Chapter three -Mutual Destruction
1915 Words
Mara didn’t believe in overdressing for a man. But tonight? Tonight she dressed for herself. The black dress hugged her like a whispered promise. Bare shoulders, a deep slit, soft silk that dared the candlelight to trace every curve. It was bold. Confident. Just like she wanted to feel.
And if Damien Blackthorn noticed, which he would, well, that wasn’t her fault.
She walked into the restaurant with her chin high, heart steady, pulse not steady, and the second she saw him, that illusion cracked like thin glass. Because he was already watching her. That unreadable, molten stare tracked her every step. Not predatory. Not polite.
Possessive.
The kind of look a man gives when he’s already imagined unzipping that dress… slowly.
The heat of it bloomed across her skin, but she didn’t break eye contact. Didn’t let herself flinch. Mara Lennox was not afraid of fire, only of being the only one who burned.
“Black suits you,” she said as she sat across him at their table.
His mouth curled. “So does temptation.”
Her knees crossed deliberately. “Flirting with your damage control piece. Bold strategy.”
“You wore that dress,” he murmured. “Don’t pretend this isn’t mutual destruction.”
God.
The way he said it.
Low.
Slow.
Like he was already stripping the night down to its bones. The waiter came and went. Orders were placed. Chopsticks set. But the silence between them was anything but empty, it thrummed with unspoken things. She didn’t look away when his fingers brushed hers reaching for the sake. Didn’t apologize when her leg touched his under the table and stayed there.
She leaned in slightly, voice soft but steady. “What are we doing, Damien?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he wasn’t used to questions he didn’t control.
“We’re having dinner.”
She let out a quiet laugh. “Sure. And after that? You kiss me for the cameras? Walk away and forget I ever made your pulse spike?”
His jaw tensed.
Bingo.
“I’m not afraid to want you,” she said simply. “But I need to know if I’m the only one.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, then slowly met hers again. “You’re not the only one.”
The confession landed like thunder.
Her chest tightened. Stupid heart.
“Then prove it.”
He didn’t lunge across the table. Didn’t drag her into some cinematic kiss. No, he leaned in just enough so she felt the heat of him, felt the control it took for him not to close that space.
And in a voice like velvet and steel, he said, “Finish your drink, Mara.”
A pause.
“Then I’m taking you somewhere the cameras can’t follow.”
It was exactly like the song. That magnetic lust filled song looped in her head like a premonition: "Come here, dressed in black now, soul stained red..."
She finished her drink slowly, too slowly. Measured, composed, not eager. At least not on the outside.
Inside?
She was already unraveling. She placed the empty glass down like it cost something to let go. And maybe it did. Because the second she stood, she knew there was no turning back. Mara moved through the restaurant like she had a secret. Chin up. Shoulders back. She didn’t look at Damien. She didn’t have to.
He was already watching her.
She slipped past the tables, heels whispering against the polished wood floor, and headed for the bathrooms tucked into the shadows at the back of the restaurant.
No cameras.
No gossiping onlookers.
Just darkness and tension thick enough to bite through. The moment she crossed into the dim corridor, she felt it. A hand on her wrist.
Firm.
Hot.
His.
He didn’t say a word. Just pulled her in. The wall met her back in a rush. His body pinned hers, heat crashing into heat, and then, God, his mouth was on hers.
Fire.
That was the only word for it. There was nothing polite about it. Nothing staged. It was need. Pure, raw, unapologetic. His lips moved against hers like he’d been thinking about this since the second she walked in and maybe even before that.
Her fingers slid into his hair, nails dragging lightly down the back of his neck. He growled against her mouth, a low sound that made her knees threaten to buckle. She gasped when his teeth caught her lower lip, but he didn’t stop.
She didn’t want him to.
Just like the song goes...
When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, his forehead dropped to hers.
“Still think this is just for show?” he rasped.
She smiled, wicked and breathless. “Oh, I know it’s not.”
His thumb brushed the edge of her jaw, his gaze dark with promises she wasn’t sure either of them could keep.
“Then come with me.”
She didn’t hesitate.
Because for once, Mara Lennox wasn’t worried about consequences. She was chasing the fall. He kissed her again, harder this time. No restraint. No hesitation. It was the kind of kiss that rewired thoughts. That said this is happening without a single damn word.
Then, just like that, he grabbed her wrist.
They didn’t stay for dinner.
He tossed some bills onto the table with effortless ease, murmured something to the man at the bar, the owner, she realized, a friend by the look exchanged. It wasn’t just a nod. It was a silent acknowledgment of what was about to go down. Strangely, Mara didn’t feel embarrassed.
She should’ve.
She was walking out of a high-end restaurant, eyes glassy with want, and her hair already mussed from his fingers. But instead of shame, all she felt was fire. The kind that settled low in her belly and dared her to regret it later.
Damien’s hand found the small of her back, possessive and warm. She didn’t need guiding, but he did it anyway. Not to control.
To claim.
They didn’t look back.
They slipped into the night like a secret, one not meant to be whispered, but devoured. He opened the door to his car, a sleek black thing that looked fast even while parked and helped her inside like she was delicate. She wasn’t. But the way he treated her like she was something to be unwrapped slowly made her pulse throb in places she shouldn’t admit in public. The car door closed with a heavy, final sound.
They didn’t speak.
The silence between them thrummed with tension, thick, hot, electric.
Outside, the city blurred into lights and shadows, but she didn’t care about anything that wasn’t in that car. Didn’t care where they were going. Except she did. Because she knew exactly what was waiting at the end of this ride. His penthouse.
His hands.
His mouth.
The way he’d said come with me still echoed in her bones.
She glanced over at him. His jaw was tight. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh like a promise.
She wanted that hand on her skin.
He turned into a private garage, the kind that spoke money and exclusivity. Of course he lived like this. Damien Blackthorn didn’t do average. Everything about him was sharp edges wrapped in velvet. The car came to a stop. The moment before the ignition cut felt like a heartbeat held underwater. He turned to her. No words. Just eyes that said everything.
This is where you run… or stay.
She didn’t move.
He reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, eyes flicking to her lips.
“You still sure?” he asked, voice low, graveled with restraint.
Mara leaned in, close enough for him to feel the heat of her breath. “I was sure the second you kissed me,” she whispered.
He smiled, dangerous and slow, and then the car doors opened.
The elevator ride up was silent. Not awkward. Just loaded.
By the time they reached the top floor, her pulse was a metronome on overdrive. And when the doors opened and she stepped into his space, dark, sleek, male.
Mara knew.
There was no going back now. Just the fall. And whatever came after.
The second the elevator doors slid shut behind them, it shifted. The heat that had been simmering all evening finally boiled over. Damien didn’t wait. Didn’t speak. He backed her against the wall with a precision that made her breath hitch and her spine arch. His mouth found hers again, hot, demanding, like he’d been starving for her since the first time he laid eyes on her.
Mara answered with all the fire he stoked in her. Her hands tangled in his shirt, tugging him closer, needing more. She didn’t want soft or sweet. She wanted truth, the kind that only came in the dark when words fell apart.
His hands roamed like he already knew her body. As if he’d spent years dreaming of this and now he was finally allowed to memorize her by touch. Mara gasped when his lips trailed down her neck, rough stubble grazing sensitive skin, drawing a moan she didn’t bother to muffle. She wasn’t playing it cool anymore.
She didn’t want to.
He pulled back for a second, breath heavy, eyes searching hers. “If I touch you now, I won’t stop.”
She met his gaze, chest rising with hers, pupils blown wide. “I didn’t come here for almost,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
S
omething broke in him. A thread pulled too tight.
He scooped her into his arms effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing, and carried her across the room, through a hallway lined with dark walls and city lights glowing through the windows. His bedroom was sleek and shadowed, the skyline glittering behind floor-to-ceiling glass.
He set her down like she was breakable, then undressed her like he wanted to ruin her.
Piece by piece.
Her dress slipped off her shoulders and pooled around her feet. His eyes didn’t just linger, they devoured. And when he touched her again, it was reverent, like she was something holy and forbidden all at once.
“You’re trouble,” he murmured against her skin.
“Maybe,” she breathed. “But you didn’t exactly run.”
Their laughter tangled in the air for just a second before it dissolved into moans and gasps. She was in his bed, cool sheets, warm skin, everything else lost to sensation.
Time unraveled.
His mouth. His hands. The way he knew how to make her fall apart with the slowest stroke, the softest kiss just below her ribs. Like he wasn’t in a hurry, because he wanted to savor her destruction. And she let him.
No guards.
No armor.
Just this. Just him.
And when they finally came together, skin to skin, breath to breath. It felt like something was being rewritten inside her.
It wasn’t just s*x. It wasn’t just lust. It was reckless, raw wanting with something dangerous curled beneath it. She didn’t know what this would mean. Didn’t even know if there’d be a morning after.
But in that moment with his hands on her hips and his mouth on her name, she didn’t care. She wanted to remember what it felt like to be wanted like this. To want him like this.
So she let go and fell for him, hard.
- Writer
