The walk to his bedroom felt like a fever dream.
One moment I was in his arms, pulse racing, lips still swollen from his mouth, my body alive with the memory of his hands.
The next, I was crossing the threshold into a room that looked exactly like him—dark, expensive, controlled, and dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with violence and everything to do with restraint.
Soft lamplight fell across charcoal walls and clean lines. The city glowed beyond the windows in sheets of gold and white, but I barely saw any of it.
Because Damian set me down beside the bed, and the second my feet touched the floor, his hands slid to my waist and he looked at me like he had brought me here for one reason and one reason only.
To lose control.
My breath caught.
He didn’t touch me right away.
T
