Thanks for the power stone
...................
Elara spent the entire night tossing in her sheets, replaying Damien's words like an endless loop.
I can't stand the thought of you with someone else.
That wasn't a boss. That wasn't even a man casually interested. That was raw, unfiltered possession, and it scared her almost as much as it thrilled her.
She hated how her skin prickled just thinking of him. How the echo of his voice lingered like smoke in her lungs. How no matter how much she swore she wanted freedom, she woke the next morning already craving another battle with him.
---
At Kane Corp, the atmosphere was suffocating.
She tried to keep her head down, shuffling through reports, emails, schedules. But every time she looked up, Damien was there. Watching her from his office, his gaze like a stormcloud. He didn't bark orders or summon her for menial tasks. He just… waited.
And that was somehow worse.
By late evening, the floor had emptied. Desks abandoned, lights dimmed, the city glowing far below. Elara gathered her things, determined to escape before he made his move.
"Elara."
His voice rolled out like velvet-wrapped steel.
She froze. Turned. And there he was—leaning in his doorway, jacket off, tie loosened, shirt rolled at the sleeves. Dangerous. Undeniably male.
"I need you in my office," he said.
She swallowed hard. "It's late. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow."
"No," he replied simply. "It can't."
---
The office door clicked shut behind her, sealing them in. The space was quiet, heavy, lit only by the city lights spilling through the glass walls.
Damien moved closer, slow, deliberate. "Do you enjoy torturing me?"
Her heart kicked. "Excuse me?"
He tilted his head, studying her like prey. "You push. You fight me. You go on pathetic little dates with men who couldn't dream of touching you the way I—" He cut himself off, breath harsh.
She squared her shoulders, ignoring the heat rising in her chest. "Not everything revolves around you, Damien."
"The hell it doesn't," he growled, voice low. "Everything about you revolves around me. And you know it."
Her lips parted to fire back—but the words never came. Because suddenly he was there, inches from her, his scent drowning her senses.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his breath brushing her cheek.
She should've. She should've. Every part of her brain screamed to push him away.
But her traitorous body leaned closer instead.
And then his mouth was on hers.
---
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't polite. It was weeks of tension, arguments, late-night stares all combusting into a single, searing kiss. His hand cupped the back of her neck, tilting her head, demanding entry. She gasped, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss until her knees threatened to buckle.
"Damien—" she whispered against his lips.
"Say it again," he growled, trailing kisses down her jaw, his hand sliding around her waist. "Say my name like that."
She clutched his shirt, trembling. "We… we can't—"
"We already did," he cut her off, capturing her mouth again.
---
By the time her back hit his desk, papers scattered like confetti. His hands were everywhere—claiming, teasing, unraveling her piece by piece. She fought for breath, for control, for anything resembling logic, but he stripped it away with every touch, every husky word whispered against her skin.
And when she finally gave in—completely, shamelessly—there was no going back.
Because Damien Kane didn't just take her body that night.
He claimed her.
And Elara knew she'd let him.
Again.
And again.
And again.