around the room—the bed, the window, the quiet—and then I’m gone, slipping out into the hallway without a sound.
Downstairs, the party is still roaring. Masks sit slightly askew now, champagne flowing more freely, secrets multiplying by the minute.
I spot Faith near the staircase, tucked into Jason’s side, her head tilted up toward him like the future is a promise instead of a gamble. She looks radiant. Confident. Safe.
I pass close enough that she turns at the last second, eyes widening just a fraction. I lean in, my voice light, almost kind. “Red isn’t your color.”
She blinks, confused, already trying to place me. “I beg your—”
I keep walking, gliding through the room to the front doors. I snatch my coat and make my way into the cold. Snow crunches beneath my heels as I step into the night, breath puffing white, pulse steady.
Behind me, the Baylock estate glows, oblivious. Damian will come back to an empty bed and leave, wondering about his mystery woman. Jason and Faith will find a surprise.
Maybe I should feel bad for the havoc this will bring. But I don’t. In fact, I can’t stop smiling. I once told Jason not to break my heart. He promised not to. A man should keep his promises.
And a sister should know better than to steal a boyfriend.