Page 162 of Terms of Exposure
Then the air changed—the familiar charge that filled the space whenever Damien stepped into his role. He seemed bigger somehow. Taller. Sharper.
My breath left me in a shaky exhale.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across the console, one hand braced beside my head.His lips brushed the curve of my neck, tongue tracing slowly to my ear. He caught the skin lightly between his teeth.
"Let's get you home."
The drive was torture.
Every red light an eternity. Every slow driver a personal offense. Damien's hand rested on my thigh—warm, heavy, possessive—his thumb tracing idle circles that sent sparks shooting up my spine.
He didn't speak.
Neither did I.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was charged. Electric. The quiet that came before a storm you'd been waiting for.
Memories of the Veil flooded my mind—the woman suspended in air, collar dangling from her throat. The serenity on her face. She'd looked like she was flying.
By the time we pulled into the parking garage beneath his building, my heart was hammering.
Damien killed the engine but didn't move.
His hand tightened on my thigh.
"Emma."
I turned to look at him.
His expression had shifted—still hungry, still dark, but layered now with something softer. Something careful.
"I need you to understand something before we go upstairs."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Shibari isn't just about the ropes." His thumb resumed its slow circles. "It's about trust. Surrender. Letting go of control completely." His gaze searched mine. "Are you ready for that?"
Was I?
"Yes," I whispered, the need overpowering all thought.
Damien studied me. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he nodded once—slow and deliberate.
"Good."
The words hit me like a drug, warmth flooding through my veins.
Damien stood behind me as the elevator climbed, close enough that the heat of his chest warmed my back. His hands stayed at his sides—not touching, just there—and somehow the restraint was more overwhelming than any touch.
The doors opened.
His apartment stretched before us—dark wood, floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittering beyond like scattered diamonds.
But Damien didn't lead me toward the living room.
He led me down the hall.
Past his bedroom.
