Chapter 12
914 Words
He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. Just walked toward her door.
She stepped aside. Let him in.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Madame Whiskers hissed from her couch and darted underneath.
Damian stood stock-still in the middle of her small living room—too large, too quiet.
‘You’ve been avoiding me,’ he said.
“I needed space.”
“You don't get space from me.” He had taken one step closer. “Not anymore.”
She stepped backward until her hips hit the counter.
He followed.
“You think you can walk away?” he asked softly. “After the way you looked at me yesterday? After the way your body answered mine last night?”
Her breathing was fast. “I didn’t answer anything.”
He reached past her, slowly, bracing one hand on the counter close to her hip. The other hand raised her chin.
“You trembled,” he said. “You leaned in. You didn’t push me away.”
She swallowed. “I should have.”
“But you didn't.”
His thumb brushed along her jawline. Then down her throat. Paused on her collarbone.
“You want this,” he breathed. “You want me to take the choice away so you don’t have to admit how much you like being owned.”
Her eyes closed involuntarily.
Leaned in close—his mouth hovering over hers.
"Tell me no," he said. "And I leave. Tonight. Forever."
Silence.
Her hands came up. Fisted in his coat.
She pulled him closer.
“Ugh,” he said, his voice soft
Hard.
Deep. As if he’d been starving for it.
She kissed back—hungry, desperate, mad at herself for wanting it so much.
His hands went to her waist, and he lifted her up onto the counter. Her legs wrapped around him.
He broke the kiss, and then pressed his forehead against hers.
“Say it,” he breathed. “Say you’re mine.”
She opened her mouth.
Whiskers yowled from under the bed.
Reality soon intervened.
She pushed at his chest—weakly.
“Stop
He froze.
She slid down. Stepped back. Breathing hard.
“‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘Not yet
Damian’s jaw clenched.
He straightened his coat. Nodded once.
“You will,” he said softly.
And then he turned and walked out.
The door closed softly behind him.
Elena slid to the floor.
Tears came—hot, angry, confused
She touched her lips. Elena paced the apartment Sunday morning.
The lingering kiss was like a bruise: ripe, tender, and painful. Each time she shut her eyes, she felt his lips on hers, his hands that lifted her, and his throat that growled in response to her pulling him closer.
She despised the fact that she had wanted it so much.
She hated that all the more because she still did.
Mia called around noon. Elena heard the phone on the third ring.
“Finally,” said Mia. “You ghosted me after the date. Spill. Was jazz boy a keeper or a creeper?”
Elena sat down on the couch. Whiskers jumped up, kneaded her thigh, then stared as though he knew.
“He was… nice,” she said. “Really nice. Kissed my cheek. No pressure.”
Mia whistled. “That sounds perfect. But why do you sound as if you are about to cry?”
Elena placed her hand against her forehead. “Because Damian was waiting for me. Outside the club. He had pinned me against the wall.”
She halted. The memory came flooding back—the weight of him against her, his thumb on her lip, his words whispering into her ear that she liked being wanted so much it hurt.
Mia fell silent. "Pinned you? Like. against your will?"
“No,” Elena whispered. “Not against my will. I… didn’t stop him. I kissed him back.”
Silence on the line.
Then Mia: "Elena. That’s not okay. That’s not safe."
“I know.” She spoke, her voice cracking. “But I just can't help but think about it. About him. Because he makes me feel. seen. Wanted. Like I'm the only thing that matters.
Mia took a breath. “And that’s terrifying because?”
“Because he’s everywhere. He knows things. He follows me. And I’m starting to like it.”
Mia's tone was cutting. "You must stop this. You must block him. Change your routine. Tell someone."
Elena gazed at a box of cream on the dresser. "I did. I took a day off. I hid. But he found me anyway, at my door last night."
“What did he do?”
“He kissed me. Again. And I let him. Until I didn’t.”
Mia swore under her breath. "I'm coming over. Right now."
“No. I’m okay. I just… needed to say it out loud.” “You’re not okay. You’re spiraling. This guy’s dangerous, Elena. Obsessive. You need to cut him off.”
Elena stared at her wrist—bare today. “I know.”
Yet, when she finally hung up, she didn't block his number.
She opened the drawer in the dresser.
Pulled out the bracelet.
Slipped it on.
The clasp clicked shut.
She glared at the tiny leash hook.
Then she texted one line to him.
We gotta talk. My place. Tonight.
Three dots appeared right away.
I'll be there.
She put the phone down.
Whiskers meowed, low and warning.
- Writer
