Bella barely had time to process her own words before Damien acted.
The second the challenge left her lips, his grip tightened. In one swift motion, he pulled her closer, his mouth crashing against hers with a force that left her breathless.
This wasn't a kiss.
It was a claim.
Heat surged through her as his hands traced over her waist, pulling her flush against his hard, unyielding body. Bella knew she should stop this—should remind herself that Damien Sinclair was dangerous, that she was supposed to be keeping her distance.
But God, the way he kissed her made it impossible to think.
The world around them blurred. The cool night air contrasted sharply with the fire raging between them, and when Damien finally pulled back, his dark eyes were filled with something primal.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her swollen lips.
Bella's breath came fast, her chest rising and falling against his. "Then show me."
Something in his gaze snapped.
Before she could react, he was leading her toward his car, opening the door with an ease that only a man used to control possessed. Bella hesitated—just for a second.
This was reckless. Insane.
And yet, she slid inside without a word.
The drive was silent, but the air between them was thick with tension, humming with the promise of what was to come. Damien's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw locked as he weaved through the city streets with effortless precision.
Minutes later, they pulled up to a towering penthouse building.
Bella barely had time to admire the sleek luxury of the lobby before Damien led her to the private elevator.
The second the doors closed, he turned on her.
His hands were on her waist, his mouth at her ear. "You had a choice back at the restaurant," he murmured, his voice dark with promise. "But now that you're here, there's no turning back."
Bella's stomach clenched. Not with fear. With need.
"I don't want to turn back."
A slow smirk curved his lips. "Good."
The elevator dinged, and before she knew it, she was inside his penthouse.
The space was exactly what she expected—dark, modern, powerful. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering skyline, and expensive whiskey bottles lined the bar.
But Bella barely had time to take it all in before Damien was on her.
His lips found hers again, this time slower—teasing. His hands slid down her back, gripping her hips, and when she arched into him, he let out a low groan.
"I should warn you," he murmured against her lips. "I don't do soft."
Bella met his gaze, fire dancing in her own.
"Then don't."
And with that, the last restraint snapped.
Damien lifted her effortlessly, carrying her toward his bedroom. Bella barely had time to gasp before they were on the bed, a tangled mess of heat, lips, and whispered demands.
His hands roamed over her body like he already owned her, his touch rough, intoxicating.
Bella surrendered to it.
To him.
She knew she was playing with fire.
But as Damien Sinclair's mouth claimed every inch of her, she realized something else—
She didn't care if she burned