MACEY

My hands were moving too fast. Too desperate. I could not slow down, could not catch my breath. My body was already trembling, caught between wanting release and hating myself for how badly I craved it.

His name kept slipping past my lips in a whisper. Damien. Over and over. It was as if I was summoning him, as if I wanted him there.

“Damien… please,” I whispered, my voice a mixture of plea and confession.

It was insane. I should not have thought about him like this. He was wrong for me in every possible way. Too dangerous. Too controlled. Too much older. Yet every time I tried to push him out of my head, he came back sharper, stronger.

I could hear him in my mind. His voice was low and commanding, that dark rasp that wrapped around my spine like a fist. Strip for me, Macey. Do it slowly. Let me see all of you.

God. My body clenched, traitorous and eager.

I hated how easily he could slip inside me without ever touching me. Just his voice, his eyes, and the way he said my name as if he owned it.

I pressed harder, my breaths coming short and jagged. I could not stop. I did not want to stop. I wanted him. Not a memory. Not a fantasy. Him. Damien.

“Good girl,” I heard in my mind. The words were not real, but I felt them as if they were. My chest arched, chasing them, chasing him.

Tears stung my eyes, hot and humiliating, because I knew what this meant. I was not in control anymore. He was. Even in my fantasies, he was the one pulling the strings.

And the sick part was I loved it.

My head fell back, mouth open, his name spilling out again, louder this time. I wanted to believe he could hear me somehow, that he knew what he did to me.

“Damien…” My body jolted, heat crashing through me. The room blurred. My pulse raced wildly. For one blinding second, I let go completely.

Then my eyes snapped open.

Someone was there.

Not just anyone. Him. Damien.

He was leaning in the doorway, eyes locked on me like he had been there the whole time. Dark. Silent. Watching.

My heart stopped. My breath caught. Shock ripped through me so hard I thought I would choke on it. But it lasted only a second. The shame did not come. Not yet. Because even with his stare burning me alive, I could not stop moving. I could not stop dragging myself toward the edge he had built inside me.

My hands stuttered, faltered, but only for a beat. Then his gaze pinned me down, and I was gone.

Our eyes locked, and I swore the room tilted. He did not look away. He did not blink. He just stood there, arms loose at his sides, gaze fixed on me like he was already touching me, already inside my skin.

“Damien,” I whispered, my voice breaking on his name. My whole body flushed. A rush of heat crawled up my neck to my ears.

He did not answer. He just watched. He watched me come undone for him. He watched me beg without words.

I should have stopped. I should have pulled my skirt down, hidden, and screamed at him to leave. But instead, my body betrayed me again, moving rougher, needier, chasing that wicked high while he looked on.

It was humiliating. It was filthy. It was the most freeing thing I had ever felt.

My breath came out harsh and ragged, almost sobs now. I wanted to look away, but I could not. His eyes held me there, forced me to keep going. Forced me to break under the weight of his silence.

“Do you see what you do to me?” I whispered, voice trembling. “Do you see what you have made me?”

My body jolted, shaking, every nerve alight. The shame curled in, sharp and hot, but it was not enough to stop me. Not with him standing there. Not with him owning the air between us like he owned me.

I let out a strangled cry, half his name, half a broken sound, and my body shattered again, harder this time, because he was watching. Because he was silent. Because he knew.

And still, he did not move. He did not speak.

That was the cruelest part.

He stood there, drinking me in like I was a performance he had paid for, like I was nothing more than a toy unraveling in his hands.

Tears spilled down my cheeks. My throat burned. “Damien… please.”

He did not answer. He just watched me fall apart under the weight of everything I had tried to hide.

Then it happened. I shattered completely. My whole body clenched, trembling. The rush tore through me with a force that felt almost violent. My eyes slammed shut, my breath caught as I cried out his name again, helpless and raw.

When it was over, I collapsed back, chest heaving, sweat slicking my temples.

Silence.

I opened my eyes.

He was gone.

Like he had never been there at all.

I could not sit still.

My body was still trembling, even though the rush had already faded. I kept pacing the length of my office, back and forth like a caged animal. My heels clicked against the floor. My skin felt hot and sticky, like I had been branded. Every time I blinked, I saw him. Damien. Standing in the doorway. Watching me fall apart.

I pressed my palms to my face and groaned. “God, what the hell did I just do?”

It was insane. I was insane. Who let themselves go like that, knowing he might see, knowing he could? Worse, knowing that a part of me had wanted him to?

I stopped at the window, staring out at the night city. My reflection glared back at me. I did not look ashamed enough for what had just happened. My cheeks were still pink. My lips were swollen from biting down on them. My eyes looked hungry. I hated that.

Or maybe I loved it.

I spun away, dragging a hand through my hair. My thoughts were louder than the silence, clashing into each other, messy and impossible to control.

Did he really watch? Or did I imagine it?

Maybe I had finally broken. Maybe all the late nights of wanting him had snapped something in my head, and I had created him standing there. Maybe my brain was cruel enough to throw me hallucinations when my body was already wrecked.

But no. I knew better. He was there. His eyes were too sharp to have been a dream. His silence was too heavy to forget.

So he watched. He did not stop me. Why?

That was the part clawing at me, burning through me worse than the embarrassment. He had stood there. He had seen me lose it completely. And he did not move. Did not speak. Did not touch.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, my breath shaky. “Why did you not stop me, Damien?”

My phone buzzed.

The sound shot straight through me. My heart stuttered, and my legs nearly buckled. I fumbled for it off the desk. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped it.

A message.

From him.

Mr. Damien Blackwell.

I stared at his name lighting up the screen. My mouth went dry. My heart hammered so loud it filled the room. Every nerve screamed to open it, while another voice whispered not to. Do not. Pretend it never happened.

But I could not. I swiped.

One line. Cold. Sharp. Cutting straight through me like a blade.

“Next time, you will do it for me properly.”

I sank into the chair. My knees gave out. I clutched the phone so tightly my knuckles whitened. My breath came fast, too fast, like I could not get enough air.

Properly. What did that even mean? Was he warning me? Promising me? Ordering me?

I read it again. Then again. The words pulsed on the screen like they were alive. They dragged me deeper into something I was not ready for but could not pull away from.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my lips tingling. My body betrayed me all over again.