Chapter 52 The Sleepover
Damian's POV
It started out innocent-at least, it was supposed to be.
Rachael had come over with a blanket, two cups of hot chocolate, and that mischievous grin that made it impossible to say no. We'd planned to watch a movie, just something light to unwind after the long, exhausting week.
But then the movie turned into late-night talk.
And the late-night talk turned into teasing.
And teasing-well, teasing was dangerous with Rachael.
"Why do you always look at me like that?" she'd asked, curling her feet under herself on the couch.
"Like what?"
"Like you're thinking something you shouldn't."
She wasn't wrong.
The movie flickered in the background, forgotten, the sound low and distant compared to the soft rhythm of her laugh. The room felt too small for both of us and all the things we weren't saying. When she leaned closer, brushing my arm as she reached for the popcorn, the spark that had been waiting all along finally caught flame.
By the time we realized it was past midnight, neither of us wanted to say goodbye.
"Just crash here," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "You've had wine. I don't want you driving."
Rachael hesitated for exactly half a second before grinning. "You sure about that, Damian? You know how rumors start."
"I can handle rumors."
She arched a brow. "Can you handle me?"
I laughed, trying to ignore the twist of heat in my stomach. "Go to bed, Rach."
But she didn't.
And neither did I.
By two a.m., the apartment lights were dim except for the amber glow from the kitchen. The city outside was quiet, but inside, the air was heavy-thick with warmth, laughter, and the kind of closeness that didn't need words.
At some point, our conversation melted into silence. The kind that was charged and waiting.
There was a shift, subtle but irreversible.
When she whispered, "You know I've missed this," I didn't ask what this meant.
She stayed the night.
And the walls, unfortunately, weren't soundproof.
Her skin, where her t-shirt had been discarded, was smooth and warm. I cupped the weight of her breast, the soft, yielding curve filling my palm perfectly.
It was a stunning, dizzying pressure, and the low, involuntary moan that escaped her lips when my thumb brushed her nipple sent a jolt of pure triumph through me.
I moved above her, finding a rhythm that was all instinct and shared desperation. The worn Persian rug was rough beneath my knees, a sharp contrast to the silky feel of her legs wrapped tightly around my waist.
Every nerve ending felt hyper-alert.
God, she feels incredible. The intense physical connection was fueled by the raw, uninhibited noise she was making. Rachael wasn't trying to be quiet or discreet.
She was all in. Her breathing became sharp, hitching gasps, evolving into deep, guttural cries of pleasure that she couldn't possibly muffle.
I leaned down, pressing my mouth to her neck, trying to absorb some of the sound, but she only gripped me tighter and pushed back, demanding more.
Elena's POV
The first thump jolted me awake.
For a second, I thought it was thunder. But thunder didn't come with laughter.
It was past two a.m., and the faint hum of the streetlights outside barely lit my room. I frowned, blinking sleep from my eyes, trying to piece together where the noise was coming from. Then I realized-of course. Directly below me. Damian's apartment.
My stomach twisted.
At first, I tried to ignore it. Maybe he dropped something. Maybe it was the TV. But then came the unmistakable rhythm-the scuffle of movement, a low laugh, followed by a sound that made my breath catch in disbelief.
A moan.
It wasn't quiet or hesitant. It was clear. Confident.
Female.
My pulse spiked. I sat up, staring at the floor as if I could see through it.
No. He wouldn't. He couldn't.
But then came another sound-Rachael's laugh, warm and throaty, rising and falling in rhythm with the creaking of the bed frame.
I froze, my nails digging into my palm.
Of all people.
I'd told myself I didn't care anymore, that whatever was-or wasn't-between Damian and me was over. That I'd moved on. But hearing that? Hearing her down there with him, the same man I'd once kissed, and his hand had once trailed fire down my arm...
It felt like a slap.
The next sound-her voice again, breathless, laughing-cut through the ceiling like a blade.
"Oh, Damian..."
I flinched.
Then, louder, "Faster! Oh, I can't get enough of you!"
The words stabbed straight through my chest.
I squeezed my eyes shut, jaw trembling. I could hear the bed hitting the wall now, the steady, rhythmic thud that mocked the silence of my own room. Each sound carried a cruel kind of rhythm-a reminder of what I'd never gotten from him.
We'd come close, sure. Those nights when he kissed me like I was something dangerous and precious at once. When his hands gripped my waist, when his breath had grown heavy against my ear. But we'd always stopped. Always.
Now I was listening to another woman get everything I'd imagined.
My eyes burned. Not from heartbreak-at least, that's what I told myself-but from humiliation. Because I'd been the fool. The one who thought he'd wanted more. The one who believed his restraint meant something.
But clearly, it hadn't.
The noises continued, muffled but relentless. I pressed a pillow to my ears, but it didn't help. Rachael was anything but quiet, and every cry she made felt deliberately cruel, like she wanted the entire building to know who she was with-and how good he made her feel.
When she cried out again-"Oh, Damian!"-I slammed my palm against the wall.
The sound stopped for only a second. Then came another soft laugh. Hers.
I could picture it. The tangled sheets, the dim light, his hands on her.
And suddenly, it wasn't just anger. It was jealousy in its rawest form.
Because the truth hit me then-Rachael was getting the version of Damian I'd only imagined. The version that was bold, unrestrained, and fully hers.
The version I'd wanted to unlock but never could.
My chest tightened painfully.
I grabbed my robe, pacing across the room, every step a battle to calm my racing heart. The wooden floor beneath my feet vibrated faintly with the movement below. A cruel reminder that while I stood here-furious, aching-they were wrapped up in a world that didn't include me.
By the time the noise finally began to fade, I wasn't even angry anymore. Just... hollow.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, staring at the faint moonlight spilling across the floorboards.
A bitter laugh slipped from my lips.
So this was how it felt.
A taste of my own medicine.
I'd spent weeks parading Lucas around, smiling sweetly when Damian looked my way, pretending it didn't matter. Pretending he hadn't been the only one who ever really made my heart race.
But now...
Now it was his turn.
And Rachael's voice still echoed in my head.
"Oh, Damian... faster..."
I pressed my hands to my face, forcing a slow breath. I wouldn't cry. Not for him. Not for her.
But deep down, I knew-something had shifted.
And the next time we saw each other, I wouldn't be the one avoiding his gaze.
He would.