Touch Me Like You Mean It
1620 Words
Cara wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey on her breath or the way Damian was looking at her—like she was both a challenge and a craving—but her skin felt electrified under his gaze. She had told herself she was just here to hear him out, to tie up loose ends, maybe even to slap him across the face. But now, backed against the velvet wall of the hotel suite he’d lured her into, her body had its own plans.
“You think this is a game?” she hissed, though her voice was breathless.
Damian’s eyes darkened. “Everything with you is a game, Cara. And don’t pretend you’re not playing it just as hard.”
She tried to push past him. He didn’t move. His body was all tension and temptation—taut muscle, coiled control, dangerous heat.
“I hate you,” she said.
His smirk was almost cruel. “Good. That’ll make this feel even better.”
And then his mouth was on hers—ruthless, hungry, wild.
She gasped at him, grabbing his shirt with trembling hands, pulling him closer when she should’ve pushed him away. His hands were on her waist, then her hips, then sliding under the hem of her blouse like they belonged there. Maybe they did.
The kiss turned into something else—darker, deeper. A claiming.
“You don’t get to do this,” she said when he finally let her breath.
“You have already let me,” he growled, pushing her gently toward the bed. “And you’re going to let me again.”
Her heart thundered, torn between fear and fire.
She hated how much she wanted this. Hated how every nerve in her body screamed for more.
And when his hands found the button in her jeans, she didn’t stop him.
But just as her lips parted in surrender, her phone buzzed violently on the nightstand.
Damian paused, breath hot on her neck. Her eyes flicked to the screen. Unknown number.
The text read:
“Are you enjoying the game, Cara? The next rule is coming. And this one… burns.” —Z.
Her stomach twisted. Damian saw the screen over her shoulder.
“Z again?” he muttered, voice sharp.
She sat up. “You know about him?”
Damian’s expression changed—guarded now, tense. “We need to talk.”
But it was too late for words.
The moment had cracked. The s*x was unfinished, the truth still tangled in heat. And the game… was only just beginning.
Cara grabbed the phone, fingers trembling. Another message came in.
“One of them is lying to you. And the other? He’ll destroy you.”
And for the first time in a long time, Cara realized: the danger wasn’t just in their touch. It was in their truths.
“You already let me,” Damian growled, his voice rough with possession. “And you’re going to let me again.”
Cara didn’t want to admit how fast her heartbeat was pounding—or how quickly her body betrayed every bitter word she’d ever hurled at him. She should’ve slapped him. Walked away. Called him a mistake and meant it.
But she didn’t.
Because his hands felt like fire and familiarity.
Because for all the lies and betrayal, no one had ever touched her like he did—like he knew her body better than she did.
He lowered her onto the edge of the bed, lips grazing the side of her neck. “Say stop,” he whispered. “And I will.”
She didn’t say it.
Instead, her fingers curled around his collar, yanking him back to her mouth. The kiss was bruising—two years of longing and rage colliding. She gasped when he pulled her blouse apart, buttons scattering like broken promises. His hands moved with purpose, trailing over the lace of her bra, teasing, testing.
“Still taste like sin,” he murmured against her skin.
She arched into him, breathless. “And you still talk too much.”
He chuckled darkly and shifted lower, lips tracing fire along her stomach.
Every nerve lit up.
Every thought is blurred.
Until—
Her phone buzzed again.
Cara’s breath caught.
Damian paused, lips hovering just above her navel. “Ignore it.”
But her gut said otherwise. That wasn’t just a random call.
She reached blindly, grabbed the phone from the nightstand. The screen flashed another unknown message.
Unknown Number:
“Round two begins tonight. He’s not who you think he is. You’ll see.” —Z
Damian saw her freeze. His eyes met hers, sharp and unreadable.
“You need to tell me who the hell Z is,” she said.
He exhaled slowly. “Not here.”
“That’s not good enough, Damian.”
He stood, running a hand through his tousled hair, still hard, still heavy with lust—and now laced with something more dangerous.
“I was trying to protect you, Cara.”
She stood too, pulling her shirt back together, adrenaline now outweighing arousal. “Protect me? From what?”
Damian’s silence told her more than words ever could.
Another buzz. Another text.
“There’s a reason your marriage ended the way it did, Cara. You just never knew the whole truth. But I’ll help you remember.” —Z
She stared at the screen, heart sinking. Her marriage. Her divorce. Michael.
“What does Z have to do with Michael?” she demanded.
Damian stepped closer, jaw tight. “Everything.”
And just like that, the heat between them turned into wildfire—the kind that burned homes, lives… and hearts.
Before Cara could ask another question, her hotel room door burst open—Michael stood there, eyes blazing, fists clenched.
“I warned you not to see him again,” he said.
Damian took a slow step forward, dangerous calm in his voice. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
And somewhere, deep in her bones, Cara knew:
This wasn’t just a love triangle.
It was a war.
And she was the prize.
The room crackled with a silence so taut it could snap.
Cara’s breath was shallow as her gaze swung between Damian and Michael. Her ex-husband hadn’t changed—same tailored arrogance, same sharp suit, same eyes that could look through you like you were a number on a ledger. But tonight… there was something darker simmering in him. Rage. Jealousy. And maybe something even worse—ownership.
Michael’s voice cut through the tension. “I told you, Cara. He’s poison.”
“And you’re what? The cure?” she snapped, the words tasting like defiance.
Damian didn’t flinch. He took a deliberate step forward, placing himself slightly in front of her. Protective. Territorial.
“You don’t get to barge in here and make threats,” Damian said coldly. “She’s not yours anymore.”
Michael’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Is that what she told you? That she’s free?” His eyes locked on hers, as if daring her to deny what he already believed. “You think he’s better than me, Cara? Wait until you find out what he’s hiding.”
A flash of pain jolted through her chest—because she already knew Damian was hiding something. She just didn’t know what. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to find out.
But this—this messy, heated triangle she’d just fallen into again—it wasn’t just lust and history anymore. It was secrets buried in skin. It was betrayal wrapped in silk sheets.
Michael’s gaze dropped to her torn blouse, her bruised lips, Damian’s unbuttoned shirt.
Disgust rippled through his voice. “You’re repeating the same mistake all over again.”
Cara’s body tensed. But her voice was calm, measured. Dangerous. “No, Michael. This time, I’m choosing my own damn mistake.”
The words hung in the air—like a slap, a scream, a reckoning.
Michael’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t retaliate. He simply slid a small envelope from his coat pocket and placed it on the dresser.
“When you’re done playing with fire,” he said, “read that.”
He left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him like a closing trap.
Cara moved slowly, her pulse pounding. She picked up the envelope, hands trembling.
Inside was a photo.
Not of her.
Not of Michael.
But of Damian—years ago. With a woman she didn’t recognize.
Blood on his hands.
Gun in his belt.
Her breath caught.
Damian didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His silence said everything.
“Who is she?” Cara asked quietly.
“A mistake,” he said.
“You killed someone?”
He didn’t answer. Which meant yes.
And yet, God help her, she still wanted him.
Wanted him more than was sane. More than was safe.
Her voice cracked. “Tell me the truth, Damian. All of it.”
And then…
His lips were on hers again.
This time not rushed. Not violent.
This was a goodbye. Or maybe a confession. Or both.
And as his hands slid down her waist and his mouth trailed heat over her collarbone, she knew—
The deeper she went with him, the darker this game would get.
But she couldn’t stop.
Because Damian didn’t just touch her body.
He touched her chaos.
Just as she moaned his name into his neck, her phone lit up again.
New Message from Z:
“Now you’ve seen his past. Ready for yours?”
Cara froze.
This wasn’t just a game anymore.
This was war.
And Z knew exactly where to strike next.
- Writer
