Chapter 69 DESIRE.
\~~~SERENA.
I left school early.
I didn’t even last two hours.
My head was too loud, my chest too tight, and everywhere I turned, I felt like I was being watched by memories that weren’t even mine. Maya’s words replayed again and again, each time landing heavier than the last.
Nothing made sense anymore.
By the time I got home, my hands were shaking.
Home felt like the only safe spot, even if it came with its own ghosts.
I kicked off my shoes in the foyer, the cool tile soothing my bare feet.
Damien wouldn't be back until evening, I reminded myself and that gave me time to breathe, to think.
I hurried to the bathroom like the water was a promise of clarity. I stripped quickly, letting my clothes pool on the floor like shed skin. The shower hit hot and hard, jets pounding my shoulders, washing away the campus grime but not the chill in my bones.
I stood there longer than needed, my eyes closed, letting the rhythm drown out the questions.
I couldn’t dare myself to think about it anymore as only one question kept playing in my head, and I really didn’t wanna know the answer.
Finally, I turned off the water, the sudden quiet amplifying my heartbeat.
Steam wrapped around me like a foggy embrace as I stepped out, naked and dripping. My hair hung damp, clinging to my neck and back. I reached for a towel but paused, the air cool against my wet skin.
That's when I froze.
He was there. Damien, seated on the couch in the room, was facing the bathroom door like he'd been waiting. His jacket lay draped over the armrest, and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms. His eyes locked on me, dark and intense, watching like a man who'd just walked into a temptation he wasn't prepared for.
Hunger flickered in his gaze, but something else too. Concern, maybe.
“I… thought you weren’t home,” I stammered, my voice cracking. Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I cupped my breasts with my hands, crossing one leg over the other in a futile bid for cover. Water trailed down my thighs, pooling at my feet.
“I wasn’t,” he replied calmly, his voice even, like we were discussing the weather. “I came back early.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and electric. I didn't move. I couldn't.
My body betrayed me, rooted in place under his stare. He didn't either. He sat still, his legs crossed, and his elbows on his knees, watching me with that unblinking focus. The room felt smaller, and the air heavier with unspoken words.
Exposed. That is how I should have felt, vulnerable and small. But fury bubbled up instead, hot and sharp, straightening my spine. How dare he sit there, calm as ever, after the secrets he'd buried?
After Maya’s story painted him as a shadow in my darkest night? Anger sharpened everything, and made my voice steady when I lifted my chin.
“Turn around.”
He didn't obey right away. Not because he wouldn't, but because he was struggling. I mean, I could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the slight flex of his hands. His eyes roamed, slow and deliberate, taking in the curve of my hip, and the damp strands framing my face.
“You shouldn’t be standing there like that,” he finally said, his voice tight, laced with restraint.
“That is not what I asked.”
He stood then, unfolding his tall frame with deliberate slowness. The couch creaked softly under the shift. And then he took a step closer, his presence filling the space like a tide.
I backed up instinctively, my heels hitting the wall with a soft thud. The cool plaster pressed against my bare back, a stark contrast to the heat rising in my chest. My arms tightened over my breasts, but it did little to shield me from his gaze, or the storm inside.
“You don’t get to look at me like that after lying to me.” The words spat out, edged with the pain from Maya's bench-side confession.
“I didn’t lie,” he said, stepping nearer, his voice low and measured. “I just didn’t say anything.”
“Same thing.” I tried to walk past him, angling my body toward the closet door, desperate for clothes, for armor.
His hand shot out, grabbing my arm. Firm, but not bruising. He pulled me back, my back pressing flush against his body. Heat radiated from him, his shirt rough against my skin. His arm wrapped around my chest, just below my own hands, holding me in place. His breath ghosted my ear, warm and steady, while mine came in short, ragged bursts.
“I hate you,” I breathed, the words ragged, torn from deep in my throat.
Hate for the lies, the watching, and the way he unraveled me without trying.
“And you want me,” he murmured, his voice a rumble against my back.
Before I could snap back, he turned me around swiftly, his hands strong on my waist. Then his lips crashed onto mine hard, and demanding, with gentleness in it. The kiss ignited like a spark to dry tinder, rough and angry, all the tension we'd bottled exploding in that press of mouths.
I gasped into him, my hands fisting in his shirt. Breath mingled hot and fast, his exhales sharp against my lips as I pushed back, biting at his lower lip in retaliation. He groaned low, the sound vibrating through me, urgency flooding the space between us. His tongue swept in, claiming, and I met it with my own fury, tasting salt and need. Regret whispered at the edges. I will hate myself for this later, for giving in when I should walk away, but desire drowned it out, pulling me under.
My fingers clawed at his shirt, tearing at the buttons without care. They popped free, scattering across the floor. The fabric ripped under my nails, exposing his chest and over hard muscle. I arched into him even as my mind screamed to stop, my body betraying the chaos inside. His hands roamed, one sliding up my back, tangling in my damp hair to angle my head, deepening the kiss. The other gripped my hip, fingers digging in just enough to sting, and grounding me in desperation.
Tension coiled tight, every brush of lips and teeth a battle. He nipped my lip, drawing a whimper from me, and I retaliated by raking my nails down his chest, leaving red trails. Breath came in pants now, urgent and uneven, our lungs fighting for air between clashes. His body pressed closer, the hard line of him against my belly sending a jolt through me.
I hated how right it felt, how my skin flushed under his touch, even as regret twisted me like a knife.
How does he do this to me? Why can't I pull away?
He broke the kiss for a heartbeat, his forehead resting against mine, breaths mingling in the scant space. “Serena,” he rasped, his voice rough with the same storm raging in me.
“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, my hands shoving the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall. I arched closer, my breasts brushing his bare chest, nipples hardening at the friction. Desire won the tug-of-war, and regret was shoved aside for the fire building low in my belly.
In that moment, hate and want blurred, and regret became a distant echo.
The kiss, rough, angry, and desperate, consumed us, and it was like a storm we both needed to weather.