Chapter 8 kisses

Damiete looked at Hazel, confused. She'd kisses him all on her own? That was something he'd never expected to happen in this life or the next. Not like he was complaining, but.........

"What's wrong, Mr Torres?" She wrapped her arms around his neck. "You're at pure seduction, and all you're doing is drinking, that's wrong."

The men whom he'd been talking to excused themselves, giving the couple space. The oppression was too much to take.

Damiete smiled. Two could play at this game. He pulled her closer by her waist. Her breath hitched as her body pressed hard against his.

Not now, Hazel cursed her body for the way it shamelessly reacted to his every touch. He was the one who was supposed to feel this way not her.

He traced his finger down her face, stopping at her lips. Lips he wanted to kiss so badly. "Don't start what you can't finish." His tone carried a warning.

Hazel giggled. This was just the beginning, she was going to make him want her so bad that he'd run mad with want.

The universe seemed to be on her side because a man had climbed up a makeshift stage, and he tapped on the mic thrice to get everyone's attention.

"It's time for a little fun. Truth... or dare?"

Everyone clapped, and soon, they formed a circle with their partners. Hazel, with a drink in her hand, sat down across from Damiete. He raised a brow at her, but she only rolled her eyes.

One by one, the guests blushed through dares and confessions. When it came to Hazel, the host had a mischievous grin like he had been waiting for this all night.

"Hazel," he called, "I dare you... to give your husband a lap dance."

The circle erupted into whistles and teasing. Hazel's smile didn't drop. She stood gracefully every step toward Damiete slow, like she was crossing a stage she owned. He looked at her, but he didn't move as she sat onto his lap, moving to the rhythm of the beats that made him swallow hard.

Hazel was going to be the death of him.

She wrapped her fingers around his neck before she leaned down, her lips touching his ear.

"You look tense," she whispered, her voice low and seductive.

Damiete swallowed hard, fighting the urge to grab her hips and pull her closer. Around them, the crowd were cheering. He kept his face blank, determined not to give her the satisfaction she wanted, but his pulse was betraying him.

When her dare ended, the host turned toward Damiete.

"Your turn, Mr. Torres. Truth: tell us one thing about your wife that nobody knows."

Damiete glanced at Hazel, who arched a brow as if daring him herself. The truth was, he didn't know her-at least not beyond the terms of the contract that held them.

"She's..." His throat felt dry. "Unpredictable." was all he could think of.

The crowd laughed and the game continued until Hazel was tired. She'd been walking in heels for more than two hours, her ankles were hurting.

The ride back to the penthouse was made in silence. Damiete looked out the window while Hazel had her eyes on her phone. Occasionally, she would look in his direction before turning away.

Before she could open her door, he pulled her onto his lap. She gasped, but her surprise was quickly replaced with a smirk.

"Stop playing games, Hazel," he said, his voice low, roughened by the whiskey and the night's tension.

She leaned in, her lips an inch away from his. "Games? I am not doing anything."

She was pretending to be innocent, but her eyes told him she knew exactly what she was doing. His fingers dug lightly into her waist. They were a bit drunk, and their selfcontrol was thin like paper.

The moment the penthouse door closed, Hazel was against him, her hands found their way into his shirt, pulling him down in a kiss that shocked him. His hands found her hips, her waist, her back, as moved toward the bedroom.

By the time they reached the bed, she was already pulling at his shirt, and he was more than willing to help her along.

"Damiete..." she breathed, his name turning to a sigh as he put her down onto the mattress.

He didn't waste time. He trailed wet kisses from her neck until he was kneeling in-between her thighs.

Her dress was pushed up, his hands sliding over soft, heated skin. And then his mouth was on her-slow, deliberate strokes that had her arching, fingers holding onto his hair.

The way she tasted, the way she moaned his name as he ate her pussy, made him forget the fact that this was just a contract marriage.

Hazel on the other hand was soaring through the clouds. Her finger gripped his hair tightly. Gosh! He was so good.

When she was shaking, he moved up her body, bracing himself above her. His mouth found hers again, and without thinking, he positioned himself, ready to sink into her and finish what they had started.

But her hand pressed to his chest, stopping him.

"Stop," her voice was shaky, but firm.

He froze, every muscle in his body straining against the demand. "Hazel..."

"I don't... want to have sex again," she said, looking at him .

It took everything in him not to move, not to push past her boundaries. He exhaled but he forced himself back.

He ran a hand over his face, forcing his body to calm. It wasn't just desire-there was frustration, confusion, and something he didn't want to name.

Hazel lay there, catching her breath, her lips was still swollen from his kisses. She didn't apologize. She just watched him, as if to see what he'd do next.

And Damiete, for the first time that night, realized he didn't know who was really in control anymore.