Claimed at first glance

Chapter Four: The Taste of Forbidden Fruit

The moment the restaurant door clicked shut behind her, signaling the end of her shift, Aria’s feet barely touched the pavement on the walk home. The air, crisp and cool, seemed to hum with an electric energy that mirrored the chaotic giddiness swirling in her belly. “Oh my god, I still can’t believe I got asked out by Damon,” she whispered to the empty street, a small, breathless laugh escaping her lips. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her, making her heart pound a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was so ecstatic, a feeling so potent it threatened to overwhelm her usual composure. It was Damon Thorne, the silver-eyed enigma, the man who had effortlessly dismantled her every defense.

Bursting through the door of her modest apartment, she glanced at her phone. Six-fifteen. She still had some time. The initial rush of joy began to fade, replaced by a rising curiosity, and a whisper of trepidation. Damon. Who was he, really? Beyond the intimidating aura and the chiseled perfection, what kind of man was he? Giving into the impulse, she curled up on her worn sofa, her fingers flying across the search bar: “Damon Thorne.”

The internet exploded with results. The first article that popped up, displayed with a picture of his impossibly handsome face, screamed:

“Billionaire Damon: Heartthrob, Youngest Billionaire in Town, Owner of Thorne Industries.”

Her eyes widened. Thorne Industries. The sheer scale of his empire was unfathomable. She scrolled down, clicking through links, each one painting a more daunting picture.

“I just heard that Damon acquired so-and-so account…”

“I heard that he led the downfall of another company because he double-crossed him…”

“I heard that he is ruthless…”

The words piled up, each one a brick building a wall between them. He was a shark, a predator in the cutthroat world of finance. And then came the part that made her stomach clench.

“Majority of the women his with after breakup, when granted interview, say he is a beast in bed.”

A hot blush crept up her neck. Her internal fantasy life, already vibrant, suddenly felt terrifyingly real.

She clicked on image after image, seeing him at galas, on yachts, always impeccably dressed, always with a stunning woman on his arm. Women who were all impossibly tall, slender, and glamorous, like the woman she'd assumed was his girlfriend. The contrast to her own curvy figure and perceived normalcy sent a fresh wave of self-doubt crashing over her.

“What does he see in me?” she murmured aloud, the excited giddiness of moments ago dissolving into a cold knot of anxiety.

“Am I his 'spec,' or is this some form of high school bet that rich people do when they are bored out of their minds?”

The doubt, a protective mechanism she’d cultivated over years of living on the fringes of privilege, set in.

But underneath the fear and self-doubt, that insistent, inexplicable pull lingered. The memory of his intense silver eyes, his commanding voice, the sheer force of his presence. It was a curiosity she couldn't ignore, a fascination with the unknown. Maybe this was a test. A way to prove to herself that her feelings were just a fleeting infatuation, a desire speaking for her for men that were way out of her league. This was her chance to test the forbidden fruit, to step into his world, just once, and let the overwhelming reality extinguish the illogical spark. She’d go, see for herself, and then she could properly move on.

She rummaged through her meager wardrobe, finally settling on a deep crimson dress she usually reserved for special occasions. It was simple, elegant, and flattered her curves without being overtly provocative. She spent extra time on her hair and makeup, hoping to appear sophisticated, to bridge the impossible gap between them, if only for a few hours.

At precisely seven o'clock, a quiet hum vibrated through the street. Aria peered through her curtains. A sleek, black Audi R8, a beast of a machine that seemed to devour the modest street it was parked on, idled silently by the curb. It was a supercar, low-slung and powerful, its dark tinted windows hiding its occupant. Her breath hitched. This was really happening.

A moment later, the driver's side door opened, and Damon unfolded himself from the car, his imposing height and broad shoulders filling the narrow street. He moved with a predator's grace, his charcoal suit molding to his powerful frame. He walked with a determined stride towards her apartment building, and as he was some feet away, he stopped. He stopped dead, his intense silver eyes locking onto her standing framed in her doorway. He stood there for a long moment, a full, unblinking stare that felt as if he was in a trance. His gaze swept over her, from her carefully styled hair to the simple hem of her dress, lingering on the curve of her hips.

As he was looking at her, Aria also took the opportunity to truly look at him, to see him outside the confines of the restaurant. He was even more breathtaking up close. He was so beautiful, like a model straight out of a GQ magazine. His features, sharp and defined—the chiseled jaw, the high cheekbones, the aristocratic nose—were indeed one way out of this world. His silver eyes, a unique and piercing feature, met hers, and at that instant, it was like she was electrocuted. A profound jolt, a warmth that started in her stomach and bloomed rapidly through her entire body, making her toes curl. It was a powerful, almost overwhelming sensation, a mini orgasm just from his gaze. She felt herself flush, her breathing suddenly shallow.

Damon's Pov

The moment my gaze had first landed on Aria at The Zenith, a certainty, cold and absolute, had settled deep within my bones. She was the one, my woman, the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. I didn't need time, or dates, or convoluted courtship rituals. My instinct, the very compass that had guided me through the cutthroat jungle of global finance and made me a billionaire before thirty, had screamed her name. So, when Eleanor, my sister, had looked at me curiously during our dinner, I’d simply stated, with the quiet conviction that always unnerved her, "I have found my wife."

I knew many people would doubt it and say it’s not normal. Society thrived on protracted dances, on measured steps and cautious exploration. But if you know me, I have never been one to do things that society considers the normal way. Normalcy was for those who sought mediocrity, for those who contented themselves with average. I had not come this far in life by being normal, by following the prescribed path. So, immediately, as soon as Aria had left our table, I had begun rearranging things in my part and started considering ways on how to woo her. I am not the type of man that sees things I like and lets nature take its way. No, I go full force for what I want, as long as my instinct tells me so, and it has never for once misled me. Tonight, I planned to take her out, and if everything went as planned, we would be getting married by the end of the month. The thought brought a rare, fierce satisfaction to my chest.

As my driver navigated the labyrinthine streets leading to her address, I couldn't help but notice the deteriorating quality of the neighborhood. The buildings were older, some patched with crude repairs, the streetlights flickering uncertainly. It was a place of faded dreams, a stark contrast to the opulent world I inhabited. This was not a safe place to live in, especially for a woman, not to talk of my woman. The thought ignited a protective fury deep within me. My jaw tightened. So, before I even called her, I was already making arrangements on how to change her location once things between me and her started flowing. I am a protector; that's my nature, that's how I've been born and brought up, and I will be damned if something happens to my woman under my care. I always view men who are not able to take care and provide for their women as lesser men and not deserving of any woman, and I will not let myself become what I hate.

I pulled out my phone, a sense of urgency propelling me. “Aria,” I said, my voice smooth, even. “We’re around the corner. Please come out.”

A second later, she was there, framed in the doorway of her building, a vision that stole the breath from my lungs. Gosh, my woman is a thing of beauty. A true work of art. Her restaurant uniform was beautiful, but this… this was on another level. The crimson dress she wore clung to her curves in all the right places, accentuating the very softness I found so appealing. The color did something to her skin, making it glow, though I didn't know how that worked. She looked ethereal, possessed of an angelic beauty, with lips that were plumpy and looked soft, just inviting me to kiss her. She had a small, pointed nose like a button, and doe eyes that, when she finally looked up at me, made me feel like I could lay the world at her feet. Cute little thing, she didn't know she had me wrapped around her fingers already without doing much. Is this how a man changed once he was in love? I had always prided myself as one that wouldn't let a woman control him all in the name of love, but now, things were moving differently for me.

I approached her, my steps measured, my gaze never leaving hers. The urge to claim her, to taste her, was overwhelming. My hands went to her waist, pulling her gently but firmly towards me, and then I took her in my arms, tilting her head slightly. I lowered my head and kissed her gently, so as not to ruin her makeup. Her lips had been long inviting me to taste her, and she tasted as sweet as she had looked, like bubblegum. Was there something that was put in women's lipstick these days because I didn't know why she tasted this sweet? It made me want to keep on kissing her all day and never let go. I later let go when both of us had become breathless, or rather, when I forced myself to break away. I stared into her face, and she looked all flustered and shy, trying to avoid eye contact, which only made her seem more cute, more alluring.

"Hi, baby girl. How was your day?" I murmured, my voice thick with a desire I barely kept in check. I opened the car door for her, my hand guiding her in.

"Good," she replied, her voice a soft, almost imperceptible whisper, as I shut the door.

I stayed standing outside for a few seconds, breathing deeply, trying to correct myself and the b***r I had spotting on beneath my trousers. Once I was good, I got to my side of the Audi R8, entered, and instructed my driver to take us to The Obsidian Bloom. It was a cute, exclusive place, less known to the masses, only the elite were aware of it. And also, they served the best food there. I’d booked my reservations, so immediately we arrived, the hostess, a prim woman who clearly knew my status, took us to our table.

As I arrived, I pulled out the seat for her. Her face was with surprise, as if no one had ever done such a thing for her. If she had dated some assholes in this life, I decided to make it my mission to erase whatever impression they left of men out of her mind. While waiting for the waiter to arrive, I started asking her small questions about herself, like where she was from, what was her favorite food, the school she attended, and all about her life in general. She was sassy and funny with her answers, and I found out I had never been so carefree with anybody like I had been with her. She brought out the best in me, and I found out I wanted to keep on doing this with her for the rest of my life, which was surprising because I'd never been into marriage, and it had never crossed my mind for once. But now, I was seeing it as something that was not really a bad idea.

Midway into our conversation, the waiter came to take our order. Aria picked up the menu, her brow furrowed in concentration. When she started to order for vegetables, I smoothly interjected. "Aria, you'll have the Lobster Thermidor," I stated, my tone leaving no room for argument. I knew that wasn't what she intended to order, choosing instead the cheapest option on the menu, despite her earlier, happy chat about her love for seafood. She’d talked about it with such delight, as if she derived pleasure from just the memory of it. It grated on me, this subtle reminder of the life she’d led without me, a life where she felt the need to compromise on her desires. That wouldn't happen again.

While we were eating, and I was saying something that she found genuinely funny, a sudden, sharp voice cut through the elegant murmur of the restaurant.

"Damon!"

My fork clattered against my plate. f**k. My mind screamed. I f****d up. This was not supposed to happen. I looked up, my carefully constructed world suddenly tilting on its axis, just to discover Aria had frozen up as well, her doe eyes wide with alarm, looking in the direction where the interruption had occurred.