Elena’s POV

I was pinned against Damien’s legs, my body trapped between him and the sofa, unable to retreat or turn away. His hand pressed firmly against my waist, skin meeting skin where my short top failed to cover me. The warmth of his palm burned through me as his fingers rubbed deliberately—slow, unyielding—until a red mark bloomed beneath his touch, as if he meant to brand the moment into my body.

He lowered his head slightly. His voice was calm, almost idle, but edged with ...