Elena's pulse raced as Damian stood over her, the soft light painting sharp shadows across his face.
He said nothing—just watched her, his eyes tracing every small movement she made.
When he reached for the buttons of his shirt, she couldn't look away.
One by one, he undid them slowly, revealing the edge of the tattoo over his chest.
He tossed the shirt aside, his movements smooth and unhurried.
He guided her hand above her head, he took a silk ribbon tieing it across her wrist to the bed soft.
The fabric wasn't tight, just enough for her to feel its touch.
The moment his skin grazed hers, a rush of heat spread through her chest.
"Damian…" she whispered, unsure, trembling between fear and something else she didn't want to name.
"Breathe," he said softly. "Just breathe."
His lips met hers—slow, commanding, yet careful, as though he wanted her to understand what she did to him. Every kiss deepened the tension, every touch more deliberate than the last.
