The door shut behind me with a soft click that felt final.
No more excuses. No more interruptions.
Just the quiet hum of his house—warm light from the fireplace downstairs, snow falling thick and silent outside the big windows. The Christmas tree still glowed in the living room, multicolored lights reflecting off the glass like stars.
Damien didn’t speak. He took my coat slowly, fingers brushing my neck as he slid it off my shoulders. Hung it carefully. Then turned to me.
His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them—hungry, reverent, a little undone.
I stepped closer, hands going to the hem of his sweater. He let me pull it over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the faint scars I’d only glimpsed before. I traced one with my fingertips—a thin line near his collarbone.
