After everything that happened, I still had to sleep with this man.
I shuddered—not entirely because of him… okay, maybe a little.
Sex was painful, and he was huge. Broad, tall, toned. I had no doubt he was just as intimidating everywhere else.
"I didn't think you'd be the type to romanticize a wedding night," I teased, ignoring my racing pulse.
He shrugged. "It's not compulsory. I just figured the sooner we have sex, the sooner you get pregnant—if we're lucky—and the faster this agreement ends."
Sex.
I tried not to flinch. Clearly, he just wanted efficiency. I sighed. "We should change and freshen up," I said, gripping my arm. "An hour?"
He checked his watch and nodded. "An hour is fine."
**************************
I slipped into the nightdress Elise had picked out and wondered what possessed her to choose this one.
It was pretty—a short blush-pink satin dress with black lace edges and a thin robe—but it flashed practically my entire cleavage and clung to my curves like a glove. I hadn't even bothered with underwear. Not in this heat. Not like I planned to sleep anyway.
Ugh.
I gritted my teeth, fingers tangling in my hair as dread clawed up my spine.
I couldn't do this. I couldn't sleep with him. He'd hurt me. Worse than last time. Worse than Mondace.
A knock startled me. I swallowed hard. "Come in."
Damien walked in, devastatingly casual in a dark grey shirt-and-pants set. His eyes froze on me—brief amusement, maybe surprise—before he shut the door and sat at the edge of the bed.
His gaze traced the dress. My nervous system went into full meltdown. My index finger scratched frantically at my thumb until I hid my hand behind me.
"Interesting choice of clothing."
Heat crawled up my neck. I shrugged like it didn't matter.
It mattered. A lot.
He noticed my fidgeting, sighed slowly.
"Aria."
My name sounded like a summons.
He tapped the space beside him. I sat stiffly, leaving a cautious gap. He turned toward me, eyes sharp.
"This won't work if you're this tense."
I nodded, staring at the floor.
"We don't have to do anything tonight," he said evenly.
I shook my head. "No. I want to."
"Then stop shaking." His voice softened—just slightly. "Don't focus on me. Focus on why you said yes."
I pinched my eyes shut. Money. Security. Freedom.
Fear drowned it all out.
"I can't," I whispered on a shaky exhale.
Damien moved… away—he slid up the bed, resting his back against the headboard, looked at the clock briefly then crossed his arms over his chest. Patient, but entirely distant.
"I'm not touching you like this. Decide. If not, we wait."
I don't know how long I sat there—thirty seconds? A minute?—but the silence was crushing me. The deal was the deal.
I walked into this with my eyes wide open.
I would eventually still have to do this, so I had to suck it up and… do this.
I let the robe slide off, pool on the floor. Crawled up the bed on trembling knees until I was right in front of him, close enough to feel his heat like a wall.
His eyes flicked up, searching. I didn't retreat. He uncrossed his arms.
"Please be gentle," I whispered.
He nodded.
"With my shoulder too… it's sore." I cradled it protectively.
Another nod, eyes flicking to my arm.
One big hand settled lightly on my waist. I swallowed, shifted forward, and straddled his lap before I could chicken out.
Oh God. He was already hard. Huge doesn't cover it.
Stomach flipped—half terror, half something dangerous.
He tilted my chin, kissed me deep, deliberate. Tongue claiming like he'd already mapped every inch.
Scratch that eye service show he put on that night. This man could kiss!
My brain went fuzzy. I kissed back on instinct, clutching his shirt. He pulled away just enough to check my face. I nodded.
His arm locked gently around my lower back, supporting my weight so my bad shoulder stayed safe. Other hand pushed the satin higher, fingers tracing up my thigh until they brushed between my legs.
Embarrassingly wet already. I tried squeezing my thighs shut; he held them open with easy strength. Low sound of approval rumbled from him as he circled my clit once, then stroked—slow, up, down, up, down…
I hated how easily my body betrayed me, turning fear into this aching heat.
He slid one thick finger inside me. I gasped against his mouth, eyes squeezing shut. It stretched, but not painfully—just full. He paused, letting me adjust, then curled it slowly, finding a spot that made my breath hitch. A second finger soon followed, scissoring gently, opening me while his thumb kept circling.
Oh Gosh.
The burn blurred into something good. I rocked against his hand, soft whimpers escaping, mortified by the slick sounds. He worked me patiently until I was chasing it, rocking against his hands, then shattered—high, shaking, clinging to his shirt.
Only then did he ease out.
I felt empty for a second. Then he lifted me slightly, blunt head pressing at my entrance. He laid me back.
He cracked his neck to the side and with one hand, reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt over, revealing a body Greek gods would be jealous of.
Def no catfishing, he was very well built, a couple tattoos here and there.
His hands hooked under my thighs, spreading me open like it was nothing.
I stared up at the ceiling, trying not to panic.
"Aria." His voice was low, rougher than before. "Look at me." I dragged my eyes down. He was stroking himself slowly.
My mouth went dry. I was gonna need therapy after this. Or a wheelchair to match my sling.
"Are you still with me?" One brow raised. Real concern buried under the stoic mask.
I swallowed and nodded. "Just… go slow, okay? Like, glacier slow."
A tiny smirk tugged at his mouth, first real emotion I'd seen all night.
He leaned over, one hand by my head, guiding himself. Pressure started—thick, hot, relentless. I sucked in a breath, nails digging into his forearm.
He stopped. "Breathe out."
I did. Shakily. He pushed deeper. Burned, but not ripping. Too full. My body fluttered, adjusting. I gripped his shoulder hard—marks tomorrow for sure.
"Fuck," he muttered. "You're tight."
No shit, Sherlock.
He gave short, careful thrusts, letting me take more each time. Paused every time I tensed, thumb stroking my hip like calming a scared animal. Annoyingly sweet.
"Still okay?" I Nodded.
He started moving properly—slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged over every sensitive spot he'd already found with his fingers. My back arched before I could stop it.
Oh.
Okay, wow.
The burn faded into this heavy, rolling pleasure that made my toes curl.
I hated how good it felt. Hated how my legs wrapped around him on their own, pulling him deeper. Hated the soft, stupid sounds I kept making.
He picked up pace just a little, his hand slid between us again, thumb finding my clit with terrifying accuracy.
I came undone way too fast, biting his shoulder to muffle the embarrassingly loud moan.
He groaned against my neck, thrusts stuttering as he followed right after, burying himself deep and staying there.
He pulled out carefully and lay beside me, cracking his neck and fingers once more.
The soreness hit me immediately, but I was too spent to wince or show any signs as we stayed there catching our breaths.
He walked to the bathroom wordlessly and came back with a cloth.
"May I?" he held it before my eyes, I nodded.
He pressed the damp cloth to my thighs, wiping me clean, cautiously.
He stood up once done, drew the blanket over me and put on his shirt.
I watched as he walked out of my room after giving me one last final glance. Too weak to say or do anything.
My eyes soon began to close. I gave in, falling into the embrace of sleep.