𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙊𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙬𝙤: Almost Touched

Celeste stood frozen in the marble foyer of Damian Moretti’s mansion. It was quiet—too quiet. Every step, every glance, felt like a test. Her eyes scanned the space: towering ceilings, dark marble floors, and a crystal chandelier that cast a cold glow over everything.

She felt small here. Powerless.

Damian removed his suit jacket slowly, revealing strong forearms and the soft strain of his black dress shirt. He tossed the jacket onto the velvet chaise like he didn’t have a care in the world. But every movement was deliberate, as if even his nonchalance was a strategy.

“You’ll be staying in the east wing,” he said, turning toward her. “You’ll have privacy. For now.”

“For now,” she echoed, clutching her arms around herself.

He took a step forward. She took one back—until her back hit the wall behind her.

Damian didn’t touch her. Not yet.

His hand landed beside her head, and he leaned in slowly, eyes locked on hers like a lion to a trembling doe. She flinched as his body closed the distance, heat rolling off him in waves.

“You’re afraid,” he said, his voice low, smooth, intoxicating.

She swallowed. “Shouldn’t I be?”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Terrified.”

His free hand hovered near her waist—close enough to feel, but not enough to claim.

“I’ve had women throw themselves at me,” he said softly, like it was a confession and a warning. “Wives of enemies. Models. Actresses. Even a senator’s mistress once, right in the middle of negotiations.”

He leaned closer.

“They wanted power. Or protection. Or just the thrill of danger.”

His hand ghosted along the silk of her robe—barely grazing her hip, fingers skimming the knot in the belt.

Celeste’s breath hitched. Her body tensed.

“And all of them,” he said, eyes dropping to her lips, “begged for more.”

A shiver ran through her. She wasn’t like them. She wasn’t going to fall under his spell. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

But her body betrayed her—reacting to the depth of his voice, the pull of his scent, the nearness of his touch.

He noticed.

“You’re different,” he whispered.

“Because I’m not begging?”

“No,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers grazing her cheek. “Because you’re pretending you don’t want to.”

Her heart pounded. Her robe slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing soft skin.

His eyes darkened.

“I could take you right now,” he said, his voice raw, almost pained. “I could have you trembling under me in minutes. You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded slowly, terrified by how much truth was in his words—and how part of her wanted to see what he’d do.

But his hand paused.

“I won’t,” he added, eyes hardening. “Not like this. Not while you look at me like I’m the monster from your nightmares.”

Celeste searched his face. “Aren’t you?”

A flicker of something—regret, maybe—passed through his eyes. “I wasn’t always.”

Silence settled between them like fog.

Then he stepped back, rolling his sleeves higher, like shaking her from his system.

“You’ll find clothes upstairs. The food will be sent to your room.”

“And what happens tomorrow?” she asked.

He turned, eyes glittering with a promise. “Tomorrow, I stop being nice.”

And just like that, he was gone—leaving her alone in the cold luxury of his world.

Celeste slid down the wall, her knees weak. Her body still buzzed from the nearness of him. Her lips still tingled from words he hadn’t even touched her with.

He hadn't claimed her.

But somehow, he already owned something she didn’t know how to protect.

Her curiosity.

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