Wide-eyed. Breathless. His hand on her throat. Her legs trembling under his touch.
Mine.
He’d bend her over his desk, make her say his name. Cry out for him. Break for him.
Not gentle. Never that.
But never cruel, either.
Only his.
He gritted his teeth, strokes growing faster. Rougher.
Possessive.
She wouldn’t need to beg.
He’d know what she wanted.
He’d give it to her.
But no one else could.
No one else would touch her.
Ever.
The pressure built like a damn breaking inside his chest.
And when he came this time, it wasn’t empty.
It was violent.
Hot.
Raw.
He came hard, groaning her name against the tile.
His forehead hit the wall. He slammed his palm against the wall, cursing under his breath as release overtook him.
Fuck.
He was losing control.
He hated it.
The water kept pouring.
But it couldn’t wash her away.
No matter how hard he tried.
He had to end this… before it became something he couldn’t bury.
Before Maya Thompson got under his skin more than she already had.
And as the water scalded him clean, Damien faced the truth he couldn’t drown-Maya Thompson wasn’t just under his skin. She was inside him. And that… was dangerous.
Maya’s POV
By the time Maya got home that Friday night, it was almost 9:30 PM.
She let the door close behind her with a soft click and just stood there for a second – silent, still, and spent. Her bag dropped to the floor. Her shoes came off with a weak kick. And for the first time in days, she let herself exhale.
She was home.
The house was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the fridge and the faint clink of Jamie’s spoon from the kitchen. He looked up from a bowl of instant noodles, eyes sleepy but happy.
“Hey,” he greeted with a tired grin. “You’re late.”
“Traffic,” she mumbled, crossing the room to press a kiss to the top of his head. “How was your day?”
“Same as usual,” he replied. “Ms. Janice dropped off lasagna. It’s in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
Her chest warmed a little at that. Ms. Janice, their sweet retired neighbor, always managed to show up when they needed something the most. Quiet, small gestures that filled the cracks where the world had broken.
“I’ll reheat some later,” Maya said, offering a tired smile.
Jamie studied her for a beat too long.
“You look like you didn’t eat today.”
She blinked. “I’m fine.”
“You should eat,” he said simply, eyes back on his bowl.
Maya didn’t reply. She couldn’t. He knew. He always knew.
She watched him for a moment – slim, pale, too young to carry the weight he did – and her heart squeezed. Tomorrow was his doctor’s appointment. She didn’t dare hope for a miracle. She just wanted to hear one word:
Stable.
Not cured. Not cleared. Just… stable. Something to buy them time.
She retreated to the bathroom, peeling off her clothes and stepping under the barely-warm water.
The heater had been unreliable lately, and honestly, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a truly hot shower. Still, she scrubbed away the day-her exhaustion, the whispers, the damn flowers.
The bouquet had been tossed, recycled like trash. But the stares clung to her skin like a stain. The rumors. The assumptions. The danger. The risk.
She couldn’t afford that kind of attention. Not from anyone.
The risk.
She couldn’t afford to be under Damien Blackwood’s radar. Not like that. The rumors alone could end her internship. And this opportunity, this chance – meant everything.
Tomorrow, she’d be off from both jobs. Her coffee shop manager had kindly agreed to give her the day for Jamie’s appointment. A full, uninterrupted Saturday to breathe. Maybe even sleep. The past week had pushed her to her limit, stretched her to exhaustion.
She was grateful for the internship. It was rare. Competitive. Life-changing. But the full-time setup this first week had cost her dearly-tips, overtime, and a full week’s barista pay. The stipend from Blackwood Enterprises was generous by corporate standards, but barely a dent compared to what she lost.
Still, she told herself what she always did: It’s temporary.
One more step forward. One more sacrifice. One more thread in the tapestry of survival.
When her parents died, it was the day after her 18th birthday.
She remembered blowing out the candles on a homemade cake Jamie had helped bake. Her mother laughed as frosting got on her nose. Her dad kissed her forehead and called her an adult now.
The next day, she was in a sterile hallway, holding Jamie’s hand, being told she had to identify the bodies.
A semi-truck. A drunk driver. A split-second.
She hadn’t cried right away. Not until Jamie asked if they’d ever come back.
From that moment on, everything changed. No aunts, no uncles stepped forward to take them in. She was legally an adult. Jamie was hers to protect.
Her parents left behind a decent insurance policy-enough to get them by. But Jamie’s condition surfaced not long after, slowly draining whatever safety net they had left. The hospital bills multiplied. She sold the house. They moved into a smaller place in a low-income district.
She dropped out of college to work full-time. The moment she was offered a scholarship again, she took it-even knowing how brutal the schedule would be. Every class, every shift, every sleepless night-it was all for him.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.