The door slammed shut behind them.
Ariana's back hit the wall before she could breathe.
Damien's mouth crashed onto hers—violent, possessive, relentless. There was no gentleness left. No holding back. His hands gripped her thighs, yanked her against him like he couldn't stand another second without her.
And she didn't resist.
She kissed him back—hungry, fierce, aching with something she didn't want to name.
Their bodies moved with a rhythm as old as sin.
He carried her across the room, dropping her onto the bed like she weighed nothing. His eyes blazed red, fangs bared. His control was gone.
And Ariana loved it.
She wanted him unleashed.
Damien peeled her gown off in one fluid motion, tossing the lace to the floor. His gaze dragged down her body—slow, reverent, dark with hunger.
"Beautiful," he murmured, almost like a curse.
She reached for him, tugged at his shirt.
He let her tear it open, buttons popping, fabric ripping.
Then he pinned her wrists above her head, body hovering over hers.
"You sure?" he growled, voice thick, cracked with restraint.
"Yes," she whispered.
"No turning back."
"I'm not running."
A dangerous smile curved his lips.
"Then I'll ruin you."
He kissed her again, slower now. Tongue tangling with hers, tasting every breath. His hands slid down her arms, to her waist, gripping her like she might disappear.
She arched into him, desperate for friction.
He gave her more than friction.
His mouth trailed down her neck—biting, sucking, teasing her skin until she gasped. He stopped at the place between her neck and shoulder. The spot.
The one he would mark.
But not yet.
His fingers slid between her legs, parting her slowly. She was already slick, already pulsing with need.
He groaned against her skin. "You're wet for me."
"Damien…" she moaned.
He slipped one finger inside her, then two, moving slow, stretching her. She clenched around him, breath hitching, hips bucking.
"Easy," he whispered. "I need to prepare you. You're tight. Still…"
He kissed her again. Softer. But deeper.
"…mine."
She writhed beneath him, desperate, half-sobbing. "I want all of you."
"You will have me," he said darkly. "Every inch. Every thrust. Every night."
He positioned himself at her entrance, pausing.
Their eyes locked.
Then he pushed in.
A slow, steady thrust—deep and unrelenting.
She cried out, body stretching around him, pain and pleasure fusing into fire. Her nails dug into his back. Her breath caught.
He stilled. Let her adjust.
She nodded.
Then he moved.
Each thrust was harder, deeper, building like a storm. His name left her lips in broken moans. He growled against her neck, holding her open for him, fucking her like he wanted to brand her from the inside.
She clung to him—mind gone, body undone, soul unraveling.
And when she came, she shattered.
Screaming his name.
He followed her with a roar, spilling inside her, marking her in every way but one.
He collapsed over her, breathing ragged, lips pressed to her skin.
They lay there in silence, tangled and trembling.
Then his voice broke the quiet.
"Six nights," he whispered. "That's all I gave myself before I'd mark you."
She turned her head, still dazed. "What happens on the sixth?"
His eyes locked onto hers.
"I make you mine forever."