Lack Of Restraint
967 Words
I didn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard him again.
If I punish you, you’re not going to like how much you enjoy it.
By three in the morning, I gave up trying.
The estate was silent when I slipped out of bed.
Soft lights glowed dimly through the halls, the house colder at night than it ever felt during the day. I walked downstairs quietly, one hand rubbing tiredly over my face.
Tiny sleep shorts. Thin black bralette. Oversized hoodie abandoned somewhere on my bedroom floor because I’d been too restless to wear it.
I should’ve stayed upstairs.
Instead, I followed the faint kitchen light.
Bad decision.
Again.
I stepped into the kitchen—
And stopped immediately.
Damon stood at the counter with his back partially turned toward me.
Shirtless.
Grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, dark hair slightly damp like he’d just showered or worked out. One hand braced against the marble counter while the other lifted a glass of water to his mouth.
For a second, my brain stopped functioning properly.
Broad shoulders.
Defined back.
The slow shift of muscle beneath skin when he moved.
And lower—
God.
I looked away too late.
Because he noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“Can’t sleep?”
His voice was rougher tonight.
Lower.
I swallowed hard. “No.”
His eyes moved over me once.
Not rushed.
Worse.
Slow enough that heat climbed immediately into my chest.
The bralette suddenly felt like a horrible decision.
“You always walk around the house dressed like that?” he asked quietly.
I crossed my arms automatically. “You’re shirtless.”
That earned the faintest reaction from him.
Almost a smile.
“Fair point.”
Silence settled again.
Heavy.
I moved toward the counter slowly, trying not to stare at him again and failing almost instantly.
Because now I knew what he looked like without the tailored suits and dress shirts.
And it was ruining me.
“You’re staring.”
The words hit directly.
I looked up too fast and found him already watching me.
Completely aware.
Heat flooded my face. “You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep doing it.”
My pulse stumbled.
He stepped closer to the counter across from me, forearms resting lightly against the marble.
Relaxed posture.
Dangerous eyes.
“What are you doing awake, Alina?”
I laughed softly under my breath. “Thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“You would know.”
Something shifted in his expression at that.
A darker kind of amusement.
“You’ve gotten bolder.”
The words settled low in my stomach.
“Maybe you just started noticing.”
Silence.
Then his jaw tightened once.
There it was again.
That tiny loss of control he kept trying to hide.
And suddenly I wanted to see more of it.
Bad decision.
I stepped closer before I could think better of it.
One step.
Then another.
Damon watched the entire thing without moving.
Which somehow made it more intense.
I stopped directly in front of him.
Close enough to smell soap, sweat, whiskey.
Close enough that my body already knew this was a mistake.
His gaze dropped briefly to the thin straps of my bralette.
Then lower.
Then back to my face.
Slowly.
“You really enjoy making this difficult for me.”
My breath caught.
“For you?”
That made him lean closer slightly.
“Don’t act innocent now.”
The low warning in his voice nearly unraveled me.
I placed my hand carefully against his chest before I could stop myself.
Warm skin.
Hard muscle beneath my palm.
His entire body went still.
Completely still.
But he didn’t remove my hand.
Didn’t step away.
The tension between us snapped tighter instantly.
My fingers moved slightly without permission, sliding lower across his stomach.
A sharp breath left him through his nose.
And that tiny reaction—
God.
I think it gave me too much confidence.
Because before I could think better of it, I whispered—
“What happens if I don’t stop?”
Damon grabbed my wrist immediately.
Firm.
His other hand caught my waist, pulling me flush against him so fast my breath disappeared.
“Careful,” he said quietly.
Too quietly.
I could feel every inch of him against me now.
The heat of his skin.
The tension in his grip.
The restraint barely holding together beneath it.
My heart was pounding so hard it almost hurt.
But when I looked up at him—
He looked worse.
Jaw tight.
Breathing uneven for the first time since I’d gotten here.
His eyes dropped to my mouth slowly.
And stayed there.
I thought he was going to kiss me.
I wanted him to.
Instead, his hand tightened once at my waist before releasing me abruptly.
Like touching me too long was becoming a problem.
“You need to go upstairs,” he said.
The roughness in his voice made the rejection feel even crueler.
I stared at him. “You keep telling me that.”
“Because you keep ignoring me.”
A pause.
Then his eyes dragged slowly over my body one last time.
“You walk into my kitchen wearing that,” he said quietly, “touch me like that, and then look surprised when I start losing patience?”
Heat flooded straight through me.
He stepped closer again.
Close enough that I stopped breathing normally.
“If I kiss you right now,” he said softly, “you’re not walking back upstairs the same.”
The words shattered through me.
And before I could recover—
He stepped back.
Controlled again.
Barely.
“Go to bed, Alina.”
This time it sounded less like an order.
And more like the last warning before something broke.
- Writer
