2

Naomi sat in the back of the black luxury car, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The leather seats were cool beneath her, the city lights flashing through the tinted windows as the driver navigated through the streets.

She had agreed.

One night.

And now, there was no turning back.

Her phone buzzed in her purse. She ignored it. Eric. She couldn’t talk to him now—not with her pulse hammering, her skin burning with the weight of the decision she had just made.

Damon sat beside her, his presence filling the car like a shadow she couldn’t escape. He was silent, but his gaze flicked toward her, assessing, waiting.

After what felt like forever, the car pulled up in front of an upscale hotel. The kind where secrets were kept behind heavy doors and whispered conversations.

The driver stepped out first, opening Damon’s door. He didn’t move right away, instead turning to her.

"We're here, Naomi," he said smoothly. "Are you coming?"

Her throat tightened. Say no. Walk away.

But she didn’t move.

Because if she left, she was choosing ruin.

And so, she took a slow breath, grabbed her purse, and stepped out of the car.

Damon smiled. Not a kind smile—a knowing one.

The hotel staff greeted them with reverence, and before she could process it, Naomi found herself inside a private elevator, rising to the top floor.

She forced herself to speak. "You do this often, don’t you?"

Damon arched a brow. "What exactly?"

"This." Her voice was sharp, betraying the fear clawing at her chest. "Bringing women here, making deals like this."

His smirk deepened. "You assume too much."

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

A suite stretched before her—modern, luxurious, dangerous. Dim lights cast shadows across the polished floor. A single bottle of wine sat chilling in a silver bucket.

Naomi stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her.

Suddenly, it was just the two of them.

Alone.

Damon walked to the bar, pouring himself a drink. "Nervous?"

She folded her arms. "Should I be?"

He took a slow sip, watching her over the rim of his glass. "That depends."

On what? On whether she’d break? On how much he’d enjoy watching her do it?

She turned away, pressing her fingers to her temples. The room felt too warm, too stifling.

"You’re overthinking," he murmured, stepping closer. "Let me make this simple for you, Naomi."

He reached out, trailing a single finger along her arm. A shiver ran through her, traitorous and sharp.

"You came here willingly." His voice was a low hum against her skin. "Now, stop pretending you don’t want to be here."

Her breath caught.

Because he wasn’t entirely wrong.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

She had always had a subtle attraction towards him. Always imagine how it would feel wrapped around with his strong arms.

His fingers slid down her arms, slow and deliberate.

Naomi’s breath hitched. Her instincts screamed to move away, but she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

She had made a deal.

Damon’s hands ghosted over her waist, his touch firm yet patient, as if waiting for her to resist. She didn’t.

“Say it,” he murmured against her ear.

She swallowed hard. “Say what?”

“That you want this.”

Her pulse pounded. Want. The word felt too dangerous. Too close to something she couldn’t afford to admit.

So she gave him the only answer she could.“This isn’t about what I want.”

Damon chuckled, low and knowing. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

His hands tightened, turning her slowly to face him. Naomi forced herself to meet his gaze. Those dark, unreadable eyes—always watching, always knowing.

“You made a choice,” he said softly. “You’re here.”

A reminder. A taunt. She could still leave. Walk away. Tell Eric she couldn’t get the money.

But the thought of his disappointment, his brokenness, rooted her in place.

Naomi lifted her chin. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Damon studied her for a long moment, then smiled. “As you wish.”

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was control.

His lips claimed hers, firm and unrelenting. Naomi gasped against him, her hands pressing against his chest, but he didn’t stop.

Didn’t let her escape. And slowly, she stopped trying. She hated how easy it was to lose herself, how her body betrayed her, melting against his. Damon’s hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until she was drowning in him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard her own voice whispering.

This is wrong.

But another part of her, the one that had made this choice, whispered back.

It’s already done.

Damon’s hands roamed lower, his fingers tracing the dip of her spine as his lips moved with deliberate hunger against hers. Naomi trembled, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts, her body caught in the push and pull of resistance and surrender.

His kiss was dominance itself—demanding, possessive. He wasn’t asking; he was taking. And the worst part? She let him.

She told herself it was just one night. One night to fix everything. To save Eric. To save their home. But as Damon’s grip tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard frame, that logic blurred, dissolving into the heat of his touch.

A deep sound rumbled from his chest as he backed her toward the bed. The hotel suite was dimly lit, city lights filtering through the curtains, casting a glow over them. Naomi felt the mattress behind her knees, but Damon didn’t rush.

Instead, he dragged his lips down her jaw, tracing a slow path along the column of her neck. A shiver coursed through her, her head tilting back as his breath teased her skin.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement. His fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Is it fear...?”

Naomi swallowed hard. “No.”

Damon smirked. “Good.”

His hands slid down, finding the zipper of her dress. A flick of his fingers, and the fabric loosened, slipping over her shoulders, down her arms. She sucked in a sharp breath as it pooled at her feet, leaving her exposed to his scrutiny.

His gaze raked over her, slow and unhurried, as if savoring the sight. Naomi’s skin prickled under his intensity. No man had ever looked at her like this—like she was something to be devoured.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice a quiet murmur, almost reverent. But the moment passed in a blink, replaced by something darker. “And you’re mine tonight.”

Her stomach clenched. His. Just for tonight. She had agreed to this.

Still, when he reached for her again, when his hands framed her face with unexpected gentleness, her breath caught. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, his touch oddly tender, contradicting the raw hunger in his eyes.

“Tell me you regret this,” he said, his voice softer now. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

Naomi hesitated.

She should say it. Should push him away, pull her dress back on, and walk out. But she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

The silence was her answer.

Damon exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening for a brief second before he claimed her lips again—harder this time, more demanding. His hands roamed over her, tracing, claiming, leaving no part of her untouched.

Naomi gasped as he lifted her effortlessly, pressing her back against the cool sheets. He hovered above her, watching, waiting, giving her one last chance to change her mind.

But it was already too late.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down to her, sealing their fate for the night.

One night.

The thought echoed in her mind even as she surrendered completely to the man who owned her tonight.