*Isabella's POV*
"Damien, get up," I hissed, my face burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the late air. My eyes darted around, "The pilot is watching and Tony is watching from the car."
He pushed himself up gracefully, his movements fluid and confident, not a even a bit of self-consciousness in him. He stood before me, his eyes searching mine, a flicker of anxiety in their depths that he was trying to hide. "Was I clear enough?" he asked, his voice low and serious.
"Yes," I breathed, my heart still hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "But you didn't have to," I added, my voice barely a whisper. I felt a blush creep up my neck, a furious, betraying red that I knew he could see.
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "Yet you're smiling from ear to ear and you're red as a tomato," he teased, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that always did things to me.
"Well, I did like it," I admitted, swatting playfully at his chest. "That was a strange way to confess your feelings, trying to prove me wrong. But totally fitting for you."
"I'm glad I lived up to your expectations," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Damien... let's go home," I said, suddenly feeling exhausted and overwhelmed.
He nodded, a silent understanding passing between us. He bent down, picked up my forgotten bag, and then we were entering the limo. The cool, plush leather was a welcome shock to my system. That was something. I certainly knew it. He'd dropped hints before, little comments that I'd brushed off as jokes or sweet nothings. But to say it out loud, on his fucking knees in public... My heart was doing a happy, chaotic dance inside my chest, and he didn't even know that he owned me the same way Jacob did. The thought was a cold bucket of water.
"You're awfully quiet," he said, his voice cutting through my thoughts and catching me off guard.
"I was... I was thinking how quickly things change," I said, my voice soft. "Five months ago, we could barely talk to each other, other than work-related stuff. And now you said that..."
"What makes you think I didn't love you the same five months ago?" he asked, and the question hit me like a physical blow, shocking me into silence.
"Damien..." I whispered. Good luck telling him now that you don't want to share a room with him. The plan I'd so carefully constructed on the plane felt like it was dissolving into smoke.
"I meant it when I said you're my sky full of stars, Isabella," he said, his voice raw with an emotion that made my chest ache. "My path was maybe dark and twisted. I had trouble finding the light, I never searched for love, yet you got under my skin, little by little. You made me want to get out of bed and come to work. Every single morning. And before I even realised it, I was in love with you. I didn't need to touch you. Everything that's happening now is a bonus. You in my life, working with me, it was enough for me. This right now... it's a dream." He paused, his gaze intense, searching my face. "I always think I'll wake up one day and you'll be gone," he said, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.
My god... fuck. Screw it. I cannot contain myself. The plan, the guilt, the fear of hurting them... it all vanished, burned away by the raw, unfiltered honesty in his eyes. I moved across the plush leather space, straddling his lap in one fluid motion, crashing my lips against his.
"The intercom," I said between frantic, desperate kisses, my hands tangling in his hair.
"What?" he asked, his voice muffled, his hands already gripping my hips, pulling me closer.
"Tell Tony to keep driving," I said.
His eyes, dark and wide with surprise, locked onto mine. For a second, he just stared, then a slow, predatory grin spread across his face. He didn't hesitate. He leaned forward, his arm brushing against mine as he hit the intercom button.
"Tony," he said, his voice a raw, commanding rasp. "Keep driving. Just drive."
A firm "Yes, sir" came back, and then the car was in motion, the city lights blurring into long, streaking rivers of colour outside the tinted windows. The world outside ceased to exist.
His mouth was back on mine in an instant, the kiss a hungry, desperate tangle. All the guilt, all the plans, all the fucking what-ifs dissolved in the searing heat of his kiss. There was only him, the solid muscle of his thighs beneath me, the scent of his cologne, and the overwhelming, undeniable need to have him inside me. Right now.
My hands were shaking as I fumbled with the hem of my shirt, yanking it over my head. The fabric got caught in my hair for a second, a frustrating, clumsy moment that he solved by simply ripping it the rest of the way off. My bra followed, his fingers making short work of the clasp. His hands were on my breasts immediately, cupping them, his thumbs brushing over my already-hard nipples, sending jolts of electricity straight to my clit. I moaned into his mouth, my hips rocking against the hard bulge in his trousers.
I needed more. I needed skin. I scrambled off his lap just long enough to shove off my jeans and panties, kicking them into a heap on the floor. The cool leather of the seats was a shock against my heated skin. He watched me, his eyes dark and burning, a predator admiring his prey. He made quick work of his own clothes, his shirt and trousers joining mine in a pile on the floor.
I moved to straddle him again, my knees sinking into the plush leather on either side of his hips. But before I could sink down onto him, he stopped me. With a sly, knowing smirk, he reached down, to his own discarded trousers. He pulled out a small, silver foil packet.
My eyes widened. "You fucking bastard," I breathed, a mix of shock and amusement warring inside me. "Do you always plan for this?"