The sun hung high by the time they finally stirred. Damien awoke first, the remnants of tangled sheets clinging to his body. The warmth beside him — Celeste — lay curled under the blanket, strands of her hair sprawled over the pillow, her back rising and falling in steady breaths. He stared at her for a long moment. Last night wasn't just about lust. It was release. Desperation. Possession. But it was also something else… something that had started when she touched his hair as he broke down.
And now, as he laid beside her, that hunger hadn't subsided. It had only settled into something darker, deeper. A tethered heat, waiting.
He brushed a hand across her bare shoulder, his fingers reverent, eyes scanning the marks he'd left, lips parting slightly at the memory. She trusted him. Let him in. Gave him something she hadn't before. And he wanted more. Needed more.
Celeste stirred slightly, a sleepy sigh escaping her lips as she turned toward him, her eyes still closed. Her hair fell across her cheek. Damien tucked it back, his hand brushing against her jaw. That was all it took. Her lashes fluttered, and slowly, her gaze met his.
"Morning…" she mumbled, voice hoarse, mouth curling into a lazy smile.
He kissed her forehead. "You sure, you're okay?"
She nodded but blinked slowly. "Fine, I'm sore."
"Want me to run you a bath?"
She laughed softly. "Mmm… maybe. Later."
But the way her legs shifted under the blanket, and how his hand slid over her thigh to still them, the room filled with a sudden tension that made the air thick and tight.
"You're still here," she whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured, leaning closer.
This time, it wasn't a rushed tangle of desperation. It was slower. Hotter. More deliberate. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, starting at her mouth, then her throat, then lower still. Celeste's breath hitched as his hands explored her again, every inch of her seared with intent.
She tugged him down by the collar of his shirt, his weight pressing her into the mattress. Her nails raked gently down his back. "I want you… again."
"I gathered," he chuckled against her skin. "But slower this time. Let me love you properly."
That word — love — lingered. Neither of them dared to speak it aloud yet. But it was there. In every touch. Every sigh. Every way she clung to him and how he made her feel safe.
The sounds were softer this time, breathier. Celeste arched into him, her eyes locked with his, the quietest whimper escaping her lips as he sank into her again. Damien took his time, eyes dark with adoration and possessiveness, kissing away every flinch of doubt.
As the rhythm built and their breaths synced, she whispered his name, and he buried his face in her neck.
She didn't need to ask for his touch — he read her body like it was his favorite book. Every gasp, every shift, every clutch of the sheets under her fingers guided him. He kissed her collarbone, murmured her name, and whispered things he didn't dare say aloud when sober.
"You're mine," he growled against her skin. "No one else's."
And when they both broke apart, unraveling again in a haze of heat and soft moans, she clung to him like she never wanted to let go.
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Their breaths calmed slowly as he rolled beside her, dragging her against his chest, their skin sticky with sweat and affection.
"You okay?" he asked again, quieter this time.
Celeste, flushed and boneless, nodded against his chest. "More than okay."
His lips pressed against her forehead again. And in that moment, nothing outside that room mattered.
No secrets. No names. No past.
Just her.
Just him.
Just this.
Celeste's head tilted back, her lips parting as she tried to catch her breath. Her skin was flushed, heart thudding wildly beneath the sheen of sweat that clung to her like a second skin. She blinked up at the ceiling of Damien's bedroom, her limbs boneless against the silken sheets.
"You okay?" Damien's voice came out husky, breathless, but maddeningly calm.
She barely managed to nod.
"I'm not even going to lie to you," she mumbled, voice hoarse. "How are you not tired? Like, at all?"
Damien chuckled softly, propping himself up on his elbow as he looked down at her. The low morning light filtered through the curtains, casting him in golden hues, highlighting the stubble along his jaw and the smug glint in his sleepy, satisfied eyes.
He trailed a finger lazily down her arm, watching her shiver under his touch. "I could ask you the same. I thought you said you didn't have any experience."
She groaned and covered her face with her arm. "I'm 24, not 17. I'm not clueless. But… okay, maybe no hands-on experience until now."
He grinned, clearly amused. "You held your own just fine."
Celeste peeked at him from beneath her arm. "Damien, you're thirty-four. How are you still this… energised? I mean, do you run on batteries or something?"
He gave a slow shrug, then leaned closer until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. "Maybe it's just you."
Her stomach flipped, that one line hitting her like a second wave of heat. She bit down on her bottom lip to stifle the smile rising up, though her body still ached deliciously from earlier.
She rolled onto her side, curling closer to him but giving a dramatic sigh. "If I don't walk properly tomorrow, I'm blaming you."
"I'll take full responsibility."
She looked up at him. "You should. And maybe make breakfast while you're at it."
He let out a breath of laughter and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. "Deal. But only if you stay exactly where you are for ten more minutes."
Celeste melted into the mattress with a sleepy grin, letting his arms wrap around her again. Tired as she was, her heart was wide awake, fluttering like it had just discovered something forbidden and wonderful.
And maybe, just maybe, she didn't mind being completely wrecked if it meant being held like this after.
Damien rested his chin atop her head, silent for a few beats. Then, in a quieter voice, he added, "You're not a passing thing, Celeste."
She froze. Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't move.
"You're not just some night. You know that, right?"
Celeste slowly looked up at him, her throat tightening with the sudden weight of those words. He didn't need to say more. She could feel it in the way he held her, not just possessively, but protectively. As if something fragile had finally landed in his hands and he wasn't planning to let it go.
Her smile faded into something softer, almost reverent.
"Okay," she whispered.
And she meant it.
Even if her legs were trembling, her heart wasn't. Not anymore.
Celeste laid there with a breath stuck halfway between a whimper and a sigh, her body boneless against the soft bedspread. The room still carried the hazy warmth from the hours before—the tangled sheets, the discarded clothing, the faint scent of cologne and skin lingering in the air. Morning light stretched across the hardwood floor, brushing up against her flushed cheeks and bare shoulders.
Damien sat at the edge of the bed beside her, barely winded, his lean frame exuding a quiet kind of power. His tousled hair fell slightly over his forehead as he reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and offered it to her.
"You alive?" he asked, half teasing, half concerned.
Celeste managed a weak laugh, accepting the glass with trembling fingers. "Barely."
"You're not allowed to collapse on me, you know," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I'd feel far too guilty."
"You should," she croaked, voice hoarse, lips swollen. "You broke me."
He grinned, proud and just a little too pleased with himself. "You're not broken. Just… wonderfully disassembled."
Celeste groaned, trying to turn over, but her limbs didn't quite cooperate. "You're impossible."
Damien leaned in, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, his voice dropping to a rich murmur. "Maybe. But you're the one who let me."
She glared weakly at him through her lashes, flushed from the memory. "In my defense, I didn't expect you to have that much stamina. Are you even human?"
Damien chuckled low, a rumble that reverberated through his chest. "Is now the right time to propose another round?"
Celeste stared at him, incredulous. "You're kidding."
"Not entirely." He bent lower, tracing his finger slowly along her back. "You're gorgeous like this, you know. All soft and warm, barely able to move. It's dangerously tempting."
Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed out, "You're definitely kidding."
"I'm not," he whispered against her skin. "But I'll behave. Maybe."
Celeste peeked open one eye. "You better. Or I'm suing you for emotional and physical damage."
Damien laughed and kissed her temple. "I'll have Lucien draft the papers."
They stayed like that for a moment, silence settling between them in soft waves. Damien gently ran his hand along her back, almost absentmindedly, as if memorizing her shape. It was a quiet kind of intimacy, where no words were needed to affirm what was already there.
Celeste, her heartbeat slowing, finally asked, "Do you always handle things like this? With…your heart so wide open?"
Damien paused. "No. Never."
She glanced up, surprised.
"But you're not 'things,' Celeste." His voice was quiet. "You're you. And somehow, I keep losing parts of myself to you. Willingly."
Her throat tightened, her body aching in more ways than one.
"You make it really hard to stay guarded," she whispered.
"Good," he said, cupping her cheek. "Because I don't want your guard. I want you."
He kissed her again, but this time slow—lingering, almost reverent. She melted into him, even if her muscles protested. She was exhausted, bruised, yet somehow lighter. Something about being with Damien made her feel seen. Known.
And despite everything, her heart was beginning to unravel at the seams.
Just when she thought the moment couldn't become more intense, Damien's voice dropped again, teasing now. "So… last chance for that round?"
Celeste groaned and threw the pillow at him. "You're sleeping on the floor."
He caught the pillow easily, smug. "You mean we are sleeping on the floor. Because if I go, I'm taking you with me."
Celeste laughed despite herself, already regretting how her body tingled even at the thought.
Damien reached for her again, slow and coaxing, and even as she whispered "No," her hands curled into his shirt, tugging him closer.
And as the sunlight melted into gold and their laughter filled the room, the hours slipped away unnoticed—just like her resolve.
Her body ached in places she hadn't even known could ache—every stretch of muscle and flutter of skin thrummed with a heady mix of soreness and satisfaction. Celeste lay tangled in the sheets, her limbs sprawled carelessly, her breath still shallow from the relentless night Damien had gifted her. Each shift of movement sparked a delicious, slow burn across her thighs, her hips, the arch of her back—tender reminders of how thoroughly she had been undone.
The sheets clung to her sweat-kissed skin, warm and heavy, just like the weight of his touch that still lingered on her body. Her inner thighs quivered when she shifted, a soft gasp slipping past her lips. Even the cool air brushing against her oversensitive skin made her chest tighten, her breath hitching at the ghost of sensation.
Celeste had never felt this before—this blissful exhaustion, this dizzying high that curled around her spine like silk. She felt boneless, unraveled, as if Damien had peeled her open and filled every inch of her with his name. Her pulse still beat to the rhythm of his hands. And despite the soreness, the ache, the absolute ruin she felt… she wouldn't trade it for anything.
Because for once, she didn't feel used. She felt claimed.