Chapter 4 Under The Suit

In the water half submerged, his back turned to her, arms stretched along the edge. Shirtless. His hair slicked back. Muscles carved from marble and shadow.

She didn't move for a moment. Just watched. Let herself drink him in.

Then he spoke.

"If you were going to sneak in, Savannah," his voice was rich, unhurried, "you should've at least undressed first."

She jolted, caught.

But he did not back away.

"Maybe I prefer skinny-dipping with an audience," she said, raising her chin.

He turned toward her slowly. Water slid down his chest in lazy rivulets. His gaze dragged across her body, the silk robe barely clinging to her curves, the flush already spreading across her skin.

"Come in," he said.

"Are you always this bossy?"

He smiled. "Only when I know what I want."

And God, the way he looked at her made it very clear what that was.

She slipped the robe from her shoulders.

Let it fall.

Underneath, it was just midnight lace hugging her skin. Barely there. Barely enough.

Damien's breath audibly caught.

She stepped into the water.

Warm and cocooning. Silk against her thighs. In this very city's stretch, lights lie glinting like diamonds. But in this rooftop kingdom, he is the only one that exists.

The refugees made each other walk halfway.

"Still wanting to have control?" she murmured.

His smile pulled more deeply, darkened. "Still pretending you don't like it?"

She opened her mouth to sass him, maybe, or kiss him, but he held something up: "A blindfold. Black silk. Savannah is still. Her pulse kicked.

"Damien..."

"Do you trust me?"

She hesitated.

"Enough to see what happens when you let go?"

She wet her lips and nodded.

He stepped behind her.

The silk slid over her eyes, cool and weightless. Darkness took over, sharpening every other sense.

His hands came next to her waist, fingers skimming her sides, up to the delicate lace of her bra.

"So delicate," he murmured. "Like you."

His thumbs brushed over her nipples. She gasped. They peaked beneath the lace, aching.

He pressed closer, the heat of his chest against her back.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Then listen."

And then his mouth was on her neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. One hand cupped her breast, kneading, while the other slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, finding her wet and ready.

"Every time I touch you," he whispered, "you fall apart."

She whimpered, grinding back against his cock, now hard and heavy between them.

"Not yet," he said, pulling her panties down, letting them float away.

She was naked now, blindfolded, trembling.

And he hadn't even truly begun.

He turned her in the water, lifted her up, and sat her on the pool's tiled edge. The cool surface made her shiver. Then he knelt between her thighs.

She gasped as his tongue found her hot, wicked, relentless.

"Damien!"

He didn't answer. Just sucked her clit, hard and slow, fingers sliding deep inside.

She moaned, blind and breathless. Legs shaking as he devoured her.

And when she came, it was a blinding, pulse-shattering flood that echoed in the night.

But he didn't stop.

He stood, pushed her back gently, guided his cock to her soaked entrance.

"Ready?"

She nodded.

And he thrust deep.

Her cry sliced the stars.

He moved inside her like he owned her body, like her walls were built for him alone. Each thrust deep and claiming.

She wrapped her legs around him, held on, drowning in sensation.

"Take it," he grunted. "Take all of me."

She did. Again. And again.

The blindfold slipped off just as she came again, and this time she saw his face raw, teeth bared, eyes burning.

He followed her over the edge, hips jerking, voice breaking in her name.

When it was over, neither moved.

Breathless.

Spent.

He touched her cheek. Gentle. Uncharacteristically soft.

"You shouldn't have come up here," he said quietly.

She looked at him.

"But I'm glad you did."

Savannah had not intended to make him jealous.

Not intentionally. Not deliberately.

But at the moment Damien walked into the lounge of the gallery and caught her laughing, really laughing with Julian Mercer, the impossibly charming British investor with cheekbones sharper than a plane, something just changed in the atmosphere. Like it darkens before a storm.

Damien said nothing, as he never did. He didn't even have to say it. His eyes said it all.

Tight. Sharp. Flaming.

Julian, as usual, oblivious, touched Savannah's wrist while laughing at something she'd said. That may well have been a match dropped into gasoline.

Damien turned, wordlessly.

She knew what that meant.

And she followed him away.

The elevator was deathly silent. He didn't touch her, didn't look at her. But Savannah could feel his rage in every breath.

She stepped out first when the doors slid apart into the penthouse. He quietly clicked the doors behind them.

Still silent.

Until: "You enjoyed that, did you? Letting him touch you. Letting him flirt as if you weren't already claimed?"

She whirled around to face him, heart racing. "It wasn't like that, Damien."

His eyes were dark, and a devilish flash lurked below their lashes.

"Right? Then let me remind you who you belong to."

In a heartbeat he was on her.

Savannah stumbled backward as he pushed her toward the leather chaise beside the windows, his presence predatory. She gasped as her back hit the wall.

He pressed one arm beside her head, invading her elbow space. Close, but not touching.

"Strip."

Her breath hitched. She stared up at him.

"You want me to test you? Keep playing innocent while you tempt every man in the room? Then earn it."

His voice was a growl.

Heat pooled low in her belly. She wanted to protest, to push back, but her fingers moved on their own. One button. Then another.

Until her blouse hung open. Until her bra was on the floor. Until she stood bored and vulnerable in front of him.

Slowly, he circled her, like a predator contemplating its prey.

And then he reached for the silk tie around his throat.

"Hands behind your back."