Chapter 71 BURN IT ALL DOWN.
\~~~DAMIEN.
I couldn't stay away. Not after that.
My body still buzzed from the release, but my mind raced with the storm between us.
Serena had slapped my hand away and stormed to the bathroom, the door clicking shut like a final word.
But I wasn't done, not by a long shot. The air in the bedroom felt thick, and heavy with the scent of our sweat and the unresolved mess hanging over us. I pushed off the bed, my muscles aching from the rough pace we'd set, and followed her. The bathroom door was unlocked so I entered.
Steam already filled the space as I slipped inside quietly, the sound of running water masking my steps. She stood under the shower, back to me, water cascading over her curves, washing away the evidence of what we'd just done.
Her shoulders were tense, head bowed, like she was trying to rinse off more than just the physical. I moved closer, silent as a shadow, until I was right behind her. My arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her wet body against mine. She flinched hard, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as she twisted in my hold.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” she demanded, her voice echoing, sharp and defensive. But I didn't answer with words. A low groan rumbled from my chest as I held her tighter, my chest pressing into her back, feeling the heat of her skin despite the water. She felt good like this, vulnerable, and mine, even if she fought it.
She shoved against me, forceful, and breaking free with a twist that made water splash everywhere. She spun to face me, her eyes blazing, droplets clinging to her lashes.
“Don't,” she said, voice low and fierce. “Don't read anything into that sex. It meant nothing to me. It is just sex. That is all.”
I looked at her, really looked at her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with quick breaths. Water streamed down her body, tracing paths over her breasts, her hips. I nodded slowly, but the words tasted like a lie even as I said them.
“Has it always been ‘just sex’ to you?” I asked, my voice steady, probing that crack in her armor.
Her eyes dilated, widening for a split second before she turned away, facing the spray again. “Yes,” she muttered, but it came out too quick, and too brittle.
“I don't believe you.” The words hung there, simple and true. I'd felt it in the way she moaned, the way her nails dug into my skin like she needed the pain to match the chaos inside her.
She whipped back around, anger flashing hot. “Listen, if we're going to keep living this lie, then a few fucks along the way wouldn't hurt. I have no idea how long this marriage will last, and I don't intend on being celibate.” Her words snapped out, laced with fury, her hands balling into fists at her sides.
She was angry and I could see it in the tight line of her jaw, and the fire in her gaze. It mirrored the storm in me, the one I'd been holding back for years.
I stepped closer, testing her. “And if I want to be celibate?” I teased, my tone light but edged, watching for her reaction.
She shrugged, but it was forced, her shoulders stiff. “I'll remind you there are plenty of men out there.” The words were casual, but they hit like a spark to dry tinder.
In an instant, I closed the space between us, my hand shooting out to grab her neck, not hard enough to hurt, but firm, and possessive. Her breath hitched, eyes locking on mine. I crashed my lips against hers, aggressive, demanding, pouring all the frustration and want into the kiss. She tasted like salt and steam, her mouth opening under mine despite the resistance in her body.
“What...” She panted when I pulled back just enough, her breathing heavy, ragged. “What are you doing?”
I held her gaze, my thumb stroking the pulse point on her throat. “If I so much as find another man's hands on you, I'd cut them off, chop them into pieces, and deliver them to you in a box. If he even stares at you too long, I'll gouge out his eyes and make him eat them.” The threat spilled out, dark and unfiltered.
I meant every word, and it was that she'd never be touched by anyone else, not while I breathed.
Her brows furrowed, a frown creasing her face. “You're sick,” she said, but there was no real fear, just that mix of disgust and something deeper, something that pulled her closer even as she pushed back.
“I've always been,” I whispered, my voice low against her ear as I released my grip on her neck, letting my hand trail down her arm instead. She shivered, whether from the words or the touch, I couldn't tell.
Her expression hardened, eyes narrowing. “Tell me everything that happened that night,” she demanded, stepping into my space now, voice steady despite the tremor beneath. “And I'd make things continue the way they were. If not, I'll make sure I become just a roommate to you, rather than a wife.”
My lips hovered over hers, close enough to feel her breath mingle with mine. I smirked, feeling her lean in, chasing the contact despite herself.
But this was about priorities, hers misplaced on secrets that could shatter us, and mine on keeping her safe, even if it meant lies.
“Our priorities are all wrong here,” I murmured, my hand cupping her jaw. “You're chasing ghosts from four years ago, when the real threat is out there now. That night... it was to protect you. That's all you need to know.”
“I will not tell you,” I said finally, pulling away just as she surged forward. She was left breathing heavily, her lips parted, and frustration etching lines on her face.
“I hate you,” she whispered, her voice shaking, raw with emotion that twisted something in my gut.
“And I will remind you of this, moonlight, you want me.” I smirked gently, watching her seethe, her chest heaving as anger warred with desire in her eyes.
She was a fire I couldn't extinguish, and damn if it didn't burn me too. Without another word, I turned and moved to the other shower, letting the water hit me cold, washing away the heat but not the tension. The space between us stretched, filled with unspoken threats and needs, but I knew this wasn't over.
She finally turned off her shower, the sudden silence deafening. I glanced over, seeing her grab a towel, wrapping it around herself with jerky movements. Her eyes met mine for a beat, defiant, and hurt before she looked away. “This isn't over, Damien,” she said softly, but there was steel in it.
“I know,” I replied, turning off my own water. The bathroom felt smaller now, charged with the weight of what we'd said, what we hadn't. She walked out without another word, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Priorities. Hers were on truth, mine on her safety.
Somewhere in the middle, we'd find a way, or we'd burn it all down.