The Fine Print of Us

Chapter fourteen - Dressed in Sin

The night of the charity event arrived faster than she hoped. Mara stood in front of the mirror in her walk-in closet, smoothing down the emerald-green satin gown Clarissa had personally sent over two days ago. Of course, the fit was perfect. Her mother knew her exact measurements like she was still a doll to dress up for the press.

It was beautiful. She hated that it was beautiful.

She stared at her reflection, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her makeup was flawless. Her body looked sculpted. The necklace Damien surprised her with earlier that afternoon was simple, delicate, expensive and rested just above the neckline of the dress.

She looked like she belonged to this world.

But she didn’t feel like she did.

From the hallway, she heard the low murmur of Damien’s voice, talking to their driver, probably finalizing security. He was always five steps ahead, and somehow that made her feel... safe. Even if part of her still didn’t trust what was happening between them. This wasn’t just about PR anymore, and they both knew it.

Mara slipped into her heels, grabbed her matching clutch, and headed into the living room. The second Damien turned to face her, she caught the subtle change in his expression. His gaze swept over her slowly, appreciatively. It wasn’t just admiration. It was ownership. Hunger. Something deeper than lust.

“You’re going to make it very hard for me to behave tonight,” he murmured, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored tux.

She rolled her eyes, even though her heart skipped at his words. “Try your best, Mr. Blackthorn. It’s a charity event.”

He moved to her, offering his arm. “For once, I hope it’s crawling with paparazzi.”

She arched a brow. “Why?”

“So everyone sees exactly who you belong to tonight.”

Her breath caught but she didn’t let him see it.

She had to admit—he looked good. Unfairly good, honestly. The kind of good that made her forget for half a second why she ever tried to keep her distance. That suit fit him like it was made just for him, crisp lines and dark fabric hugging broad shoulders and long legs. He looked like control and trouble wrapped in silk and sin.

He worried he couldn’t behave himself tonight.

She worried she wouldn’t want him to.

In the back of the car, the air was thick with unspoken tension. The kind of tension that curled around her like smoke. It was always like this between them. A game of willpower and temptation. Who would c***k first. Who would reach across the line they both pretended not to see.

They were good at this—driving each other to the edge.

And maybe, just maybe, they liked it that way.

Mara crossed her legs, smoothing down the black silk of her dress. The slit ran high up her thigh, and she didn’t miss the way Damien noticed. Of course he noticed. His gaze was molten, burning a path up her legs, daring her to meet his eyes.

She did. “You’re staring.”

His lips curved with the kind of smirk that set off every warning bell in her body. “You wore that dress on purpose.”

“Obviously.” She tilted her chin. “If I’m going to be paraded around like some shiny accessory, I might as well keep your attention.”

“You always do.”

She looked away, hiding the way her heart skipped at the low rasp of his voice. Mara Lennox didn’t fall easily. But somehow, when Damien Blackthorn looked at her like that, she could feel pieces of her armor loosen.

Outside, flashes lit up the sidewalk. Paparazzi. Socialites. Public appearances carefully staged to sell stories.

She felt his hand reach for hers. For a moment, she hesitated. Then, carefully, she laced her fingers through his. His palm was warm, steady.

“You ready to face the wolves?” he asked.

Mara let out a soft breath. “Born ready.”

The door opened. And with practiced poise, she stepped out into the chaos of cameras, lights, and whispers—her head high, her hand in Damien’s, and every inch of her ready for the night ahead.

The evening was filled with meaningless chatter. Half the people in the room were strangers. The other half? Glossy socialites who smiled like predators and eyed Damien like he was some limited-edition prize. And maybe he was. Powerful.

Polished. Impossible to ignore.

But he was hers.

What they didn’t seem to realize—what maybe she hadn’t realized until recently—was that he made sure she was never just a plus-one at his side. He kept her close, his arm anchored around her waist like he needed the contact. Like it grounded him. Occasionally, he’d dip down and kiss her temple, or slide his gaze to hers with a quiet heat that made her forget the crowd entirely.

And oh, how that annoyed the other women.

They shot her icy glares from across the room, designer smiles twitching in barely concealed irritation. She knew the look. Why her? their eyes screamed.

Mara didn’t flinch. She leaned into him deliberately. Whispered things in his ear she knew would make him smirk. Kissed the curve of his jaw, leaving a faint lipstick mark she didn’t bother wiping away.

Let them see.

He was hers tonight. No question.

And judging by the way his hand kept sliding lower against her back, by the way he looked at her like he was counting down the seconds until they were alone again—he wanted the whole room to know it, too.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he murmured into her ear, lips brushing just enough to make her toes curl.

She tilted her head, playful. “It’s tolerable. The company helps.”

He chuckled, low and warm, his fingers flexing slightly at her hip. “Good. Because I have every intention of ending this night with you under me again.”

Her breath hitched. Heat coiled low in her belly.

She schooled her features and turned to smile at a passing couple, but her heart was racing.

And just like that, Mara Lennox forgot every woman in that room. Forgot her mother’s watchful gaze. Forgot the cameras. The whispers. The clink of champagne glasses.

There was only him.

Only the way he looked at her like she was the only thing he wanted in the world.

And she was dangerously close to letting herself believe it.

They really did enjoy each other’s company. The teasing, the subtle touches, the way they circled each other like they were always a breath away from giving in completely. Mara hadn’t laughed this much in public in what felt like forever. It was easy—too easy—with Damien.

So when Nolan Hale appeared in front of them like a plot twist she didn’t see coming, her stomach gave a traitorous flip.

He stood tall, hands casually tucked in his pockets, that same composed charm clinging to him like cologne. His smile was warm but… controlled. Like it had edges.

“It’s really good to see you, Mara.”

“Nolan!” She blinked, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

His gaze lingered. Not long enough to be rude, but long enough for her to feel it. He took in her dress, the way Damien’s arm was draped around her waist, how closely their bodies fit.

The shift in his expression was subtle—but she noticed.

“This is my—” She hesitated, heartbeat thudding. What was Damien to her? She cleared her throat, then finished with quiet certainty, “—boyfriend, Damien Blackthorn.”

Damien didn’t miss a beat. Of course he didn’t.

He extended a hand with all the confidence in the world. “Nice to meet you. Mara’s told me a lot about you.”

The smile Nolan returned didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh?” he said, shaking Damien’s hand. “Hope it was flattering.”

Mara caught the flicker of surprise on Nolan’s face—just for a second—before he masked it again. Damien had delivered a silent blow: I know who you are. And she’s with me.

She resisted the urge to press her fingers to her temple.

This was not the moment she wanted two very different parts of her life to collide.

“So,” she said, injecting cheer into her voice, “what brings you to a stuffy event like this? I thought horror writers avoided crowds like the plague.”

Nolan’s mouth quirked. “Turns out I’m a sucker for good causes. And Clarissa Lennox is very persuasive.”

Of course.

Her mother had invited him.

Mara felt Damien’s fingers tighten slightly on her waist, subtle but deliberate. She knew what he was thinking. She was thinking it too.

Clarissa had orchestrated this. Carefully. Quietly.

And she wasn’t done yet.

Damien never lost a challenge. It just wasn’t in his DNA. Mara had a front-row seat to the spark in his eyes, that sharp glint that said game on. And when it came to her mother? Oh, he was playing chess while Clarissa was still setting up the board.

Whatever Clarissa had tried to prove tonight—whether it was parading Nolan like some casually placed trap or hoping to rattle Damien’s composure—it backfired spectacularly. If anything, it only made Damien dig in deeper.

“She is a woman who knows exactly what she wants,” Damien said smoothly, eyes locking with hers. The weight of his gaze curled low in her belly. He turned his attention back to Nolan for one last verbal bow. “If you’ll excuse me, Nolan, I owe my lovely girlfriend a dance before we head home.”

Then, as if this were a movie and he’d memorized the perfect scene, he took her hand and led her toward the dance floor.

Her pulse thudded like a drumline as he pulled her close, one hand resting on her lower back, the other guiding her effortlessly. He moved like someone born to be watched—and right now, all eyes were on them.

Mara swallowed her nerves and let herself melt into him.

She could feel it—the silent message written all over his touch: She’s mine. And I won’t let her go.

Her cheeks flushed under the heat of it, but her heart? It felt like it was soaring and crashing all at once. She wasn’t used to being wanted like this—so boldly, so publicly.

And God help her, she loved it.

"You didn’t have to go that hard, you know," she murmured, half teasing, half breathless.

“I didn’t even warm up,” he whispered back, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

Her knees nearly gave out.

She clung to his shoulder to steady herself, praying no one noticed how unsteady she felt—or how much she wanted to drag him out of here and let his actions follow through on every promise his eyes made tonight.

But for now, she let him lead. Let herself fall into the rhythm of his touch. Let the world blur out while Damien Blackthorn spun her around like she was the only woman in it.

Because for a moment, she almost believed it.

They could barely keep their hands to themselves in the backseat. Thank God for the privacy screen—or she might have died from sheer embarrassment. Damien didn’t care. His hands were everywhere, igniting little fires along her skin, while she clung to him, kissing him like her life depended on it, trying and failing to match the heat he brought to the surface.

By the time they reached their private garage, she was a complete mess—hair tousled, lipstick ruined, heart thundering like she’d just run a marathon. And the moment the driver opened the door? Mortification hit like a slap. She kept her eyes firmly on the ground, praying he wouldn’t look too closely and definitely wouldn’t smell the truth radiating off her flushed skin.

Damien, naturally, looked like sin in a tailored suit—unbothered, amused, victorious.

He took her hand like he owned her and led her to the private elevator, smug as hell.

The second the doors slid shut, all bets were off.

His lips crashed against hers, and before she could blink, she was in his arms, back pressed against the cool steel wall. Her breath hitched. Her hands scrambled for purchase across his shoulders.

She moaned softly as his fingers skimmed up her thigh, slipping under the hem of her silk dress. When he hooked a finger into the waistband of her panties and began to drag them down, she gasped.

“Damien!”

His mouth found her neck, warm and coaxing and impossible to resist. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ll be quick.”

Liar, she thought—but the truth was, she didn’t care.

She was too far gone.

There was something about the danger of it all—the elevator, the chance of being caught, the way his voice made promises she never thought she’d crave again—that turned her into someone entirely unrecognizable.

Someone who wanted. Desperately.

Someone who couldn’t pretend anymore.

And the moment his mouth found hers again, hungry and all-consuming, she stopped trying.

The doors opened and somehow, they made it to the penthouse in one piece. He carried her through the hall, kissing her as they stumbled their way into the bedroom. Clothes were discarded in a trail—her heels, his jacket, that gorgeous silk dress—until nothing stood between them but the heat that had been building for hours.

Damien laid her gently on the bed, his hands reverent now, slowing the pace like he wanted to remember every inch of her. She shivered beneath his touch, arched into his palms, let herself unravel.

He kissed her like she was something sacred, something he couldn’t get enough of. His voice a low whisper, full of promises she wasn’t sure he even realized he was making.

That he’d never let her go.

That she was his.

She clung to him, moaned into his mouth, and gave herself over completely. There was no fight left in her. Not when it came to him. Not tonight.

They made love slowly, then again like they couldn’t get enough. Through laughter and tangled sheets. Through breathless kisses and whispered names. Until there was nothing left to say, and the only sound was the soft rhythm of their hearts beating in sync.

By the time they collapsed into each other, slick with sweat and completely spent, the world had disappeared. There was only this.

Only them.