Chapter 114
"Coming," Damian spoke, his voice low and husky. It wasn't a question, but a statement.
"Yes," Grace responded flatly, avoiding Damian's gaze.
Even though Grace had mustered all her courage, when actually facing Damian, she still felt an indescribable sense of shame.
Seeing her head lowered and face flushed, yet still maintaining a tense expression, Damian said nothing. He simply stepped aside, clearing the way.
Grace walked in silently. As the door closed behind her, that outside world—the rational world—was completely shut out.
Only a dim floor lamp lit the room, its light casting everything in ambiguous shadows. The air carried the distinctive fresh scent of an upscale hotel, mixed with the crisp smell of Damian's body wash, forming a familiar scent that made her dizzy.
"Are you ready?" Grace turned around, deliberately keeping a few steps' distance from him, her tone as flat as if discussing the weather.
Her forced composure and dismissive manner made Damian's lips curl into a smile. He liked seeing her like this—like a little hedgehog that had already fallen into a trap but still bristled with all its spines.
He enjoyed the thrill of stripping away her pretenses bit by bit.
Damian walked slowly toward her, his tall figure bringing an overwhelming sense of pressure. He stopped in front of her, looking down at her with deep, penetrating eyes.
"Of course." His voice dropped low, like the most intimate whisper between lovers. "What about you?"
"Looks like you're ready too."
A wave of embarrassed anger at being seen through surged up. Her face flushed, but her mouth refused to admit defeat. "Mr. Wolfe, you're joking. It's just taking care of a physical need. There's nothing for me to prepare."
"Is that so?" Damian smiled noncommittally. He reached out, his slender fingers precisely grasping the first button on her trench coat, his calloused fingertip rubbing against it lightly.
His movements were slow, with a torturous patience.
The first button came undone.
Grace's body instantly stiffened. She could clearly feel the temperature of his fingertips, as if they could burn her skin even through the fabric.
The second button.
The collar of the trench coat fell open on both sides, revealing her slender, elegant neck.
She closed her eyes, her eyelashes trembling slightly from nervousness—a look of resignation yet stubborn defiance. She just wanted to quickly end this psychological battle, whether she won or lost.
But Damian wouldn't let her have her way. When he methodically unbuttoned all the buttons and completely opened her trench coat, his movements finally stopped.
His gaze seemed magnetically locked, frozen on that expanse of extreme black lace.
The understated beige trench coat contrasted with the seductive black lace underneath, creating a breathtakingly intense visual impact. Delicate straps barely hung on her rounded shoulders, the deep V-neck outlined a heart-stopping curve, her flat stomach and slender waist visible through the semi-transparent lace—every inch radiating temptation.
Damian's Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily.
An indescribable heat and excitement shot through his limbs like an electric current.
She came, and she had specially prepared.
This act greatly satisfied Damian's pathological desire for control. Just one look, and he felt such a rush that he almost wanted to possess her immediately, to make her bloom completely for him.
Yet Damian's face still wore that cold, arrogant expression, showing not a trace of being impressed.
He simply used those unfathomably deep eyes to "examine" her, inch by inch, with aggressive intensity.
A very light scoff emerged from his throat, his tone carrying undisguised mockery. "Looks like your body is much more honest than your mouth."
Those words hit Grace's face like a slap. She opened her eyes and glared at him, her eyes full of humiliation and flushed with shame. "Damian, that's enough!"
"Just get it over with, I have things to do!"
Seeing her lose composure and urge him on, Damian wasn't in any hurry at all.
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, his cool fingertip landing lightly on the thin black strap on her shoulder. The instant skin touched skin, Grace trembled all over, as if shocked by electricity.
"What's the rush?" His voice was terrifyingly husky, sounding right against her ear. "The game has just begun."
His finger hooked the strap, slowly sliding downward, his fingertip trailing across her sensitive collarbone, raising a series of tiny shivers. Grace's breathing became completely erratic.
His other hand domineeringly wrapped around her waist, forcefully pulling her toward him, making their bodies fit seamlessly together. Through the thin fabric, she could clearly feel his body's alarming heat, and his unmistakable erection.
As if teasing, he pressed harder at her waist and hips, his hardness making her heart race.
The room's light was filtered through heavy curtains into an ambiguous, dim yellow, with only a floor lamp in the corner lit. A faint woody fragrance floated in the air, mixing with the crisp scent on his body, making Grace unconsciously lighten her breathing.
Then his fingertip moved.
First, his thumb pad, extremely slowly, drew a barely perceptible circle on the deepest curve of her waist. The silky fabric was pulled along, rubbing against her skin, stirring up subtle tremors. Grace instinctively held her breath.
Only then did his palm fully press against her, warm and strong, yet still carrying a leisurely ease.
His fingertips began to climb upward along the line of her spine, vertebra by vertebra, extremely slowly. Not a caress, more like an exploration, using the slightest pressure to feel the texture of her skin beneath the shirt, and the slightly taut curve from her tension.
His breath had somehow reached her ear, warm, moist, carrying his unique scent. He simply rested his chin lightly at the junction of her neck and shoulder—that patch of skin was exceptionally sensitive.
His breathing landed there, rising and falling, steady in rhythm, yet carrying a scorching temperature.
The touch of his warm breath raised goosebumps all over Grace's body.
The next second, he bit lightly on Grace's neck.
Grace gasped, her body instinctively tensing.
Damian held her waist with one hand while the other slipped like a snake under the hem of her skirt, exploring her body. His burning palm covered her delicate thigh, gently caressing.
The lips at her neck moved to her earlobe, while the large hand below tenderly stroked her thigh, moving bit by bit backward, his slender fingers tracing every inch of skin on her buttocks. Grace's body went rigid, not daring to move.
Grace's earlobe was taken into Damian's mouth by his soft tongue, the wet, warm sensation making her involuntarily close her eyes.
Her body began to tremble too, and she couldn't help urging, "Just hurry up."