Chapter 8 Daisy #3
We went back to the main room. Mr. Bellini rose, eyes alight, holding the pendant in both hands.
“The artifact dates to Ramses III—and it is the original.”
I could hardly breathe. “Is that true?” I whispered.
Bellini nodded and opened the case to reveal the gleaming Phoenix. “Yes. It’s authentic. Every test and analysis confirms it.”
Damian and I exchanged a look. A slow smile spread across his face as he stared at the pendant.
“This is incredible. We did it.”
I could barely hold in my joy. “A piece of history—finally uncovered.”
Mr. Bellini smiled with quiet satisfaction and closed the case with reverence.
“It has been an honor to help authenticate such a remarkable artifact. It will undoubtedly become a cornerstone of your collection. This find will change much for you, Damian.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Giovanni.”
“It is my calling to preserve treasures of the past,” Bellini replied modestly.
Damian turned to me. “And you, Daisy—without you, none of this would have been possible. You’re worth gold.”
He stepped forward, wrapped me in his arms, and pressed a long kiss to my forehead.
“I’d say we’ve all earned a bottle of wine and a toast to this,” Bellini said warmly.“That sounds perfect,” Damian agreed, carefully securing the pendant back in its bag while I gathered his laptop and the documents.
Just before sunset, Damian and I walked along the wide, deserted beach of Sabaudia. The sand beneath our feet was warm and soft, and a breeze carried the scent of sea and pines. Clear turquoise water lapped at the shore. In the distance, the dunes rose like vast golden waves, frozen in place.
I pulled a fresh fig from my bag and handed one to Damian.
“It’s so quiet here,” I said, biting into mine. Sweet juice slipped across my lips.
“Almost as if we’ve stumbled onto a secret place.”
Damian nodded, eyes sweeping the horizon.
“Is the artifact safe in the limousine?” I asked.
“We have three armed guards. Even I wouldn’t dare to get past them. I’d trust those men with my life.”
“I still can’t believe the Phoenix pendant is real. It feels like holding a piece of history in our hands.”
“We are.”
“And what do you plan to do with it now?”
“I need to think it over carefully,” Damian said after a pause. “I’ll probably unveil it at a gala—invite the biggest sharks in the business.”
“Just imagine their faces.”
“It will be a grand night. And you, Daisy, are the guest of honor.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”
Damian stopped in front of me. “No?”
I arched a brow. “What?”
“Daisy,” he said, deliberate, “I think you still don’t see it. The glory isn’t mine. It’s yours. You found it.”
“But I’d feel uncomfortable being paraded like that. I don’t want it.”
“I could just mention your name. You wouldn’t even need to step onstage.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” His tone was firm. “We’ll need to get you a dress tomorrow. This is an important evening. A lot is at stake for me.”
“I understand,” I murmured, letting my gaze drift across the wide beach, the calm waves, the golden light. The setting sun wrapped the world in warmth, turning the moment almost unreal. It had been so long since I’d swum in the sea. I wanted to feel it against my skin again.
“Turn around,” I said, half serious, half playful.
Damian’s eyebrow lifted, but he didn’t move.
“Come on. I mean it, Damian. Please.”
An amused flicker touched his lips, and he obeyed.
I slipped the straps from my shoulders in one motion. My light summer dress slid down and pooled in the sand. For a moment I stood bare, the breeze brushing across my skin. Then I ran—the sea calling me.
The first waves curled around my feet, a cool embrace welcoming me.
“You can look now!” I shouted back. Floating onto my back, I let myself drift, eyes fixed on the sky as it deepened into a darker blue. The sea washed over me, carrying away weight, carrying away fear.
Damian stood unmoving, carved from stone. I savored the water against my skin, the sharp salt on my lips. Slowly I swam to shore. By the time I reached the sand, I was trembling. Droplets slid down my thighs, my ribs, my collarbone. I was naked. Nothing stood between us but a few meters of sand.
Yet he didn’t look. Instead, he closed his eyes—calm, controlled—and pulled off his shirt.
Without a word, he handed it to me, that composed restraint that always threw me off balance.
A slight twitch flickered at the corner of his eye.
Then, one blink. His left eye cracked open just enough to catch me.
A grin tugged at my lips. “Cheater.” I wrapped myself in his shirt, still warm from him, pulling it tight. “You can open your eyes now,” I whispered, meeting his stare.
In one swift movement, he lifted me into his arms and carried me through a narrow passage between the rocks.
The sound of the surf followed us until we reached a hidden cove.
He set me down gently, stripped off his pants, and slid beside me.
His skin against mine felt like fierce, needed warmth.
My fingers tangled in his hair, desperate for the texture.
He caught my wrists and pinned them above my head, his grip unyielding as shackles.
A shadow passed over his face—eyes dark and demanding, like a storm about to break. He paused, utterly still, as if something inside held him back. I felt the shift—the tension lodged not only between us but inside him.
“What’s wrong?”
He hesitated, then spoke low. “You’re so fragile. I’m afraid for you. Because I know I could break you. Leave nothing but ruins, remake you into what I choose.”
My heart lurched, then thundered against my ribs, loud enough to drown thought. My chest tightened; my body betrayed me. Shouldn’t that frighten me? It didn’t.
It got worse.
Too much.
Too close.
Too deep.
I wanted him more for it. His grip tightened around my wrists, almost painfully, as if to make sure I could not escape—not from his hold, not from his words, not from him.
His free hand traced over me, slow, deliberate, leaving fire in its wake until it reached my thigh.
Instinctively I parted my legs, as if some hidden part of me already understood he had claimed me.
He lowered himself between them, his breath brushing my skin like liquid flame.
When his tongue touched me, I flinched. My fingers dug into sand—the grains burned like splinters beneath my nails.
Every nerve tuned to him, every fiber strung tight, as though he’d rewired me.
And yet, each time the wave inside me began to crest, he pulled back. Torture. Cold. Calculated. Perfect.
“Damian, please.”
“Please what?” he asked. He was playing. With me. With everything I was.
“Let me…”
“You want me to let you come? To keep fucking you with my tongue?”
I shut my eyes. Shame and desire clashed inside me, two wild beasts.
“Then say it. Say you belong to me. Because if you can’t, you’ll never feel this again. Never again my hands. Never again my closeness. Never again me.”
Fear, hunger, a deep aching that only he could soothe trembled through me.
“I belong to you,” I whispered. “I… I belong to you.” As the words left me, I asked myself why he always wanted to hear that—not that I loved him, not that I would stay, but that I belonged.
I understood. Possession was his safety.
Love, in his world, never existed free. It had to be controlled, bound, held tight.
If I belonged to him, I couldn’t leave. If I belonged to him, I couldn’t hurt him.
If I belonged, he remained the one who decided how deep it went.
Maybe that was his way of loving— in chains, with skin, with voice, with vow.
With a ravenous glint in his eyes, Damian dove between my thighs again, and every movement dragged me further from myself.
Ecstasy slammed into me like a storm, ripping everything loose, sweeping me under.
Then he was on top of me—hot, heavy, his body sealing me to the earth.
Our fingers tangled, his grip so fierce it felt like he was pinning me to reality itself.
Then he thrust into me—hard, deep, merciless.
I wanted to scream, but the sound caught in my throat.
Every thrust was an unspoken command: You belong to me.
“Only I will feel you like this. No one else,” he whispered hoarsely against my ear. “You won’t forget. You won’t want another man again. You’ll crave me—in every breath, in every dream, in every night.”
It was manipulation. Pure and sharp. It was also truth. My truth. His truth. I felt it in my chest, in my skin, in my bones. He was my ruin, and I was willing to love him for it.
“I want to come in your mouth. And you’re going to swallow every drop. Understand?”
“Yes,” I breathed. He pulled out of me and knelt above me.
“Open.” He shoved himself past my lips, hands locked on either side of my head, holding me as he drove himself into my throat. Damian groaned, his body shuddering as he came in a hard rush. Heat spilled down my throat.
“Swallow it, Daisy. All of it.”
Moments later he collapsed beside me in the sand, chest heaving.
For a long while we lay in silence as darkness crept over us and the waves whispered their steady song.
Stars blinked awake above. His hand stroked my back, and the sudden tenderness undid me.
Maybe—just maybe—I could break through the hard shell of this man.
He hesitated, then his voice came low. “The way you see the world fascinates me. I like being with you.”
I lifted my gaze slowly and felt the weight of that confession.
Startled by his own honesty, he turned away, rose quickly, and pulled on his pants. He fetched my dress and handed it to me. I slipped it over my head, skin still buzzing.
“This,” he said, holding up my panties like a stolen relic, “is now property of the Miller Foundation for indecently good memories.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Donations are nonrefundable, Miss Elfhorn.”
“Seriously?” I repeated, outraged.
He grinned wider. “Really, Miss Elfhorn. Donations are nonrefundable.” He scooped up my shoes and, before I could protest, hoisted me up in one fluid motion.
“Damian!” I shrieked, half laughing, half appalled, as I landed over his shoulder. Hair tumbled into my face; I smacked his back playfully. “What the hell are you doing? Put me down!”
“Isn’t this what you wanted? A dark prince to carry you away?”
“That’s not how I pictured it,” I shot back. “For the record, he should carry me in his arms—not throw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”
“Well, Daisy,” he rumbled, amused, “take what you can get. You can complain once you’re back on your feet.” His hand cracked against my ass.
God, this man was impossible. Arrogant. Overbearing. Infuriatingly sexy. And there was nowhere I would rather be than right there—thrown over his shoulder, pressed close, utterly powerless against the fire of him.