Nayla's body was still pressed against the wall when Damian closed the distance again. Amid the ragged breaths, Nayla knew she was falling. Not into love, but into a kind of ruin far too pleasurable to resist.
"I hate you, Damian," she whispered. Her voice barely audible.
Damian lifted her face with one hand. His thumb brushed her chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "But you've never hated my touch."
He looked at Nayla like a dream he could never fully grasp. His hand stroked her cheek softly, trailing down her neck, finally resting on the collarbone that rose and fell with each breath.
"I should've stayed away from you," Nayla murmured, caught between reason and surrender.
Damian didn't answer right away. He leaned in, pressing a kiss beneath her jaw. "But you never could."
"Stop talking like you're the one in control."
In an instant, Damian's hand clamped around her neck. Not to hurt, but to remind her exactly who held the reins.
"You trying to kill me?" Nayla choked out.
Damian chuckled darkly. "More like killing the part of you that still thinks of him." His voice turned into a growl. "That fucking bastard."
Nayla bit her lip, unable to form a reply. Though her face flushed with defiance, her body didn't move away. It leaned in, like an addict drawn to the very poison she should avoid.
"Let go," she gasped, nearly choking.
He did. Not out of mercy, but out of fear of losing control completely.
She thought that would be the end. But within seconds, his lips were on hers again. Rough, deep, and demanding.
His hands roamed her body without pause. After tasting her parted lips, he pulled back to look at her flushed face. His fingers grazed her neck, where faint marks had already formed, claiming her as his.
"I told you not to marry him," Damian said quietly, more to himself than to her. "Again and again."
Nayla closed her eyes. Her heart thudded at the edge of his voice. Wounded and restrained. For a second, his face held a tenderness that slipped through his unresolved rage.
"Why didn't you ever listen, Nayla?"
Silence. Only their uneven breaths filled the space.
"I hated watching you stand at that altar. Not just because he's a bastard." Damian's eyes burned into hers. "But because it wasn't me standing there."
"Don't talk about that, Damian."
"Then what?"
He looked at her like a man who was never satisfied. Every glare, every scowl, each one only added fuel to the fire that burned between them.
He knew Nayla would resist. But he also knew she never truly meant it.
Without warning, his hand moved to her thigh, rough and possessive. His fingers traced her skin, then pressed with unapologetic intensity. Not to ask, not to plead, but to declare that her body, every curve and contour, belonged to him. His touch sent a wave of heat surging through her. Her breath hitched beneath the rising demand.
"Damian!"
Nayla bit her lip, a soft moan escaping as Damian's mouth traveled down to the hollow of her chest.
"I hate that you still cry for him," he murmured against her skin. "But I hate it even more that you're not mine."
He unfastened her dress slowly, purposefully, as if every thread was a barrier meant to be broken.
When the fabric fell away, Damian paused, eyes locked on hers. For a moment, silence. His gaze was dark, heavy with near-wild desire. Yet what startled Nayla most was how gently he touched her. This time, his caress was tender. Too tender.
He laid her down beneath him. His gaze worshipped. But just as a faint smile formed on her lips, Damian's hand found her throat again. Not to harm. Just enough to remind her that Damian would always be Damian.
"Replace every memory with what we do tonight," he said, voice firm.
Nayla took a long breath as Damian lowered himself, kissing every inch of her with growing heat. His tongue, his hands, his body, everything spoke a language only they understood.
And the night bore witness as waves of emotion melted into one. No boundaries. No breaks. Just two souls burning in a pull too deep to deny.
Damian didn't give her room to breathe. His touch moved fast, but never rushed. He knew exactly where Nayla would tremble, playing her like a maestro with his most familiar instrument.
"Your body wants me, Nayla. More than it's ever wanted anyone," Damian whispered as his fingers circled her most sensitive point.
A moan tore from her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to anything to keep her grounded.
But she was already flying.
The first climax hit like a storm. Nayla arched, mouth parted in silent release. Sweat beaded her skin. Yet Damian didn't stop. He only went deeper, harder, completely owning her.
"You love losing control under me, don't you?" he rasped, voice rough and urgent. "Say it."
Nayla could only nod. To hell with reason. Ever since this man entered her life, she'd been on the brink of madness.
Her body tensed again when Damian lifted her leg higher. He pinned her in a position that shattered all her defenses. And when he drove into her with feral hunger, the second wave crashed— just as mercilessly.
"Damian." Her voice broke, chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Yes. Say my name again."
Her limbs went limp, but he wasn't done. Not even close.
He pulled her closer, kissed her with unquenchable thirst. His hands moved again, sparking another fire. Nayla didn't just burn, she broke all over again in his hands.
Still gasping, she felt him shift, gripping her hips and dragging her toward the edge of the bed. In one seamless motion, he flipped her over.
Damian looked into her eyes, as if searching for traces of Nathan. And now, all she could think about was Damian, thrusting into her, slow but deep.
His lips curled into a smirk. Not just from seeing her writhe beneath him, but because he knew. He had become the only one. At least for tonight.
"Look at me," Damian commanded.
She obeyed. Her eyes, hazy and heavy with lust, locked onto his. She was far too consumed to be spared.
"Damian!"
"Yes, Amore."
She cried out as his pace shifted from wild to shattering. Damian didn't break eye contact. Not until both their bodies tensed. His final thrusts were deep and possessive. He groaned into her ear, and Nayla's body tightened around him.
Their final climax hit them in unison. Hot. Wild. Uncontained.
They collapsed, trembling in the aftermath. Damian didn't let go. He stared at her face, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. So gentle, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just passed.
In the silence, something lingered. An emotion left unsaid.
A fear, that this wasn't just about bodies colliding. But two souls dragging each other into a depth neither of them understood.
***
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