𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙊𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙚𝙣: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝘽𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙍𝙪𝙞𝙣

The world blurred at the edges.

The taste of bourbon clung to Damian’s mouth like regret. One glass too many. Or maybe five. He couldn't remember. He only remembered her.

Celeste.

Her defiant smile in the garden. Her challenge. Her scent. Her skin.

She haunted him even when she wasn’t in the room.

But tonight, she was.

His steps were heavy as he pushed open her bedroom door, the shadows barely concealing the twisted hunger in his eyes. She sat up from the bed instantly, startled, her silk nightgown clinging to her curves.

“Damian?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

He didn’t answer.

He just crossed the room in three strides, grabbed the side of her face, and kissed her.

Hard.

Raw.

Desperate.

There was no control left — not tonight.

She gasped into his mouth, her hands flying up in shock, but he didn’t stop. His lips devoured her, tasting her like salvation and punishment rolled into one. Her fingers gripped his shirt, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

She didn’t move when he climbed over her, pressing her down into the mattress, his body flush against hers.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled against her throat. “Tell me to walk away.”

But she didn’t. Couldn’t.

Her breath came fast, her skin burning under his touch.

He kissed her jaw, her neck, the dip between her collarbones.

When his fingers found the strap of her bra, he unhooked it in one fluid motion, letting the silk fall away from her chest. She gasped as the cool air hit her skin, but didn’t flinch.

His mouth returned to hers, slower now, more deliberate. Like he wanted to savor every moment before the storm swallowed them both.

His hand slid down, past her stomach, slipping beneath her lace panties—

And then he froze.

A strange warmth met his fingers.

Thicker. Wetter.

Not from arousal.

He pulled back slightly, breath ragged. For a second, his drunken haze made it unclear—until he looked down at his hand.

Red.

Not much.

Just enough.

His body went rigid.

Celeste’s eyes widened in horror as realization struck. She pulled the sheets up over her chest, face flaming in embarrassment.

“I—I didn’t know it started,” she stammered. “I swear I—”

But Damian was already pulling away. Fast. Like he'd been burned.

He ran a hand through his hair, backing up from the bed.

She sat up slowly, heart pounding. “I didn’t mean—”

He turned toward the window, jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked bone.

Silence thickened the room.

Then he let out a breathless chuckle—humorless, dry.

“Even your body has better timing than I do.”

She didn’t know what to say. The heat in the room was gone. Replaced by tension. Confusion.

He turned to her, and this time, his voice was quiet. Almost silent.

“I should’ve left you alone.”

She swallowed, still hiding beneath the sheets. “You didn’t.”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

For a moment, he just stood there, chest rising and falling with the force of restraint.

Then he walked toward the door.

But before leaving, he glanced back once—his eyes unreadable, caught somewhere between rage and regret.

“When you’re not bleeding,” he murmured darkly, “I won’t stop next time.”

The door closed behind him.

And Celeste was left in silence — her body aching for what almost was, and her mind reeling from the man who could no longer control himself… but somehow still hadn’t taken her.