His Private Terms

Chapter 6: The evening protocol

The morning had been embarrassing enough, but by eight in the evening, Damien took his control over her work to a level she never could have anticipated.

Lila sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her laptop screen, completely unable to process the images in front of her. When she had sent that quiet, confident email asking to document his private life, she had imagined capturing a cold titan in his element, candid shots of him at his desk, quiet moments over coffee, the rare behind-the-scenes glimpses of an unreachable man.

She had thought "she" was the one setting the trap, taking on a famous challenge no other photographer could handle.

She hadn't realized what she was actually stepping into.

"It’s just in my head," Lila told herself, pressing her cold palms against her warm cheeks. "He’s just an intense man who likes control. I’m overthinking this. The touch, the proximity...it’s just his way of managing the environment." But even as she tried to rationalize it, her skin still burned everywhere his hands had rested. She was a professional with years of experience, yet around him, her hands shook, her mind scrambled, and her hard-earned skills vanished into thin air.

A quiet tap on her open bedroom door shattered her thoughts.

Damien was leaning against the frame, watching her with a calm, heavy intensity. He had traded his workday suit for a dark silk shirt, unbuttoned twice at the top, and tailored trousers. He looked entirely relaxed, powerful, and fully aware of the mess he was making of her composure.

"Bring your gear into the main room," he said softly, turning on his heel before she could answer.

Lila took a steadying breath, picked up her camera, and followed him out.

The living room was dark. The bright overhead lights were completely off, leaving only the deep amber and violet glow of the city skyline pouring through the floor-to-ceiling glass. The atmosphere felt thick, heavy, and intensely intimate.

Damien sat back on the low leather sofa, resting one arm along the cushions and crossing his legs.

"Tonight, we establish how evening shoots work," he said, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "Up."

Lila blinked, holding the camera to her chest. "What?"

"You're shooting from that wooden stool by the window. Step up on it."

"Damien, I don't shoot standing on furniture," Lila said, trying desperately to sound like the experienced photographer she was supposed to be. "The low angle from the floor gives a much better perspective for ambient twilight"

"I didn't ask for a lesson in lighting ratios, Miss Reed," he cut in smoothly, his voice silky, quiet, and completely non-negotiable. "Step onto the stool."

Her face flushed hot, but she stepped up onto the low wooden platform. Being raised off the floor made her feel completely exposed, floating in the middle of the dark room while he sat below, watching her like a predator.

"Now frame me," he commanded.

Lila lifted the camera to her eye. But looking down at his broad shoulders, the dark skin exposed at his throat, and the unyielding weight of his stare, her fingers fumbled uselessly against the focus dials. The camera felt impossibly heavy.

"You're shaking," Damien noted, not moving a muscle. "Why are your hands trembling, Lila? Is the lighting too complex for you?"

"I... I just need to recalibrate the shutter," she lied, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

"Get down."

She stepped off the stool, her low heels hitting the stone floor with a quiet snap. Before she could reset her footing, Damien stood up from the couch and crossed the space between them in two unhurried strides.

He didn't just touch her waist this time. He reached out, his long, broad fingers wrapping firmly around her jaw, tilting her head back until she was forced to look directly into his eyes.

The heat of his palm sank straight through her skin, melting whatever professional armor she had left.

"You sat in my office and told me you wanted a challenge," Damien murmured, his thumb trailing a slow, agonizingly soft line over her lower lip. "You were so eager to be the one person who got to photograph my private life. You thought you were taking on a big project, didn't you?"

Lila’s pulse hammered wildly against his fingers pinned to her jaw. She couldn't form a single word.

"So let's see how well you actually handle me, Miss Reed," he whispered, leaning down until his lips almost brushed her ear. "Because right now, you look like you've never held a camera in your life."

He didn't let go of her chin. With his free hand, he reached down, wrapped his fingers around her trembling wrist, and physically guided her camera up, pressing the viewfinder back against her eye while his grip stayed firm around her throat.

"Can you focus now?" he whispered against her skin.

"I..." Lila gasped quietly, her mind completely short-circuiting as his body pressed against hers. "No."

A dark, dangerous smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Good," Damien whispered, his thumb making one last slow, possessive drag down the length of her neck before he finally stepped back. "Because as long as you are in this penthouse, you don't take a single picture unless I tell you how to see it."

He walked back toward his desk, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the dark room, breathless, burning, and completely undone by the man she was supposed to be in control of documenting.