Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lily
A couple of weeks after my conversation with Sophia, Damiano tells me he wants to show me something.
He doesn’t say much, merely gives me that crooked half-smile and tells me to dress comfortably.
When we drive, it’s not in a motorcade, not in one of his armored black beasts, but in a quiet, sleek sedan.
Only the two of us, like a normal couple.
The drive is short and soon we pull up in front of a restored stone building tucked behind an ivy-covered wall. It looks like something out of a European countryside painting, old-world charm with new-world polish. Warm wood doors, soft golden lighting inside and a sign painted in delicate script.
“Sanctuary—Veterinary Care and Healing.”
I blink at the sign, at the building, then at him. “What is this?” I ask, my voice already thick with something I’m afraid to name. He doesn’t answer. He simply takes my hand and leads me inside.
The space is beautiful, warm and full of light.
It smells like cedar and disinfectant and comfort.
There are exam rooms with brand-new equipment, a surgical suite that would make any vet weep, a recovery ward with soft beds and soothing music playing low in the background.
There’s even a quiet corner with blankets and books for people waiting with their animals, or just needing a place to breathe.
I turn slowly, speechless. Damiano is watching me, waiting, his expression is unreadable. “It’s yours,” he says quietly.
I blink. “What?”
He steps closer. “I bought the building. Staffed it, got all the permits. You can run it, work in it, visit it. Or lock the doors and never set foot in it again. It’s yours, love, to do whatever you want.”
I swallow hard. “But…why?”
He’s quiet for a beat. Then he shrugs. “Because even monsters have pets. Even killers have things they love. And the world…the world is full of broken things. But this”—he gestures around us, his voice low, steady, earnest—“this can be a place that heals something.” He steps closer.
His hand lifts to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You heal things, little flower. Whether you mean to or not. This world of mine is full of blood and cruelty and power. But you? You remind me why it’s worth protecting at all. ”
I swallow hard. “It’s too much. I don’t know if I can—”
“You can.” His voice cuts through, soft but absolute. “And even if you don’t believe that yet…I do. I believe in you enough for both of us.”
“I’m not sure I deserve this.”
He smiles, slow, and tender. “You deserve more than this world knows how to give. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying anyway. If you’ll let me.”
I look around again, and it’s so me. Every detail.
Every room. It’s the dream I never let myself believe I’d have again.
And he saw it. He made it real. My throat is thick, and my hands are shaking.
And all I can think is, This man…he sees me.
Not only who I am, but who I still want to be.
He sees my dreams, my hopes. He is offering me a future.
It hits me then, like it does more and more lately, how deeply I love him.
And God, the chemistry between us hasn’t dulled at all.
It simmers in the silence, charges the air.
It’s in the way his hand lingers on my waist, the way his eyes flick to my mouth when I speak, the way he looks at me like he wants to ruin me in the most beautiful way possible.
* * * *
Later, back at the condo, I don’t even make it past the front door. The door clicks shut behind us, the city left far behind, and I feel it, the shift in him. In the silence, in the way his body tightens under my touch. His hand glides down my back, possessive and steady.
“Go to the bedroom,” he says, his voice low and rough, a command wrapped in velvet.
My breath catches, and my legs move before I even think.
I trust him more than I’ve ever trusted anyone.
And I want this. Need it. I hear his footsteps behind me, unhurried, full of that calm control that both unsettles and ignites something in me.
When I stop at the edge of the bed, I turn to face him.
He is already pulling off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt with slow, controlled movements.
“I don’t want soft tonight,” I tell him. My voice is barely more than a whisper. “I want you, all of you.”
His dark eyes burn as he steps in front of me and cups my chin with his hand. “You’ll have me,” he murmurs. “But you’ll take me the way I give myself. On my terms.” A shiver rolls through me, and I nod.
“Good girl,” he whispers, and just like that, my knees nearly give out.
His mouth crashes against mine in a hard, hungry, possessive claiming.
He kisses me like he owns me, his tongue demanding submission.
And God, I give it willingly, melting into him with a breathless need.
He slides his fingers into my hair and tugs, exposing my throat, then he bites gently along the line of it before trailing down to my collarbone.
“Take your clothes off,” he says. “Now.”
I obey, pulse pounding as I peel off each layer. When I stand bare before him, I feel powerful and exposed and completely his. He doesn’t undress all the way…just enough to remind me he’s in control. He unbuckles his belt with a sound that makes my breath catch.
“Lie down. Hands above your head. Don’t move.” I do as he says, heart hammering.
He kneels over me, eyes drinking in every inch of me with a feral hunger. “You’re mine, love. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I whisper, my body arching into his touch.
“No.” He growls softly. “Say it like you believe it.”
“I’m yours, Damiano.” I moan, louder this time, eyes locked on his. “All of me.”
He rewards me with his mouth on my nipple, his teeth dragging lightly over sensitive skin until I’m writhing beneath him.
He sucks and licks the sensitive peak until it is almost too painful.
Then he moves to the other breast. He moves his warm hands over my bare skin, eliciting shivers from my oversensitive body.
He doesn’t let me touch him, not yet. Every movement is unhurried.
Every sound he draws from me is earned. When he finally slides into me, it is with one long, slow thrust that has me gasping and clinging to him, nails digging into his back.
“You feel like heaven wrapped around sin.” He groans against my neck. “You’re going to take every inch of me, and then you’re going to thank me for it.”
“Please,” I beg. “Don’t stop.”
“Not until you can’t walk straight tomorrow.
” He takes me hard and deep, pinning mine down with his hands, his breath hot against my cheek.
Each thrust feels like a promise, of safety, of surrender, of love wrapped in dominance and heat.
When I come, it’s with his name on my lips like a prayer.
Then he follows, holding me so tightly I feel it in my soul.
Later, when we are tangled in the sheets, sweat cooling between us, he strokes my hair and murmurs in my ear. “You’re stronger than you know,” he says. “But you don’t have to be strong with me. I’ll be the monster. I’ll be the fire and the shield. You just be mine.”
“I already am,” I whisper. And know I am utterly, completely, irrevocably his.