Elara
The black Range Rover turned onto a long private lane lined with ancient oak trees, their branches forming a natural canopy overhead. Golden afternoon light filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns across the gravel drive. I sat in the passenger seat beside Damian, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, the raven pendant resting cool between my breasts.
We had left London behind two hours ago. No work. No office. No rules that required pretending in front of others. Just us, for an entire weekend at his private Cotswolds estate.
I was nervous.
Not because I was scared of him.
But because I was scared of how much I wanted this.
Damian glanced over at me, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting possessively on my thigh.
“You’re quiet,” he said, voice low an
