I woke up alone in the massive bed, the sheets twisted around my legs like they had fought to keep me there through the night. My body carried a quiet ache in places I had never paid much attention to before, a dull throb between my thighs and the faint shadow of a bruise on my throat where his fingers had rested the night before. Not hard enough to leave a permanent mark, just enough to make every swallow remind me of him.
The room looked different in the pale gray morning light that slipped past the heavy curtains. Rain still clung to the garden outside, droplets hanging from the wrought-iron railing like they were too heavy to let go. I sat up slowly, completely naked, and reached for the silk robe he had left hanging on the bathroom door. It was his robe, too big for me, the sleeves swallowing my hands and the hem brushing my calves when I tied it tight around my waist. It felt like thin armor, but it was all I had.
I padded barefoot down the grand staircase, hair still damp from the shower, the house silent except for the faint tick of a clock somewhere in the walls. The dining room opened off the foyer with its long dark-wood table and one place set at the head. Damien was already there, dressed in a fresh black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, coffee steaming in front of him while his plate remained untouched.
He did not look up when I entered. He simply pointed to the chair opposite him.
"Sit."
I crossed the room and lowered myself into the chair. The wood felt cold against my bare thighs through the parted silk. He poured coffee into a second cup and pushed it toward me, black, no sugar, no milk, exactly the way he drank his own.
I wrapped my hands around the warmth of the porcelain but did not lift it to my lips.
"You slept well," he said. It was not really a question.
"Like the dead," I answered.
A small curve touched the corner of his mouth. "Good."
Silence settled between us while rain tapped against the tall windows. I broke it first.
"Where are my clothes?"
"Gone."
My fingers tightened on the cup. "I need something to wear."
"You have that." He nodded toward the robe. "For now."
Anger rose hot and sudden in my chest. "This isn't a game."
"It is." He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "And you agreed to play."
I set the cup down with more force than I intended. Liquid sloshed over the rim. "One year. Not one minute more."
"Correct."
"Then let's be clear." I leaned forward across the table. "I'm not your toy. I'm not your pet. I'm collateral. Nothing else."
His gaze dropped to my throat, lingering on the faint purple mark his hand had left, before rising again to meet my eyes.
"You came apart beautifully last night," he said in a low voice that was almost soft. "That says otherwise."
Heat flooded my face, a mix of shame and fury and the sharp memory of his fingers inside me, the way I had begged. I stood up so fast the chair scraped back against the floor.
"I'm leaving this room."
"No."
One word. Final.
I turned toward the doorway anyway and started walking.
His chair pushed back quietly. His footsteps followed, slow and controlled.
I reached the arched doorway.
His hand closed around my wrist and spun me around until my back met the wall. My breath left me in a rush.
He did not pin me with force. He did not need to. The heat of his body was close enough that it pressed against me through the silk, inescapable.
"Look at me."
I lifted my chin and met his eyes, defiant.
His free hand came up and cupped my jaw. His thumb rested under my chin and tilted my head back against the plaster.
"You don't leave rooms unless I say," he told me in that calm, deadly voice. "You don't walk away unless I allow it."
My pulse hammered under his fingers.
"You want to fight?" He leaned closer until his lips almost brushed mine. "Fight. But you lose either way."
I jerked my chin. His grip tightened, not painful, just unyielding.
"Let go."
"No."
His thumb traced my lower lip, slow and deliberate.
"Open."
I clenched my jaw.
His eyes darkened.
Then his hand slid down over the silk, between my breasts, lower, until his palm pressed flat against my stomach. He pushed with gentle pressure, enough to pin me more firmly to the wall.
The robe parted slightly. Cool air touched my skin.
His fingers slipped inside the silk and found bare hip. They traced the curve there before dipping lower. He brushed the slick heat between my thighs.
I sucked in a breath.
He smiled, small and dangerous.
"Still wet from last night," he murmured. "Or is this new?"
I grabbed his wrist, hard.
He did not stop.
One finger circled, teased, never quite entering.
Pleasure sparked, unwanted and sharp.
I bit my lip to keep from making any sound.
His mouth brushed my ear. "You hate this."
"Yes."
"And you want it."
I did not answer.
His finger pressed inside, slow and deep.
My knees buckled.
He caught me with an arm around my waist and held me upright.
A second finger joined the first and curled, finding that spot inside me.
I gasped.
He pumped slowly, torturously slowly.
"Look at me."
I opened my eyes. Everything was blurry and hot.
His gaze burned black fire.
"You'll come like this," he said. "Against the wall. In my robe. Because I want you to."
I shook my head.
"Yes."
His thumb found my clit and pressed, circled.
I cried out, small and broken.
He swallowed the sound with his mouth, not a kiss but a claim, lips hard, teeth grazing, tongue demanding entry.
I pushed at his chest.
He did not budge.
His fingers moved faster, deeper.
The edge built again, fast and ruthless.
My hips rocked against his hand, betraying me.
He pulled back from the kiss and rested his forehead against mine.
"Come."
One word. A command.
My body obeyed.
The orgasm ripped through me, silent this time, violent and endless. My legs shook. My vision whited out.
He held me through every tremor, fingers never stopping, drawing it out until I was sobbing with overstimulation.
When the last wave faded he withdrew slowly.
He brought his hand to my lips.
"Taste."
I turned my head away.
He gripped my jaw and forced my mouth open, then slid his fingers inside.
I tasted myself on his skin, salt and sweet and him.
His eyes never left mine.
"Good girl."
He stepped back.
I slid down the wall until I sat on the floor, legs weak, breath ragged, robe open around me.
He adjusted his shirt, calm and composed as if nothing had happened.
"Breakfast is getting cold."
He walked back to the table and sat down. He picked up his coffee.
He glanced over at me.
"Five minutes. Then we discuss the rules."
I closed my eyes.
Because the rules were no longer about the year.
They were about right now.
And right now I belonged to him.