Chapter 8

Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, painting the room in soft gold.

I woke slowly, my body deliciously sore in ways I had only read about. Damien's arm was draped heavily over my waist, his warm chest pressed to my back, breath steady against my neck. For a moment, I let myself enjoy it, the solid weight of him, the scent of salt and sex still clinging to our skin.

Then reality hit.

Marcus was just down the hall.

I tensed, heart kicking into a frantic rhythm. Damien stirred behind me, his hand tightening possessively on my hip before he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to my shoulder.

"Morning, baby," he murmured, voice gravelly with sleep and satisfaction.

"We can't stay like this," I whispered, even as I arched slightly into his touch. "Marcus could wake up any second."

Damien hummed, clearly in no hurry. His fingers traced lazy circles on my bare stomach, dipping lower until they brushed the sensitive skin between my thighs. I bit back a gasp.

"One more minute," he said against my skin. "Let me feel you again before we go back to pretending."

His touch was gentle this time, teasing, exploratory, coaxing soft whimpers from me as he stroked me back to aching awareness. I turned in his arms, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss to muffle my sounds. He rolled me beneath him, settling between my legs with a low groan as he hardened against me.

"We don't have time for this," I protested weakly, even while my legs wrapped around his waist.

"Quick and quiet," he promised, reaching for another condom from the nightstand where he'd left a few the night before. "I need to be inside you one more time before we leave this room."

He entered me slowly, both of us breathing through the stretch. The soreness from last night mixed with fresh pleasure, making everything feel sharper, more intense. Damien moved with controlled thrusts, deep and steady, his mouth on mine to swallow every moan.

"You feel even better in the morning," he rasped, forehead pressed to mine. "So tight… so fucking perfect for me."

I came first, clenching around him with a muffled cry against his shoulder. Damien followed seconds later, burying his face in my neck as he groaned my name quietly.

We stayed locked together for a few precious seconds, hearts pounding in sync.

Then the sound of Marcus's door creaking open down the hall shattered the moment.

Damien cursed softly and rolled off me. We moved in frantic silence, him pulling on his shorts and slipping out my window onto the small balcony that connected to the side of the house, me scrambling into fresh clothes and rumpling the bed to look like I'd slept alone.

By the time Marcus knocked lightly on my door to say breakfast was ready, I was sitting on the edge of the bed brushing my hair, cheeks still flushed but hopefully explainable by the summer heat.

Damien was already at the kitchen table when I walked in, looking annoyingly calm as he sipped coffee and joked with my parents. Only the brief, heated glance he sent me when no one was looking betrayed him.

The rest of the morning was pure torture.

Packing the car, saying goodbyes, the long drive back to the city. Every bump in the road reminded me of the ache between my legs. Every time Damien's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, heat flared low in my belly.

Back home, the secrecy only grew sweeter and more dangerous.

Over the next few weeks, we stole moments wherever we could: late-night texts that made me blush in the dark, quick kisses in the hallway when Marcus stepped out, one risky afternoon in Damien's car parked behind an old warehouse where he pulled me into his lap and made me ride him until we were both shaking and breathless.

He was still emotionally guarded, never talking about feelings, always framing it as "this is just us for now" but his actions spoke louder. The way he held me after, the way he texted "be safe" every time I went out with friends, the way his eyes softened when he thought I wasn't looking.

But cracks were already forming.

One evening, while Marcus was at the gym, Damien snuck into my room. We barely made it to the bed before clothes were shed and he had me on my hands and knees, taking me from behind with deep, possessive strokes that made me bury my face in the pillow to muffle my cries.

Afterward, as we lay tangled and sweaty, he traced a finger down my spine.

"This can't stay hidden forever," he said quietly. "But I'm not ready to lose it yet."

I turned to face him, shy but brave. "Neither am I."

He kissed me softly, but I felt the tension in his shoulders, the emotional walls he kept so carefully raised.

Our secret summer fling was turning into something deeper.

Something neither of us knew how to stop.

And something that was becoming impossible to hide.