He stood up, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me down the hall to his bedroom. The room was masculine and clean — dark wood, big bed, city lights glowing through the windows. He laid me down gently, then climbed over me, kissing me again.

This kiss was slower. Deeper. His tongue stroked mine like he was savoring me. One of his hands slid up my thigh, pushing my dress higher, fingers brushing the edge of my lace panties. I arched into him, needy and aching.

“Damon… please,” I whispered.

He groaned, kissing down my neck, sucking lightly at...