Chapter 6 Daisy #2
My pride flared like an open wound; I wanted to rip her hand off his damn thigh. My body moved to the opposite couch—wider, but lonelier—while inside me a storm raged.
What had I expected? That he’d pull me onto his lap? That he’d say, Daisy, sit with me? How na?ve.
Heat flooded my face, raw and exposed. It was nothing. It was everything.
Rogger, one of the men beside me, leaned in with a charming smile and talked about Rome and its hidden corners. Drinks flowed, voices rose. Damian and Alessandra laughed. Her hand rested on his thigh—casual, proprietary.
A sharp twist tore through my gut. Then I saw her playing with his fingers—and worse, he let her. Not just let her; he brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, slow, deliberate, almost tender. Something inside me snapped so hard I grew dizzy.
I had no right to be hurt. And yet I was coming apart. My cheeks burned, my pride bristled, and I wanted nothing more than to rip her hand from his leg. Not because she’d crossed a line, but because she was permitted something I didn’t even dare wish for.
No one could see the storm in me. Not her. Least of all him.
Rogger poured me another drink, as if siding with my growing collapse.
“Do you want to dance?” he asked, passing me the glass.
“Why not?”
The moment I stood, a hand closed around my arm. Damian’s. His body too close, his grip too firm.
“I think you’ve had enough for tonight, Daisy.”
“And who decides that?” The words cut. My gaze locked on his and didn’t waver.
I slipped free, swallowed the drink in one burn, and set the glass down with a smile colder than ice. Then I turned to Rogger.
“Come on. Let’s dance.”
The alcohol burned, but not as much as the words I couldn’t say. The music couldn’t drown my thoughts. Damian lived under my skin.
Later, in the courtyard where lanterns swayed, I tried to breathe. Strings of lights hung between the trees, casting soft color across the cobblestones. For a flicker, everything felt light.
Rogger talked about midnight walks through Piazza Navona, his voice steady and warm. Then he set a hand lightly on my shoulder, almost friendly.
“Shall we get another drink?” he asked with a smile.
I was about to answer when movement at the doorway stopped me. Damian stood there—motionless, shoulders taut, jaw clenched. His gaze locked on Rogger’s hand. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He only looked, and it hit like a blow.
“If you put your hand on something that belongs to me again, I’ll break it.” His voice sliced the night open.
Rogger froze, hands raised. “I didn’t mean— I just thought—”
“Leave.”
He hesitated, then slipped back inside.
“Are you insane? What the hell was that? He was being friendly. He didn’t do anything.”
“His hand was on you.”
“So what? You didn’t exactly keep Alessandra at arm’s length.” The words left me before I could stop them. “Maybe you should go back inside. To her.”
He said nothing. Just looked at me. Then his mouth curved into a crooked smile.
“Are you jealous, Daisy? Do you want me for yourself? Does it make you nervous when someone else touches me? Are you already this hooked on me?”
Every question landed because it was true. I had no defense. No escape.
His hand closed around mine. “Come with me.”
The world fell away. Only his grip was real. Once inside the limousine, Damian pressed a button to seal us from the driver. He turned to me, tension wound tight between us.
Without warning, he yanked me onto his lap.
“I’ve spent the whole evening imagining my cock in your beautiful mouth. And how I’ll take you once we’re in the hotel room.”
“Oh really? That’s not what it looked like earlier. Alessandra’s hand on your thigh, you laughing, the way you held her hand—was that part of your fantasy too?”
Damn it, I sounded like a jealous brat.
His fingers dug into my hips. “That meant nothing.”
“But my shoulder was suddenly a problem?”
His grip tightened. His eyes fixed on me as if he might devour me. Silence burned; the air thrummed with something raw. My heart pounded, his breath feathered my skin, his hand slid up my thigh.
“You have no idea how much you provoke me—and that’s the problem.
” With one swift movement he lifted me, turned me in his hold, and set me astride his lap.
The motion was precise, rehearsed, as if he’d been imagining it all night.
My body tensed. His hard cock pressed through my panties; a quiet shudder ran through me as my hips ground instinctively against him.
“What the hell do you do to me?” he growled, fingers at his belt. The metallic click of the buckle echoed in the hush. Damian lifted his hips and shoved his pants down just enough.
With trembling fingers I closed my hand around him.
He groaned as I slid my palm along his length.
I slipped from his lap, knelt before him, and took him deep.
Damian’s head fell back; a hoarse gasp tore out as my tongue worked, my lips tightening.
I sucked harder, deeper, greedier. His fingers tangled in my hair, anchoring him to me as if I alone kept him from losing control.
His whole body bunched beneath my mouth, that legendary restraint of his unraveling second by second.
“Fuck, Daisy,” he groaned. “I’m about to come in your mouth.
” In a single move he looped my hair in his hand and pressed my face hard to his hips.
“Do you like it when I fuck your beautiful mouth?” His thrusts dug harder, more demanding, until he spilled down my throat.
“That’s it. Take it all from me. Every last drop. ”
I loved it. Loved that he wanted me like that. Loved the taste of him. For that burning beat he was mine—everything he was, everything he gave. I took him like a drug, knowing it would destroy me. I wanted only to be undone.
When we arrived at the hotel, Damian led me upstairs.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked, heading to the minibar.
“A soda, please.”
He came back with two small bottles, twisted one open, and handed it to me.
“That was an incredible find today,” he said as he sat. “Everything points to the
Phoenix pendant originating with Ramses.”
“What would that mean for you?”
“It would multiply its value a hundredfold—and cement my reputation. A discovery like this would earn me more respect among collectors and historians.” He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “It would prove every risk I’ve taken was worth it.”
I sipped. “Where did you even get the pendant?”
“An antique shop in France. Picked it up for a ridiculously low price.”
“You really were lucky.”
“But without your sharp eye, I never would have realized its worth. I owe it to you.”
Heat rose in my cheeks. I looked away. “It was a coincidence. I just remembered the pendant and made the connection.”
He plucked the bottle from my hand and set it aside. “Coincidence or not, your knowledge made the difference. Without you, I’d have sold it for a fraction of its true value.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
He rose, swept me into his arms, and carried me toward the bed.
“Are you on birth control?”
“Yes.”
Just as I braced for him to toss me onto the mattress, he stopped.
He set me gently on the floor and held my gaze—deep, piercing, stripping me bare.
The world fell away. Then he kissed me with an unexpected tenderness, as if he were giving me something sacred through his lips.
My thoughts blurred until there was nothing left but heat and the taste of him.
He guided me back onto the bed with gentle insistence. My body trembled beneath him. His next kiss was hungrier, almost desperate, as if he could not get enough. My breath broke into ragged gasps, and I let myself drown in the passion pouring from him.
“I want you all to myself,” he murmured against my lips.
“I want you to belong only to me, Daisy Elfhorn.” His fingers found the hem of my dress and slid it up over my breasts.
“You’re so damn beautiful.” The hunger for his touch devoured me.
So desperate. So all-consuming it terrified me.
Yet when he finally touched me, it felt like breathing for the first time. He slipped my panties down.
“Spread your legs for me,” he ordered. Shame rose, but I couldn’t deny him. My body moved before my mind caught up.
“That’s it,” he growled, his tongue teasing over my breasts. Torturously slow, he trailed lower to my navel while one hand stroked across my center. Every touch burned. His fingers sank deep inside me.
“Look at me, Daisy,” he commanded. I trembled as he pushed deeper, his dominance stripping me bare. It should have terrified me, but instead I felt safe in his control.
“Tell me who you belong to from now on,” he demanded, driving me further into madness.
“You,” I gasped, voice ragged. “I belong to you.”
His tongue found my most sensitive spot.
My body twitched, every nerve stretched to the limit.
I was nothing but a plaything for his desire, and I had never felt more alive.
When the climax hit, I cried his name and went completely undone.
His mouth pressed hard against me, leaving me scorched with the intensity of his touch.
My hips bucked, helpless, and I surrendered to the fire he lit in me.
When I came—hard and trembling—he drank me down. His tongue was greedy, relentless, as if my release belonged only to him. He licked me clean to the last shiver, unwilling to let a single trace escape. Only then did he lift his head, slow and deliberate, as though it cost him something to stop.
“I love how you taste.”
In one fluid motion he stripped off his shirt and pants.
Awe and desire crashed over me in a single wave.
Damian Miller was a force of nature — untamed, raw power; something primal that swallowed everything in its path.
My heart slammed against my ribs as he pinned my wrists above my head, holding them easily with one hand.
My muscles tightened under the weight of his dominance. I felt trapped and free at once.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never think about anyone else again.”
With one ruthless thrust he filled me — so deep, so hard — that a raw gasp ripped from my throat.
Shock and desire fused into one current, burning through every fiber of me. He was hot, unyielding, carved from stone.
“Do you feel that?” he growled in my ear. “Do you feel how hard I am—without you even touching me?”
His words seared into me, and suddenly I no longer knew where I ended and he began.
I was open, straining, hungry. My thoughts dissolved like paper in flame until only one thing remained: him.
His thrusts were merciless. Demanding. Each one dragged me closer to the edge.
He held me down, not tenderly but with a dark obsession that made me feel achingly alive.
One hand pinned my arms to the mattress like an anchor; the other curled around my throat — a silent vow: you belong to me.
My pulse hammered beneath his palm. I closed my eyes and let myself fall into that dark nothing.
“Open your eyes,” he hissed. “I don’t just want you to feel this. I want you to know it’s me making you feel this way.”
His hand tightened. The air thinned. My body arched — resisting, yielding at once.
The orgasm tore through me, not quietly but violently, breaking me apart only to remake me.
As I shook beneath him, I knew I could never belong to anyone else.
Not in body. Not in soul. He was my abyss. I had already jumped.
“Fuck,” he groaned hoarsely as his body stiffened.
His thrusts grew rougher, desperate, until he spilled inside me with a guttural sound that shook his chest. I felt him pulsing — hot, relentless — burning into me, filling me.
My body clenched around him, desperate to hold him—never let go.
It was more than physical. Something of him stayed—darkness, obsession, the whole of him.
Damian trembled against me, heavy and warm, locked in the moment.
I lay beneath him, wrecked and trembling—yet somehow whole.
Wholeness was a lie. What he gave, he would take back.