**đź–¤ Chapter 5: Sleep With the Devil
From the novel: Owned by the Devil
By C. Amara Vale**
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Zara stood frozen as the guards exited, the heavy door locking behind them with a click that echoed in her bones.
She was alone with him again.
Damien didn't speak right away. He stepped closer with slow, measured confidence, stripping the silence bare until it trembled.
Zara didn't back down.
Didn't flinch.
But her chest rose and fell faster.
"I said you'll sleep in my bed tonight," he said, his voice like velvet wrapping a knife. "Not chained. Not cuffed."
"Generous of you," she said flatly.
He reached out and ran a fingertip from her collarbone to the silver tag hanging at her throat. "Don't mistake kindness for weakness."
"I haven't seen any kindness yet."
"You're alive, aren't you?"
His words were simple. Cold. Honest.
And still, it didn't stop her pulse from reacting to his touch like her body hadn't gotten the memo about the war.
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He turned and walked to the bed.
Sat.
Stretched an arm across the headboard and watched her with that maddening gaze — dark, bottomless, inescapable.
"Take the dress off."
"No."
His brow lifted lazily. "That's not a request."
She hesitated.
He didn't move. Didn't raise his voice. He simply watched her — calm, certain, and patient like a predator who knew the fight was already over.
Zara's hands shook slightly as they reached for the zipper.
She told herself it was adrenaline. Nothing more.
The dress slid to the floor.
Damien didn't ogle. Didn't grin.
He simply patted the space beside him. "Come here."
She walked to the bed like she was walking to her execution.
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Zara sat stiffly beside him. The sheets were cool against her skin. Her pulse thudded at her throat.
Damien reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You disobey because it gives you the illusion of control."
She scoffed. "I disobey because you're an asshole."
He leaned in close. "Good. Stay angry. It'll make your fall more satisfying."
He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her into his lap in one effortless motion. She gasped, hands instinctively pressing to his chest.
"I'm not yours," she hissed.
He gripped her thighs, firm, commanding. "Say that again after I'm done with you."
His mouth was on hers before she could protest — not gentle, not sweet.
Dominant. Claiming. Fire.
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She kissed him back.
Harder than she should have.
And when his hand slipped between her legs, there was no resistance.
Only heat.
Only need.
Only the traitorous sound of her moan echoing against his lips.
He growled against her throat. "You're wet already. For me."
She bit his shoulder.
He laughed.
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When they collapsed onto the bed, tangled in sheets and gasps and bruising pleasure, Zara didn't know where the hate ended and the craving began.
And when sleep found her hours later, tangled in the arms of the man she swore she'd kill someday…
She didn't resist it.
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How do you survive the devil's bed… when part of you never wants to leave it?
To be continued...
By C. Amara Vale
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