His Presence Is A Debt

Chapter 3-Punishment

Damian didn’t let her go.

His hand stayed on Aria’s jaw, thumb still brushing her bottom lip like he was trying to wipe Mark’s presence off her skin. Like one touch could erase another man’s hands. The penthouse was silent except for the low hum of Lagos 60 floors below and the sound of her breathing. Too fast. Too loud.

“You hug him,” Damian repeated. His voice was quieter now. More dangerous. The kind of quiet that came before a storm. “After you signed my contract. After I told you the rules. After I said you were mine.”

Aria’s breath hitched. Her heart was slamming against her ribs. “I told you, he grabbed me. I was pushing him away.”

“Were you?” Damian’s eyes searched hers. Dark brown, almost black in the dim light. Accusing. Hungry. “Because from that photo, Aria, it looked like you missed him. It looked like your body remembered him.”

The word _missed_ hit her like a slap. Her body remembered Mark? No. Her body remembered Damian. Even after 5 years. Even after the hurt.

She jerked her head, trying to break his grip. His fingers tightened for half a second, then loosened. He didn’t let her go.

“Let me go,” she whispered. But her voice had no force. Because part of her didn’t want him to.

“Not until you answer me.” His thumb pressed harder under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Was that the man you left me for Five years ago? Five?

The one who made you disappear from my life without a word, Aria? The one who made me fly back from London to an empty apartment and a blocked number?”

Aria’s chest tightened. Five years. She was 19 again. In his dorm at Unilag. His hands in her hair. The way he said her name like it was a prayer. _Aria, Aria, Aria._ Then he left for London for his masters. “Wait for me,” he’d said. She waited 3 months. Then the calls stopped. Then she heard he was dating someone in London. So she moved on. Or tried to.

And she’d rebuilt herself with Mark. Mark who was safe. Mark who didn’t make her feel like she was falling. Mark who cheated.

“Answer me, Aria,” Damian said against her mouth. His breath was hot. Mint and whiskey and anger. “Is that why you chose him over me? Because I left?”

“No,” she breathed. Tears burned her eyes. “I didn’t choose him. You left. You stopped calling. You disappeared.”

Damian’s jaw clenched. Something broke behind his eyes. Hurt. Raw and real, before the rage covered it again. He pulled her flush against him. One arm locked around her waist, the other still on her face. She could feel every inch of him through his dress shirt. The heat. The fury. The 5 years he’d been holding in.

“You think I left?” he said, voice rough. Broken. “I left because you stopped answering my calls, Aria. Because you blocked me. Because when I came back, you were already his. Wearing his hoodie. Laughing at his jokes. Like I never existed.”

“I was 19 and scared,” she whispered. A tear slipped down her cheek. “You vanished, Damian. I thought you found someone better.”

“And now you’re 24,” he said. His thumb wiped the tear away. Rough. Possessive. “And you still run to him. Still let him touch you. Still let him put his hands on what belongs to me.”

His hand slid from her jaw to her throat. Not squeezing. Just resting there. A claim. A warning. His thumb rested against her pulse, feeling it race under his touch. She swallowed against his palm.

“This is your punishment,” Damian said quietly. So quiet she almost didn’t hear it. “For breaking my rules. For letting him touch what’s mine.”

Aria’s knees buckled. “Damian—”

He cut her off by lifting her. One arm under her knees, the other around her back. Like she weighed nothing. Like she’d always belonged in his arms. Like 5 years hadn’t happened. He carried her through the penthouse, past the marble floors that reflected the city lights, past the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Her heart hammered so hard she thought he’d feel it. _This is wrong. He’s angry. I should fight._ But her hands stayed on his chest, fisting in his shirt. Because some part of her, the 19-year-old part that never got over him, still remembered how safe she felt when he held her. Still remembered his smell.

He kicked open a door with his foot. His bedroom. All black and silver and cold. Minimal. Expensive. A king-size bed with black sheets. He set her down on the edge of the bed slowly. Didn’t let go. His hands stayed on her waist like he was afraid she’d disappear if he blinked.

“Four years I waited,” Damian said. His voice was lower now. Intimate. Dangerous. He leaned over her, caging her in with his arms on either side of her thighs. “For years, I watched from London while you dated that boy. While you forgot me. While you let him touch you.”

“I didn’t forget,” Aria whispered. The truth tore out of her. Raw and bleeding. “I tried. God, Damian, I tried to forget you.”

Damian’s eyes darkened to black. His hand came up to tangle in her hair. Not painful. Possessive. His fingers threaded through the strands like he was reminding himself she was real. He tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Then prove it,” he said again. The same words from the foyer. But here, in his bedroom, with the door closed and the city lights behind him, they meant something else. Something heavier. Something that made her thighs press together.

He bent his head. His lips brushed her jaw. Not a kiss. A brand. Hot and slow and angry. Moving down her neck like he was memorizing her skin. Like he was erasing Mark with every touch. Like he was claiming what he’d lost.

Aria gasped. Her hands fisted in his shirt, then relaxed. She should push him away. He was punishing her. He was jealous. He was the man who left her at 19 and came back to buy her at 24.

But his mouth found the spot under her ear that made her shiver. The spot only he remembered. The spot that turned her knees to water. And her body betrayed her. Arched into him. Her back curved off the bed.

“You’re mine, Aria,” Damian whispered against her throat. His voice vibrated against her skin. “You signed it. You said the words. So you’ll learn what that means. You’ll learn what happens when another man touches you.”

His hand slid up her side, slow. Possessive. Under her dress, but not past her waist. Not yet. Just the heat of his palm through the thin fabric. Every inch he touched felt like fire. Like he was claiming her back piece by piece. Like he was reminding her body who it belonged to.

Aria closed her eyes. Tears slipped down her temples. From fear. From memory. From wanting the man she lost at 19, even while she hated the man he became at 32. Her lips parted on a shaky breath.

Damian’s lips moved to her mouth. Hovered there. A breath away. She could taste his anger. His jealousy. His need.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded. Low. Broken. “Don’t you dare close your eyes when I kiss you, Aria. Not after 5 years.”

Aria opened them. His eyes were on hers. Dark. Desperate. Possessive.

He kissed her.

Not gentle. Not asking. It was 5 years of hurt and rage and need poured into one kiss. His mouth claimed hers like he was proving a point. Like he was erasing Mark. Like he was punishing her for leaving and punishing himself for coming back.

Aria melted into it before she could stop herself. Her hands moved to his shoulders, then his neck. His hair was softer than she remembered. He tasted like the man she loved at 19 and the stranger he was at 28.

His kiss deepened. One hand stayed in her hair, the other gripped her hip, pulling her closer until there was no space between them. She could feel his anger in the way he kissed her. Hard. Possessive. Like if he stopped, she’d vanish again.

When he pulled back, they were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against hers.

“This is your punishment,” he whispered against her lips. “Every time another man looks at you. Every time another man touches you. I’ll remind you who you belong to.”

Aria’s chest rose and fell. Her lips were swollen. Her body was trembling. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to push him away. But her hands were still in his hair.

Damian’s thumb brushed her bottom lip, swollen from his kiss. His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. The fire was still there. The jealousy. The need.

“Rule four,” he said, voice rough. “You don’t kiss anyone but me. You don’t let anyone touch you but me. Do you understand, Aria?”

She nodded. Couldn’t speak.

“Good girl,” he said again. And the words made heat curl low in her stomach despite everything.

He stood up slowly, pulling her up with him. Kept one arm around her waist. “You’re staying in my room tonight.” Not a question.

Aria should’ve said no. Should’ve fought. But she was 19 and 24 at the same time. And the 19-year-old girl never stopped loving him.

Damian’s lips brushed her temple. Soft this time. Almost gentle. Almost sorry.

“Sleep,” he said. “We’ll talk about rules in the morning.”

He pulled back the covers and laid her down on the black sheets. Then he lay down beside her, still fully clothed. One arm draped over her waist. Possessive even in sleep.

Aria stared at the ceiling, his heartbeat under her palm, his breath warm on her neck. Punishment, he’d said. But this felt too much like coming home.