The Fine Print of Us

Chapter fifteen - Red Lingerie and Toys

Damien watched her sleep for a moment longer than he should have. Hair messy from the night before, limbs tangled in his sheets, skin kissed in places only he was allowed to touch. If he were a lesser man, he'd lie back down beside her and pretend the world could wait.

But he wasn’t a lesser man.

He was a man in love—with the one person who still didn’t quite believe it.

He returned minutes later with two mugs of black coffee and a tray stacked with pancakes, strawberries, and whipped cream. Not store-bought. He made them. Himself. His private chef would probably faint.

“Room service,” he said as he nudged her gently with the side of the tray.

Mara blinked at him, bleary-eyed and bare-shouldered, and sat up slowly. He watched as confusion turned to a sleepy smile. It hit him hard. Right in the chest.

“You cooked?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he said, setting the tray on her lap. “I’d list them all, but I think you got a pretty solid preview last night.”

She laughed softly, her eyes dropping for just a moment—and then darting back to his face like she couldn’t help it.

He sat beside her, resting his coffee on the nightstand. His voice dropped.

“Mara…” She looked at him again, curious. Cautious. Still wearing armor he was determined to strip away piece by piece. “I think we’ve both known for a while now that this—whatever it is—isn’t part of the contract anymore.”

She froze, fork in midair.

“I’m not pretending,” he said simply. “Not with you. Not ever.”

Her lips parted, but he didn’t let her answer. Not yet.

“I want to tear up that contract. It served its purpose. But it doesn’t reflect what we are now. Because I’m not planning on watching you walk away.”

A beat.

“I’m going to make you my wife, Mara. You should prepare yourself for that.”

He could tell he caught her off guard. Her expression flickered with disbelief, but he’d seen it—that spark behind her eyes. Excitement. Hope. She just didn’t trust herself enough to believe this could be real.

“Aren’t we going too fast?” she asked, her voice small.

“Says who?” Damien said, not missing a beat. “We define what this is, not anyone else. And I’ve never once hidden the fact that I want more with you, Mara. I meant every word.”

She hesitated. “I agree that the contract served its purpose. We should destroy it. Now more than ever. If anyone ever found out—your reputation would take another hit.”

His jaw tensed.

“You’re still talking about the contract,” he said, voice tightening. “But not once have you acknowledged what I just said. That I want to make you my wife.”

That shut her up. A blush bloomed across her cheeks. She looked away.

“I’m just scared to believe that we can make it,” she admitted.

“Why?” Damien pressed, leaning in. “Because of some bullshit rulebook in your head? Because it’s not supposed to happen this fast, or because guys like me aren’t supposed to be the ones who stay?”

She looked at him, vulnerability all over her face.

“I’ve had people make promises and take them back,” she whispered.

“I’m not them,” he said, his voice low, sharp. “I don’t make promises lightly. When I say I want forever, I mean it. I want you. All in. No more conditions. No halfway.”

He reached over, took her hand.

“Marry me, Mara. Not tomorrow. Not next week. But know that’s where I’m heading. Every day I spend with you only makes it clearer—I don’t want this to be temporary.”

She stared at him for a long beat, heart thudding in her chest. And then she gave the smallest nod, almost imperceptible.

“I need time,” she said, her voice trembling. “But... I want to believe.”

He didn’t push. He didn’t gloat. He simply squeezed her hand and pulled her gently into his arms.

“Then believe,” he said against her temple. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Mara said she needed to meet up with Leah. She hadn’t seen her in a while, and she made it clear she didn’t need company. Damien respected that—at least outwardly. But it didn’t stop the flicker of irritation in his chest when she kissed his cheek and walked out like it cost her nothing to leave him behind.

So he did the only thing he could do to stay sane—he buried himself in work.

Locked inside his home office, he made sure to destroy the contract—every copy, every trace. The shredded paper scattered across the bottom of the bin like dead weight. Final. Irreversible.

Good.

No one would ever know. That agreement didn’t define them anymore. What they had now was real—messy, wild, and terrifyingly consuming. And if anyone ever tried to twist it into something it wasn’t, he’d personally burn that narrative to the ground.

He turned to his computer and opened his overflowing inbox. It was like a slap of reality—deals pending, clients circling, rivals waiting for him to misstep. He called Sophie to go over his schedule.

She picked up on the second ring. “Mr. Blackthorn, I was just updating the calendar. We’ve got a full two weeks—court appearances, two arbitration preps, and that charity follow-up from the Lennox event.”

“Double-book me if you have to,” he said. “I need the workload.”

There was a pause. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, a little too sharply.

He hung up and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

Truth was, he wasn’t fine. He was starving.

Not for power. Not for another win.

For her.

He couldn’t get the taste of Mara out of his system. The way she kissed him when she forgot how angry she wanted to be. The way her body trembled when he touched her right. She was fire wrapped in silk—intoxicating and dangerous. He wanted to strip her bare, again and again, just to see if she’d fall apart the same way twice.

And yet, what twisted the knife deeper was this:

She didn’t need him the way he needed her.

At least, not yet.

He drummed his fingers on the desk, jaw locked.

If he wanted her to realize just how irreplaceable he was, he’d have to play a longer game. Let her taste freedom—then remind her exactly who she belonged to when she came back.

Damien had gone all in. Candles flickered across the living room, casting a golden glow over the space, soft eighties ballads humming in the background like a private memory shared between them. He wanted the mood right—intimate, warm, quiet. No distractions. Just him and Mara.

And he wanted her to see how far he’d go when it came to her.

He’d cooked everything himself—her favorites, down to the last detail. Small plates, perfectly arranged on the coffee table. He even remembered how she liked her vegetables cut—precise, like a designer plated the damn dish.

The reward?

The look on her face when she walked through the door.

“You really are trying to make things difficult for me, aren’t you?” she teased, that smile doing dangerous things to his control.

He smirked, stepping closer, voice low. “I’m trying to make sure you understand how serious I am when it comes to us.”

She didn’t answer with words—just dropped her bag, tossed her jacket aside, and came straight to him like a force of nature. Fist clutching his shirt, mouth crashing against his. Her kiss was fire—needy, fast, real. His hands flew to her waist, pulling her flush against him, but before he could deepen it, she pulled away.

Typical Mara.

Always keeping him on the edge of madness.

She turned her gaze to the coffee table, eyes lighting up at the sight. She didn’t say much—but she didn’t need to. He saw it in the way she softened, how her shoulders dropped. He had gotten it right.

“Take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the couch. “I thought we could do a more relaxed dinner tonight. Just the two of us.”

“I really appreciate it,” she said, her voice quieter now. Warmer.

He watched her sit down, tucking her legs under herself, and his chest tightened.

She fit here. In his space. In his life. She was becoming the center of it, whether she realized it yet or not.

He settled beside her, pouring her a drink, watching her reach for a bite with a content sigh.

“You’re dangerous when you’re like this,” she murmured between bites. “Sweet. Thoughtful. You’ll make me fall even harder.”

Damien’s gaze dropped to her lips. “That’s the point, Mara. I want you to fall. No safety net. No contract. Just me.”

She froze for a second, eyes locked with his.

Then, slowly, she leaned in again—this time with more meaning, less heat. Her lips brushed his softly, reverently.

And he knew: she was almost there.

Almost his.

They lingered over dinner longer than either of them expected. Mara’s voice was full of color as she recounted her day with Leah—coffee and brunch, followed by what she called “light shopping,” which probably meant she cleared out half a boutique.

Damien didn’t mind. She dropped the bags near the elevator, completely forgetting them the second she walked into the penthouse and saw what he’d done.

He’d take that as a win.

She teased him then, saying she’d bought something specifically to drive him crazy.

He arched a brow. “Here I am trying to keep things romantic between us tonight.”

Mara leaned closer, her voice velvet-smooth. “Romance involves getting to know each other on a deeper level.”

His hand slid around to the back of her neck, fingers threading gently through her hair. He tugged her in, his mouth brushing against hers—slow, suggestive, completely deliberate.

“Does that involve more than just sexy lingerie?”

Her smile curved against his lips. “What do you have in mind?”

He kissed her once. A taste. A warning. “You in that lingerie… me, taking my time… maybe introducing you to a few toys that’ll leave you a begging mess.”

She bit her lip, and the reaction stirred something dark and satisfied in his chest.

Then she dropped the line.

“Leah is right about you.”

His brow lifted. “Right about what exactly?”

“She says you’re like the main character in a dark, sexy romance book.”

He chuckled, leaning back with a slow smirk. “I’m even better. I’m real.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling—but he didn’t miss the way her thighs shifted slightly, the tension humming in her body.

Good. Let her feel it.

He leaned in again, his voice dropping an octave. “And real men know exactly how to handle a woman like you.”

She swallowed, clearly affected.

He took her wineglass and set it down beside them, then rose from the couch and offered her his hand. “Come on.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Where are we going?”

He tugged her gently to her feet. “To help you try on whatever you bought that’s supposed to drive me crazy.”

She laughed, half-reluctant, half-thrilled. “You’re relentless.”

He gave her that wolfish grin she’d come to recognize far too well. “No, sweetheart. I’m invested.”

And tonight? He planned to prove just how dangerously real he could be.

He loved the way Mara followed him without question. That soft, trusting obedience that came only when she felt safe—and utterly consumed. It was addictive.

She let him guide her to his bedroom.

Their bedroom, if he were being honest. She spent more nights tangled in his sheets than her own. But he wasn’t reckless enough to say that out loud. Not yet.

He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, elbows resting casually on his knees—watching her with a gaze that didn’t blink. The moment she began to undress, slow and deliberate, he felt it: that familiar, tightening pull in his gut.

The red lingerie she wore? Designed to torment him.

And it worked.

Still, he didn’t move.

“Go grab the toys you have,” he said, his voice low, laced with promise. “Let’s see how far I can push you tonight.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly. “H-How?”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You probably didn’t realize the box was cracked open in your underwear drawer the other day. Gave me a good idea of what you’ve been keeping from me.”

She hesitated for half a second, her body betraying her indecision with a flicker of heat in her eyes.

“You don’t want me to drive you mad with your vibrator?” he asked, his voice a dark caress.

That was all it took.

She turned without a word and disappeared into the other room, only to return moments later with the box clutched in her hands.

He patted the mattress beside him.

“Put it here.”

She obeyed.

He flipped open the lid, eyes scanning the contents with a satisfied hum. “Well, well… I knew you had a deliciously dirty mind, but this confirms it.”

Her blush deepened.

He pulled one of the toys out, letting it rest in his palm like he was considering his next move. Then, he turned to her, brushing a hand down her bare thigh. “Lay back. And keep your eyes on me.”

She moved without a word, anticipation thick in the air between them.

He climbed over her slowly, settling his weight just enough to pin her. Their bodies didn’t quite touch—not yet. He wanted to tease, to make her ache.

“This,” he murmured as he brought the toy into view, “isn’t just about your pleasure.”

He leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear.

“It’s about showing you what happens when you put yourself in my hands.”

He turned it on, low and steady. Her breath caught.

“And tonight, you don’t come until I say so.”

She trembled beneath him, her chest rising and falling in anticipation. Damien never rushed moments like this. Especially not with her. Mara gave herself to him in ways that had nothing to do with submission and everything to do with trust.

He ghosted the toy across the inside of her thigh, his knuckles brushing her skin just enough to make her twitch. The heat in her eyes burned through him, that familiar look—half challenge, half surrender—that never failed to undo him.

“You look so damn beautiful like this,” he murmured.

Mara reached for him, her hands fisting the sheets instead when he shook his head. “I told you. Not until I say so.”

He slid the toy higher, watching her legs tremble.

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s how much I want you.”

She bit her lower lip, trying to stay composed.

Damien’s free hand cupped her cheek, grounding her as her breathing grew shallow. He kissed her softly, slowly, sinking into her lips as he coaxed her higher. He was relentless but tender—pulling back just before she lost control, making her beg without saying a word.

“I can feel how close you are,” he said against her lips. “But I want you to remember tonight. Every second of it.”

She whimpered—soft, needy. And that sound nearly shattered his resolve.

When he finally gave her permission, when he told her, “Now”—she fell apart in his arms, her body arching into his as if the only place she could survive was under his touch.

He held her through it. He always would.

And afterward, when she was boneless and soft beneath him, he kissed the top of her head and whispered, “You’re mine, Mara Lennox. Every part of you.”

She didn't deny it. She couldn’t.

She was his in every possible way.