Chapter 56 Breakfast?
For a moment, I simply stared at her, memorizing every detail—the curve of her cheek, the softness of her mouth, the way her hair fanned across the pillow.
“You drive me crazy,” I murmured.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, light and reverent, something unfamiliar blooming in my chest.
Then I pulled away reluctantly and went to the bathroom to change. When I returned in a simple black shirt and sweatpants, I stood at the edge of the bed and watched her sleep.
Her red dress glowed against the white sheets. Her hair framed her face like a halo.
A quiet smile touched my lips.
For the first time in a long while, the house felt full.
And she was the reason.
JASMINE
I cuddled closer to the pillow beneath my cheek, unconsciously seeking more warmth. It wasn’t the familiar softness of my own bed, but the scent clinging to it was intoxicating—warm, masculine, and faintly like expensive cologne mixed with something uniquely Damien.
The pillow was firm and uneven, yet I didn’t mind. I felt wrapped in heat, cocooned in a comfort I hadn’t realized I had been craving.
For a brief moment, I let myself drift in that warmth.
Then the smell sharpened.
My eyes flew open.
I almost screamed.
I shot upright in the bed, my heart slamming violently against my ribs as panic surged through me.
The room was unfamiliar—too dark, too large, too imposing. The curtains were drawn halfway, allowing pale morning light to filter through and settle over black walls and dark velvet drapes. The furniture was heavy and elegant, shadowed in maroon and obsidian tones.
And then I saw him.
A pair of emerald-green eyes met mine.
They were amused. Soft. Disturbingly content.
“Morning, beautiful.”
His voice was smooth and lazy, like he had just woken from a pleasant dream. Damien was leaning against the headboard beside me, fully awake, wearing a black shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and chest.
His hair was slightly tousled, his jaw shadowed with the faintest hint of stubble.
My breath hitched.
“Someone slept well,” he added with a smirk, gesturing toward my head.
I blinked, then reached up and touched my hair. My fingers tangled in a wild mess of curls and disheveled strands. My eyes widened in horror.
I gasped and tried to smooth it down desperately, running my hands through it while he simply lay there watching me with open amusement.
“Stop staring!” I snapped, mortified.
He chuckled lowly, not even pretending to look away.
Then my gaze dropped.
And my soul nearly left my body.
Even with his shirt on, the outline of his chest and arms was unmistakable—strong, sculpted, and unfairly distracting. My cheeks burned as heat rushed to my face.
I grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him.
“Put on a shirt or something!” I yelled, even though he already had one on.
He groaned and tossed the pillow right back at me. I caught it against my chest, instantly regretting it when my eyes betrayed me again and traveled over him once more.
“Get out of my room, Damien!” I shouted, flailing my hands at him. “Why are you even here?!”
He raised a brow slowly. “You’re in my room.”
I stared at him like he had lost his mind.
“That’s impossible. This is my—” I stopped mid-sentence when I finally took in the full room. The dark maroon and black bedspread. The velvet curtains. The heavy furniture. The unsettling aura that screamed Damien in every corner.
Oh no.
My face heated violently when I looked down at myself.
I was wearing a white T-shirt—far too big for me. It hung loosely over my body, sliding off one shoulder. It wasn’t mine.
I looked back up at Damien.
He wore a sheepish grin.
“W-what am I wearing?” I asked quietly, fear creeping into my voice.
“My T-shirt,” he replied casually. “I thought white suited you better.”
He winked.
My eye twitched.
I pushed myself off the bed—and froze.
I shrieked, clamping my hands over my thighs when I realized I wasn’t wearing anything else beneath it.
No bra.
No pants.
Just underwear hidden beneath his oversized shirt.
I stared at him in disbelief.
“You—!” My voice failed me.
He turned away far too quickly and walked toward the door, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Damien!” I shouted, scrambling after him. “Stop and explain yourself!”
He ignored me and headed straight into the kitchen.
I followed him, cheeks burning, heart racing, confusion tangling with embarrassment.
When I stormed into the kitchen, he turned to face me.
And smiled.
His eyes traveled slowly over my entire body, from the bare skin of my legs to the loose neckline of his shirt hanging off my shoulder. When his gaze met mine again, he bit down on his lower lip.
I felt my knees weaken.
The algae-green in his eyes darkened into something deeper, stormier.
He kept walking closer, eyes trained on me, devouring me like I was his morning meal, like he would rip what little clothes I had on right off. Like a starving man.
My breath caught.
My back hit the kitchen counter as he moved closer, trapping me between his body and the cold marble surface. His hand snaked around my waist, pulling me close, there was no space between us now. His chest pressed against mine, and I became painfully aware of how little I was wearing.
“D-Damien, let me go,” I stammered weakly.
“Or else what?” he murmured near my ear. “I happen to like you in my clothes, tesoro.”
His breath brushed against my skin and sent shivers down my spine.
“You look… dangerous like this.”
My face burned hotter.
Did he just say that?
“I won’t forget last night,” he continued softly. “The way your lips met mine. The way you pulled me closer. The way you trusted me.”
My stomach fluttered at the memory
“I don’t remember anything,” I lied.
His expression softened.
“You were tipsy. I didn’t take advantage of you. I wouldn’t. I want you to remember everything clearly… every feeling, every moment, when I thrust into you.”
His lips brushed my jaw as he whispered, "Let me remind you"
My heart pounded.
Then his mouth trailed to my neck, pressing gentle kisses along my skin. Not rushed. Not forceful. Just slow and intentional.
I gasped.