*Isabella's POV*
"Damien," I called out, my voice a hoarse, raspy whisper. His eyes fluttered open, those dark, intense eyes immediately finding mine. For a second, they were soft, almost gentle.
"Let's talk outside," he whispered back, his voice a low rumble in his chest.
I nodded, my heart giving a weird little flutter. I had to move like a goddamn contortionist to extract myself from Jacob's embrace without waking him, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. I grabbed the first thing I could find—one of their soft, oversized t-shirts—and pulled it on before following Damien out into the quiet, sun-drenched hallway.
"Morning, Isabella," he said, his voice still low. "Are you sore?"
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "My back hurts, my hips ache, and basically everything else feels like it's been put through a fucking meat grinder. So, yeah. You could say I'm sore."
"Say no more," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Come with me."
"Where?" I hesitated, suddenly feeling very exposed in just a t-shirt.
He just wrapped a strong arm around my waist, pulling me against his side. "You'll see." His tone was gentle, but it was still a command. He led me through the massive, silent mansion, my bare feet silent on the cold marble floors.
We stopped in front of a closed door. "Go on, open it."
I did, and… holy shit. It was an elegant, spa-like room, all dark wood and soft lighting, and right in the center, a large, steaming hot tub bubbled invitingly.
"Wow, Damien," I breathed, genuinely impressed. "Your house has it all. And you didn't think to tell me until now? I've lost precious fucking days not being inside that hot tub."
A real, genuine smile spread across his face, softening all his hard edges. "Sorry, it never came up," he chuckled. "You can stay in there as long as you want, but make sure to take breaks." He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping. "I'm still gonna need you… at work."
A shiver went through me that had nothing to do with being cold. This whole fucking situation was insane. "First," he said, nodding towards a corner of the room I hadn't noticed, "hop on the table."
My eyes followed his gaze. "The… massage table?" I asked, my voice laced with suspicion.
He just nodded, stepping behind me, his hands resting gently on my shoulders. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
"I've been told my hands can do magic," he whispered.
"Well, whoever said that wasn't fucking wrong," I said, a smirk touching my lips as the memory of last night—of his hands all over me—flashed through my mind.
"Mind out of the gutter, Ms. Williams," he teased, and the sound of it, so light and fucking normal, made me actually giggle. A real, honest-to-god giggle.
We made our way towards the massage table, and I hopped on, lying face down, resting my cheek on the cradle. I was sure Damien just wanted to soothe my sore, aching muscles. And to his credit, his movements weren't seductive at all. For all I know, he was using perfectly normal, professional massaging techniques. But fuck… it didn't matter. The firm, sure pressure of his palms against my skin, the way his thumbs worked into the knots on my lower back… it all sent a fresh, fucking embarrassing wave of heat straight to my core. He was trying to fix me, and all I could think about was him breaking me all over again.
"Damien," I breathed out, my voice muffled by the table.
"Yes?" he responded, his voice calm, focused.
"That's enough," I said, pushing myself up before I did something stupid, like moan his name for a whole new reason.
He stopped instantly, his hands hovering over my back. "What? Didn't you like it? Was I too rough? I can go slower," he said, his voice laced with genuine concern, and it was so fucking disarming.
I turned to look at him, a small, tired smile on my face. "Damien," I said, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You and I both know…" I paused, letting the words hang in the air between us. "You can never go slow."
He looked at me for a second, and then a slow, gorgeous smile spread across his face, and we both laughed.
I made my way back to my bedroom, moving like a fucking ninja to change into a white bikini, being extra careful not to wake Jacob.
We met back in the spa room, and holy shit. Damien was standing there in a pair of swim shorts that hung low on his hips, holding two steaming mugs. He handed me one as I slid into the hot tub, the hot water immediately starting to work its magic on my aching muscles. I took a long sip of the bitter coffee before letting out a contented sigh.
"I would have preferred champagne, but coffee is good too, I guess," I said, a teasing lilt in my voice.
"Champagne? I mean, it's 11 a.m., but there's a mini fridge right there, I can get you..." he was saying, all serious and ready to play butler, when I cut him off.
"I was kidding," I said, a small laugh escaping me. I paused, then asked, a little nervously, "So you really keep champagne in here?"
"Yes, why not?" he responded, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Damn. This is... this is too much," I stuttered, feeling a familiar heat creep up my neck. "I've never... well, I don't know how to feel with a fucking spa in my house. I mean, it's not my house, but I live here and..." I trailed off, feeling like an idiot.
He just chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated through the water. "Isabella," he said, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that made my stomach clench. He moved closer, caging me in, pinning me gently against the wall of the tub. His finger came up, tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to look into his intense, dark eyes.
"You belong here," he said, his voice a raw, intimate whisper. "You belong in luxury. You're a queen."
And fuck me, if that didn't make me blush harder than anything else he'd done to me. My heart was hammering against my ribs, and I was completely lost in his eyes until, we heard someone clear their throat.