Her Love, His Scars
Chapter eight – "Too Close"
Ziora couldn't sleep.
The memory of Damian's hands, the way his lips moved across her skin, the way her body responded — it kept replaying like a movie she wasn't sure she was proud of… but couldn't stop watching.
She had lied to her friends again.
"Damian? We stopped talking. Another guy that ghosted me. It's fine."
It wasn't fine. And he hadn't ghosted her. If anything, they were closer now than ever before — dangerously so.
Her phone buzzed. A WhatsApp message from him.
"Are you thinking about me?"
She stared at the message for a while, her heart already betraying her with a soft flutter. She typed slowly.
"A little."
"A little?" he replied. "Liar."
Before she could answer, a voice note followed. She played it in the silence of her room.
His voice — slow, low, slightly husky — made her legs shift under the covers.
"I keep remembering how you looked when you told me you were a virgin. You were so shy… so soft. It made me want to protect you — and ruin you at the same time."
Her breath caught in her throat.
She deleted the voice note immediately, not because she wanted to, but because she wanted to listen to it again. And again. And again.
She didn't reply.
Later that weekend, she saw him again. Not planned. He had texted, "Come over. I miss your face." And somehow, despite everything, she went.
His house smelled like the same cologne — sharp, dark, almost intoxicating. He didn't greet her with words. Just a slow pull into his arms and a kiss that tasted like longing.
"You've been ignoring me," he said against her neck.
"I've been busy."
"You've been thinking about me."
She didn't answer.
His fingers found the zipper of her jacket, pulling it down slowly.
"Tell me to stop."
Ziora swallowed hard. "I… I don't know."
He kissed her jaw. "Then I won't go far."
His hands moved like he'd memorized her curves. One arm around her waist, the other slipping beneath her shirt again, palm flat against her stomach, slowly rising.
She gasped when his thumb grazed under her bra — just barely. His breath was in her ear.
"I could touch you forever and still want more."
Her body betrayed her. She leaned into him, gave in to the kiss that followed — deep, slow, possessive.
His hand slid behind her, fingers tracing the curve of her back. She arched slightly, not out of invitation, but because her body didn't know how to stay still around him anymore.
It was all too much and not enough at once.
When she finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, she looked at him and said, "I should go."
Damian didn't stop her.
But he did kiss her hand before she left and whispered, "Next time, don't come if you plan to leave like this. You're driving me crazy, Ziora."
She didn't sleep that night either.