Sarah ran into the house. She remembered that Mrs. Blue had gone to visit her nephews today, so she wasn't coming back tonight. "Thank God Mrs. Blue isn't here tonight, otherwise I'd be even more embarrassed," she whispered to herself. Sarah hurriedly went up the stairs to her room.
She took a long, hot shower, the water cascading over her body, desperately trying to wash away the tears, the pain, the despair... trying to wash away the desire for Damien. "What are you doing, Sarah, come to your senses! That man just made things difficult for James Holland, remember, he's not a good guy." She scolded herself. She changed into a white lace gown and sat on the sofa by the window, gazing out at the starry sky, lost in her thoughts. "When will I remember everything? This is so frustrating..."
Damien hurriedly ran towards his room. He got in the shower, needing to cool the fever of his raw, intense desire for her. He was plagued by the weight of his grandfather's wishes, the agony of his impending engagement with Penelope. How can I find a way out of this? He thought, his heart heavy with despair. His love for Sarah, his obsession, his jealousy—he wanted her to be his and his only.
He went out into the garden, seeking solace in the cool night air. He saw the dim light in Sarah's room. She's not sleeping, he realized. He went back inside, came to her door, and raised his hand to knock, but he froze. He couldn't face her, knowing the pain of their situation. He turned away, the silence of the house echoing his regret.
Sarah got up from the chair, pacing the room. She knew she needed to leave this house, to put distance between herself and Damien. Feeling hunger, she went downstairs and opened the fridge to pour some milk. She was leaving the kitchen when she collided with something hard. The glass she carried wobbled, spilling milk onto the floor and across Damien's bare, muscular abdomen.
She gasped in surprise. He stood over her, his eyes piercing and dark. He didn't say a word, just stared. She offered him a paper towel, but he took her hand and placed it on his abdomen, whispering, "Can't you do it?" His voice was low and dangerous. She approached him and started cleaning his firm body. Her cold fingers touched his hot skin, waking up every nerve. Her face flushed, and he wrapped his hand around her waist, pulling her close.
He lifted her and sat her on the counter, then began kissing her collarbone with feverish desperation. She moaned in his ear. He whispered dangerously low, "I want you, Kitten, I want you now."
She shivered, caught in a trance she couldn't break. "Damien..." she whispered, unable to resist the pull. He then stopped kissing her and asked, "Do you want me?" She looked at him with eyes full of desire and nodded.
He swept her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom. He closed the door shut with his leg and gently laid her onto his large bed. In the quiet sanctuary of his room, the conflict that had driven them apart dissolved into a fierce, unifying passion. They moved together with a desperate need to claim the truth that only existed between them, a truth their minds had tried to deny, but their bodies instantly recognized. Every touch, every kiss, was an affirmation that no matter the outside world's demands, in this moment, they belonged only to each other.
The culmination was a shared, profound release that transcended the simple physical act, binding their hearts and souls in a perfect, desperate harmony.
Afterward, Damien pulled back slightly and kissed her forehead. "Do you want to do it again?"
Tired but utterly fulfilled, she nodded. He smiled, got up, and a minute later reappeared with water and cherries. "Thirsty?" he said, and laughed when she drank half the bottle. He fed her cherries, their eyes locked as they shared the fruit.
He took her and sat her on his lap, their bodies fitting perfectly together. The intense desire pulled them back, but this time, it was softened by tenderness. He groaned, "Dammit, Kitten, I want to be inside you again, I want to be inside your body."
She smiled and said teasingly, "Take me if you dare."
He took the challenge. They joined again, moving as one, their rhythm born of deep intimacy. All the rage and pain vanished, replaced by the simple, undeniable certainty that she was his. Their lovemaking was endless, fueled by an unbreakable bond. When their bodies finally calmed, Damien held Sarah close, their bodies entwined, and they finally fell asleep.
Ruining My Life
Sarah was the first to stir. She woke up tangled in the sheets, Damien's arm heavy and possessive across her waist. She raised herself onto her elbows, looking down at his face, peaceful in sleep. A pang of tenderness hit her, but it was quickly replaced by a sharp realization of the disaster they had created.
She placed her hand softly on his cheek, rousing him. He opened his eyes, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly before he leaned up and kissed her forehead.
"Damien," she whispered, her voice rough, "can we go back after this?"
Damien's smile faded. "Go back where?"
"To being strangers."
He stared at her, speechless, the simple request hitting him with unexpected force.
"I heard your conversation earlier," Sarah continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Why are you making things hard for James Holland? Is it because of me?"
The peaceful look vanished, replaced by a defensive anger. "Sarah, I don't want him in your proximity."
"Isn't that up to me to decide?" she challenged.
"I don't like him."
"But you liked him before I showed up, didn't you? You've been doing business together for years, and now suddenly you no longer like him."
Damien glared at her, his eyes hardening. "What are you saying, Sarah Walker?"
"I'm saying that you, Mr. Sterling, should separate business from your personal matters and stop making trouble."
Damien sat bolt upright, the sheets pooling around his waist. "Are you defending another man right in front of me? Right after I've been inside you?" His voice was low and dangerous.
"James Holland is innocent in this and you know it. Don't you think if I liked him and wanted to be with him, I wouldn't be in your arms now?"
"Sarah..."
"No. Don't say Sarah. What are you doing, Damien Sterling? Why are you ruining his life? Isn't it enough that you're ruining mine by controlling me and removing whoever approaches me? Look at me, I became your mistress, aren't I pathetic?"
Damien's control snapped. With a roar of fury, he punched the wooden side table next to the bed. The jarring noise echoed in the room. He scrambled up and strode to his closet, his back rigid with rage, pulling on his clothes with brutal force.
Sarah scrambled to put on her underwear and snatched up the remnants of her ripped nightgown. She didn't look back. She rushed out of his bedroom and slammed the door with a final, echoing force.
He didn't look at her, but he heard the sound that confirmed his worst fear: the heavy slam of the bedroom door. Sarah had left.
She stumbled to her own room, slammed that door shut too, and sank to the floor, her back pressed against the wood. The tears came instantly, hot and painful. Every time she was with Damien, a fresh wave of self-hatred crashed over her. She wasn't his girlfriend, his fiancée, or his wife—she was just his secret, his mistress.
She loved him, her body craving him every time, yet she felt utterly helpless and trapped. The desperate cycle was closing in, and all she could do was cling to the door and weep, hating the desperate, pathetic woman she had become.