Chapter 100 Barefoot
JASMINE
I ran my fingers slowly over the smooth bed covers, absentmindedly tracing little circles across the soft fabric while I waited.
A small smile tugged at my lips.
Damien had told me to wait for him after his workout so we could go out and get something to eat, and the simple thought of it made my stomach flutter with excitement.
It had been so long since I’d stepped out of the house for something normal, something simple like takeaway food and a drive. I didn’t care how ridiculous it sounded.
But I was excited.
Especially because the food he promised to take me for was the kind that doctors would probably faint at the sight of.
Greasy.
Salty.
Terribly unhealthy.
And absolutely perfect.
My smile widened as I leaned back slightly on the bed. Truthfully, though… the real reason my cheeks were still warm had nothing to do with the food. My mind replayed the scene from earlier in the gym.
Damien.
Working out.
Without a shirt.
I bit my lip softly as the memory surfaced again.
He had dropped me on one of the leather couches near the wall before walking over to the punching bag. At first, I had tried very hard to act like a respectable human being. I had tried not to stare.
But that effort had lasted approximately five seconds. The way his back muscles shifted and stretched every time he threw a punch was… mesmerizing.
Each movement was precise.
Controlled.
Powerful.
Sweat had gathered across his broad shoulders and trickled slowly down his spine, catching the light that streamed through the tall windows of the gym. His dark curls had dampened, clinging to his forehead in loose strands as he continued his relentless rhythm against the punching bag.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
Each strike made the heavy bag swing violently before returning again. I watched the flex of his arms, the tightening of his abdomen. The ripple of muscle beneath his skin. It was honestly unfair.
His body looked like it had been sculpted by someone who had very unrealistic expectations for the male population.
Like a statue brought to life.
The kind of body that belonged in ancient mythology.
Greek gods.
Warriors.
Heroes.
Not walking around casually in a private gym where innocent women like me were trying to behave. My fingers twitched slightly at the memory. Because if I was being honest…
I had wanted to touch him.
To run my hands down that perfectly tanned skin.
To feel those muscles move beneath my palms.
To appreciate the sinful beauty of it all.
A soft groan left my lips as I buried my face briefly in the pillow. “Get it together, Jasmine,” I muttered to myself. But my mind stubbornly replayed the moment he had caught me staring.
He had stopped mid-punch.
Turned slowly.
And looked directly at me.
Then he winked.
I had nearly died.
My cheeks had turned so hot I thought steam might start rising from my head. I had quickly pressed my lips together and looked anywhere except at him.
But it was already too late.
He had seen everything.
The way my eyes had been glued to him.
The way I had been shamelessly admiring the view.
And Damien, being Damien, had taken full advantage of the situation. He had stalked toward me slowly.
Every step deliberate.
Every movement confident.
By the time he reached the couch where I sat, my heart was beating like a war drum.
Then he grabbed me.
Pulled me directly into his chest.
My hands had landed against his warm, sweat-damp skin and I had squealed immediately.
“Ewww!” I had whined dramatically, scrunching up my face. “You’re sweaty!”
He had laughed.
A deep, rich sound that vibrated through his chest beneath my palms.
“Oh please,” he said, shaking his damp curls deliberately so droplets of sweat flicked toward my face.
I shrieked.
“Damien!”
“You like me sweaty,” he teased, flexing his chest muscles right in front of my eyes.
Which was absolutely unfair.
My face flushed deeper.
“Come on,” he added playfully, puckering his lips exaggeratedly as he leaned closer. “Kiss me.”
I squealed again.
“No!”
And then I ran.
Straight out of the gym doors.
Behind me, I heard his laughter echo through the hallway. “Jasmine!” he called. But I was already halfway down the corridor. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw him chasing after me.
Barefoot.
Still shirtless.
Determination flashing in his eyes.
“Oh my God!” I screamed, sprinting toward the staircase.
My laughter bounced off the marble walls as I flew up the steps. “Come back here!” Damien shouted behind me.
“Never!”
I raced down the upstairs hallway and shoved open the first door I saw, slipping inside and pressing my back against it as I held it closed.
My heart pounded wildly as I listened.
His footsteps echoed down the corridor outside.
Then they continued past the door. I sighed in relief. “Safe,” I whispered.
Only then did I turn around to examine where I had hidden. The laundry room.
Rows of neatly folded clothes lined the shelves. Two large washing machines sat against the far wall beside matching dryers.
Everything was spotless.
Perfectly organized.
I wandered further inside, curious.
Then suddenly— The door burst open. I jumped so hard I nearly tripped. Damien stood there in the doorway.
Smirking.
“Oh no,” I breathed.
His eyes slowly traveled down my body.
Then back up. “You run fast,” he said calmly.
I barely had time to react before he crossed the room.
Strong arms wrapped around me as he pulled me against his chest again.
I squealed.
“Damien, stop!”
He leaned down, attempting to kiss me.
I shoved his face away.
“Ewww, don’t!”
We both laughed as I tried to escape his hold.
But in the process I lost my balance.
The next thing I knew—
I was on my back.
Staring at the ceiling.
Blinking.
“What just happened?” I muttered.
Before I could move, Damien dropped down above me.
He pinned both my wrists above my head with one hand. My breath caught.