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The remaining guards nod, their faces set in determined lines, as they station themselves by the windows, their eyes scanning the serene facade of our suburban refuge for any sign of danger.
Damien's unwavering strength is a fortress, but even fortresses can fall. I swallow hard, the reality of our situation settling in my stomach like a stone. Although I trust him and his men, the silence surrounding us, with no word from the outside world, signals a certain shift.
I guide Damien up the stairs; each step he takes seems labored, a testament to the pain he's so stoically trying to hide. Our hands touch, and our fingers interlace, an accidental intimacy in a situation far from ordinary.
This room, this space, is ours, though it's the first time we're truly sharing it.
As I help him settle onto the bed, I can't help but notice the tremor in my hands. He sees it, too, his gaze softening. "You're shaking," he observes, a note of concern threading through his husky voice.
"How could I not?" I retort, the words escaping me before I can cage them. I'm angry, scared, and, beneath it all, caring far more than I intended.
There's a pause, a moment where we both catch our breath, not just from the exertion but from the reality we're facing. "This isn't what I wanted for you," he admits, his eyes searching mine.
I bristle at his words, my independence a fire that refuses to be doused. "And what gives you the right to decide what's best for me?" I snap back, a hint of fury in my voice. "I'm my own person, Damien. I don't need you to hide me away like some fragile ornament."
The air between us crackles with tension, our wills clashing like a storm against the shore.
And then, in a surge of raw emotion, our lips meet. It's a kiss born from a whirlwind of frustration and fear, a collision of lips that speaks of unspoken desires and pent-up yearning.
His hands, steady and strong, roam over me with a touch that burns and coaxes. And mine, no longer shaking, find solace in the solid reality of him. It's a kiss that feels like the first drop of rain after a drought, quenching a thirst I hadn't allowed myself to acknowledge.
We pull apart, our breaths mingling, our foreheads resting against one another's. The kiss is a revelation, a breaking down of barriers we didn't even know we had erected. And it's good, frighteningly so.
In the quiet aftermath, as we're both grappling with the intensity of what just happened, I find my voice again. "I'm stronger than you think," I whisper, the words not a challenge but a promise.
Damien gives me a look that tells me he's starting to realize just how true that is. "I'm beginning to see that," he nods. I note a wonder in his eyes, a softness that tells me everything has changed.
Chapter 13
Mariya
Our lips are drawn together once more, an inevitable pull like the moon to the tide. The urgency that underscores our every movement is a wild thing, untamed and hungry. We’re mindful of the wound that mars his skin, a stark reminder of the world that waits beyond the walls of this room, but it does little to quell the desire that courses through us.
I can hardly believe the fervency of our desire, the searing heat that blooms with every touch, every kiss. It's as if we're discovering a hidden language, our bodies speaking in whispers and moans. His hands, careful yet commanding, map the expanse of my back, drawing me closer, deepening the kiss until I’m completely enveloped in it.
"You know," I speak between breaths, "planning my escape from you has become my favorite pastime."
He chuckles, his breath warm on my skin as he deftly unbuttons my blouse. "And thoughts of catching you," he replies with a sly grin, "are quickly becoming mine."
I can't help the laugh that escapes as his lips trace a path down my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "It took you long enough. You’ll have to be quicker next time," I tease, slipping out of the blouse and letting it fall softly to the floor.
He raises an eyebrow, his hands finding the waist of my jeans. "Oh, I don't know, Mariya," he says, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "I seem to have you right where I want you now."
"Appearances can be deceiving," I shoot back, even as he peels the denim away, leaving me exposed and vulnerable, yet somehow I feel so powerful.
His fingers brush against my waist, and I gasp, a momentary loss of our playful repartee. But I recover quickly, my hands reaching for his belt. "I suppose this means you'll have to keep a closer eye on me."
"Trust me," he says, his voice low and husky as he leans in, his lips hovering over mine. "That's one duty I'll take very seriously."
His laughter is a sound I realize I've come to cherish. It fills the room, wrapping around me like a warm embrace. At this moment, we're just two people, stripped of titles and expectations, finding solace in each other's arms.
The connection between us deepens with each second, each breath shared. I'm struck by the intensity of my feelings and the way my heart seems to beat in tandem with his. There's a synchronicity to our movements, a rhythm that's ours alone. It's as if every moment leading up to this was a prelude, every letter, a verse in a song that's reaching its crescendo.
We pause, our foreheads pressed together, breathing in the shared air between us. There's a silent question that hangs in the space of our embrace, an uncertainty of what comes next. With a smile that mirrors my own, he pulls me back into the kiss, and I lose myself once more in the sensation of being utterly, completely wanted. It's a feeling that's new and exhilarating, and I surrender to it willingly and eagerly. For the first time in a long while, I allow myself the luxury of not thinking about escape plans or debts to be paid.
Tonight, there's only Damien and me. The world outside can wait.
"You're beautiful," he says, his voice soft yet filled with an intensity that sends a flush to my cheeks.
