Damien didn't waste a second of their fifteen minutes. He marched Aria backward until the back of her knees hit the mattress of the massive four-poster bed. He shoved her down, following her body with his own, caging her in.
The neon green feathers of her dress fanned out against the black silk duvet like a radioactive spill, aggressive and chaotic against the room's severe masculine darkness.
"You look like a disaster," Damien growled, crawling over her. "My disaster."
He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. His grip was steel—inescapable.
"Fifteen minutes," he reminded her, his voice a rough scrape against her ear. "That means we don't have time for gentle. I'm going to ruin you, Aria. And then I'm going to parade you in front of my family while you're still trembling."
