13. Nichole’s Haven #2
Damian’s eyes flickered with something calculated. Something that sent a slow pulse of anticipation through me.
“I think about everything, cara mia.” His voice dipped lower. “Including you.”
I barely had time to process the words before he turned—
Moving toward the bookshelf again.
As if he hadn’t just shattered my carefully constructed composure.
As if he hadn’t just admitted something I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear.
As if he didn’t already know that, no matter how much I fought it—
I was thinking about him, too.
Always.
The silence between us stretched, taut and charged.
Damian had turned back toward the bookshelf, his fingers ghosting over the spines, his attention seemingly elsewhere. But I knew better.
The distance between us wasn’t real.
Not when my body still remembered the phantom weight of his touch.
Not when my pulse still thrummed with the words he had left lingering in the air.
I crossed my arms, steadying myself. “You never answered my question.”
Damian glanced at me over his shoulder, dark eyes flashing with something unreadable. “Which one?”
I frowned. He knew exactly which one. “Why are you here?” I repeated, refusing to let him redirect the conversation this time.
Damian didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, he pulled a book from the shelf, flipping through its pages with casual ease. He looked like he belonged here—standing in front of my carefully curated chaos, his sharp edges softened by the warm glow of the lanterns.
But he didn’t belong.
And we both knew it.
Finally, he closed the book with a soft thud, setting it back in place before turning fully toward me. His gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate, and when he spoke, his voice carried none of his usual teasing edge.
“I needed to see you.”
The confession hit me like a slow-burning flame.
I swallowed hard. “You—” I cut myself off, trying to process the weight of those words.
Needed.
Not wanted. Not stumbled upon.
Needed.
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. “Damian, that’s not—”
He stepped closer, closing the space between us again, and just like before, the air shifted—like gravity itself had realigned around him. Around us.
“Don’t overthink it, tesoro.” His voice was quieter now, more intimate. “I don’t make a habit of explaining myself.”
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. He was so close. Close enough that I had to tilt my chin up just slightly to hold his gaze.
“This isn’t fair,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.
His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “What isn’t?”
I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to step back, to breathe. “This. You.” I gestured vaguely between us, frustration bubbling up. “You can’t just show up whenever you feel like it, say things like that, and expect me to just—”
“Just what?” His voice was smooth, coaxing. Dangerous.
I clenched my jaw. “Forget about it?”
His smirk was slow, knowing. “That’s the last thing I want.”
I stared at him, my pulse a chaotic rhythm in my ears.
This was a game to him. A test. But the problem wasn’t just him. The problem was that I wanted to play.
I wanted to lean into the pull, to see just how much heat was wrapped in the tension between us.
But I couldn’t.
I stepped back again, creating space between us.
This time, Damian let me.
But I could see it—the flicker of something in his expression. The acknowledgment that I was running.
And that I wouldn’t get far.
I cleared my throat, needing to break whatever hold he had on me. “Well, you’ve seen me. Mission accomplished.”
Damian’s smirk returned, but it was softer this time. Amused. “You’re trying to get rid of me.”
I huffed. “I’m succeeding in getting rid of you.”
His eyes darkened slightly, something unreadable flickering behind them.
“Don’t count on it.”
The words sent a slow shiver through me.
I turned away, pretending to fuss with the blanket I had abandoned earlier, but I could feel him watching me. The weight of his gaze settled over my skin, warm and intrusive.
A scoff caught in my throat, but before I could respond, he took a slow step toward me.
The air thickened.
“Ask me again,” he murmured, his voice quieter now—more intimate.
A slow, deliberate dare.
I swallowed hard, but my body betrayed me, drawn into the gravitational pull that was him. “Ask you what?”
His gaze darkened. “What you really want to know.”
I hated him for this. For the way he saw me. For how easily he peeled me apart, stripped me down without ever touching me.
I squared my shoulders, trying to summon the strength I always carried, the walls that had never cracked before.
But it was impossible to hold on when he was this close.
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “Why are you really here, Damian?”
Something flickered in his eyes—something undone.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for me.
His fingers traced along my wrist, light, slow, as if testing the weight of my pulse beneath his touch.
And that single, deliberate movement wrecked me.
I sucked in a breath, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough with him.
His grip tightened slightly, his thumb brushing the rapid thrum of my heartbeat.
“I already told you.”
I shook my head. “Tell me again.”
Damian exhaled, and for the first time, I saw it—hesitation.
Not because he didn’t know the answer.
But because he did.
His fingers slid from my wrist up to my palm, interlacing with mine in a slow, devastating movement.
And then he whispered the words that shattered every last defense I had left.
“I can’t stay away from you.”
The confession wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t practiced.
It was raw.
Something inside me cracked.
Before I could think—before I could stop myself—I lifted onto my toes, my free hand sliding against the back of his neck, pulling him down.
And this time, when our lips met—
There was no hesitation.
Damian’s kiss was a storm—wild, consuming, and devastating in its intensity.
The moment our lips met, heat erupted between us, a fire that neither of us seemed willing to extinguish.
His hands, rough and calloused from years of control and power, gripped my waist with a desperation that sent a thrill down my spine.
He pulled me closer—closer than I thought possible—like he was trying to fuse us together, as if letting go wasn’t an option.
I melted into him, surrendering to the raw hunger that crackled between us.
The soft glow of the evening sun filtered through the windows, painting our skin in molten gold. But the world outside didn’t exist. Not in this moment. Not when Damian’s mouth moved over mine with a hunger that matched my own.
I tasted the remnants of wine on his tongue, dark and intoxicating, a reminder of the tension that had simmered between us all night.
His grip tightened, fingers pressing into my hips like he was branding me.
The need, the restraint barely hanging by a thread—I felt it in every breath, every lingering touch.
I tangled my hands in his dark, wavy hair, tugging just enough to make him growl against my lips. The sound sent a pulse of need through me, sharp and electric.
The air between us thickened, laced with something darker, something inevitable.
Damian’s hands slid up my back, his touch slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of me.
I shivered as his fingers traced the delicate line of my spine before settling on my waist, his grip possessive.
A soft moan slipped from my lips, swallowed by his kiss—a kiss that was both an unspoken promise and a warning.
He broke away, trailing his lips along my jaw, his breath hot against my skin. “You’re breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked with need.
A surge of power coursed through me at the way he looked at me—like I was something untouchable, something he had no business wanting but couldn’t resist. I traced the sharp edge of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath my fingertips.
“I’ve wanted this since the moment I laid eyes on you,” I whispered, my confession slipping out before I could stop it. “To feel your lips on mine. To be this close to you.”
Damian’s gaze darkened, something dangerous flashing behind those piercing blue eyes. “Then why wait any longer?”
The anticipation was suffocating.
Without another word, I took his hand, leading him toward my bedroom. Each step felt heavier, the air thick with the weight of unspoken promises. My pulse pounded against my ribs as I shut the door behind us, sealing us in.
The golden light of the setting sun bathed the room in warmth, casting soft shadows over Damian’s chiseled features. I wanted to memorize everything—every flicker of desire in his eyes, every restrained breath, the tension in his muscles as he fought for control.
But I didn’t want control.
I wanted to shatter it.
I pressed against him, my body molding to his as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me impossibly closer.
His lips found mine again, and this time, there was no hesitation.
The kiss was rough, hungry—like we were devouring each other.
My hands roamed his body, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, the inked stories on his skin.
Damian’s grip on me tightened. His fingers trailed down my back, slipping under my shirt, the heat of his touch leaving a scorching path in its wake.
With one swift motion, he lifted my top over my head, his breath catching as his eyes darkened. His thumb traced the ink on my shoulder—a delicate portrait framed by flowers and butterflies.
“This is stunning,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over the tattoo with reverence. “It suits you.”
A shiver ran through me, my body responding to his voice, his touch.
Before I could say anything, his mouth was on mine again—demanding, possessive. His hands worked with skilled precision, unhooking my bra and tossing it aside. The cool air sent goosebumps across my skin, but the way his gaze darkened as he took me in set my body ablaze.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasped, his hands sliding down my torso, slow, reverent.