Chapter 102: Chapter 101: He Took Her Home
DAMIEN’S POV- Ten Minutes Later
Damien held Aria’s unconscious body against his chest and tried to regain control of his breathing.
What the fuck had he just done?
He’d taken advantage of her drunken state. Had touched her, made her come three times, used her body for his own pleasure even while telling himself he wouldn’t actually fuck her.
He was a monster. A selfish, desperate monster who couldn’t resist temptation.
And the worst part? He didn’t regret it. Couldn’t regret it when she was soft and warm in his arms, when he could still taste her on his lips, when his body was still humming with satisfaction for the first time in over a month.
But she wouldn’t remember. Tomorrow she’d wake up confused, sore, wondering what happened. And he’d go back to being her cold, distant boss as if this night had never occurred.
As if he hadn’t just broken every promise he’d made to himself about maintaining control.
He needed to get her home. Needed to clean her up and put her to bed and leave before he did something even more stupid.
Like stay. Like hold her all night. Like be there when she woke up so he could see her face when she realized what they’d done.
He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out the small pack of tissues he kept there. As carefully as possible, he adjusted her clothing, cleaned away the evidence of what they’d done.....the wetness between her thighs, the marks on her breasts from his mouth.
She didn’t wake. Just made small, content sounds in her sleep, her body trusting him even unconscious.
It made his chest ache.
He fixed her bra, closed her dress, made sure she was completely covered. Then he carefully shifted her back to the passenger seat, buckled her in, and adjusted his own clothing.
His pants were a mess...wet with her and with his own release. He’d have to deal with that later.
Right now, he needed to get her home safely.
He started the car and pulled back onto the road, heading toward her address. She slept through the entire drive, her head resting against the window, soft snores escaping her lips.
She looked peaceful. Beautiful. His.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up outside her mother’s apartment building. A modest four-story walk-up in a decent but not expensive neighborhood. So different from the mansion he’d brought her to when she’d been his.
He turned off the engine and looked at her.
He should wake her. Let her walk herself up. Maintain some distance.
But he couldn’t. Couldn’t leave her to stumble up the stairs alone. Couldn’t risk her falling or getting hurt or.....
He was making excuses. He knew he was making excuses.
But he didn’t care.
He got out, circled to her side, and carefully unbuckled her seatbelt. She stirred as he lifted her into his arms, her head lolling against his chest.
"Damien?" she murmured, barely conscious.
"Shh. I’m taking you home."
"Don’t leave me."
The words were barely a whisper, but they pierced straight through his heart.
"I have to."
"Please don’t leave me. Not again."
"Aria...."
"I love you. Did I tell you that? I love you so much."
"You told me. Several times." He carried her toward the building’s entrance. "Now stop talking and tell me...where’s your key?"
"Purse. Zipper pocket."
He found it, managed to unlock the main door while still holding her, and headed for the stairs.
Fourth floor. No elevator. Of course.
By the time he reached her mother’s apartment, his arms were burning but he wasn’t putting her down. Wasn’t letting her go for one more second.
He knocked softly, hoping her mother was still awake.
No answer.
"Aria. Is there a spare key?"
"Under the mat," she mumbled. "Mama always keeps a spare under the mat."
He found it, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
The apartment was small but clean, warmly decorated, filled with the kind of personal touches that spoke of a real home. Family photos on the walls. Books on shelves. The faint scent of home-cooked food lingering in the air.
So different from his mansion with its perfect, sterile elegance.
"Bedroom?" he asked quietly.
"Down the hall. First door."
He found it....a tiny room barely big enough for the twin bed and small dresser. But it was hers. Her clothes draped over a chair. Her laptop on the desk. Her life in this small, humble space.
He laid her carefully on the bed, removed her shoes, pulled a blanket over her.
She was already asleep again, her breathing deep and even.
He should leave. Now. Before her mother woke up. Before he was discovered here.
But he couldn’t stop looking at her.
Her face was peaceful in sleep. Beautiful. The face he’d been staring at across his office for four days. The face he’d been trying so hard not to see in the conference room when their fingers touched. The face he’d kissed tonight with desperate, aching need.
"I still love you," he whispered, so quietly he barely heard himself. "God help me, I still love you. And I don’t know if that’s going to save us or destroy us both."
She didn’t respond. Didn’t hear. Was lost in sleep and alcohol and whatever dreams were playing behind her closed eyes.
He reached out, almost touched her face, then stopped himself.
He’d done enough damage tonight.
He left the spare key on her dresser, took one last look at her sleeping form, and walked out.
The apartment was quiet as he made his way to the door. He was almost out when he heard a voice from what must be her mother’s room.
"Thank you for bringing her home safely."
He froze. "You’re welcome."
"Take care of her. At work. Please."
"I will."
"And young man?" Mei’s voice was soft but knowing. "Whatever happened tonight....whatever you two did.....be careful with her heart. It’s already broken. Don’t shatter it completely."
Damien’s throat tightened. "I’m trying not to.
"Try harder."
He left without responding, closing the door quietly behind him.
The drive home was silent. Empty. His car still smelled like her...like sex and need and everything he’d been trying to resist.
Tomorrow, she’d wake up confused. Would wonder why her body ached. Why she felt used and sated and sore. Might have flashes of memory....his mouth on her breast, his fingers inside her, the feeling of riding him.
But she wouldn’t remember the full truth. Wouldn’t remember telling him she loved him. Wouldn’t remember him confessing he was terrified.
And he’d go back to being cold. Distant.
Professional.
As if this night had never happened.
As if he wasn’t completely, irrevocably in love with her.
As if he had any idea how to survive this torture they’d created together.
He pulled into his garage at 2 AM, walked into his empty mansion, and headed straight for the shower.
He stripped off his ruined pants, turned the water as hot as he could stand, and tried to wash away the evidence of his weakness.
But as he stood under the spray, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking with brutal efficiency, all he could think about was her.
Her taste. Her sounds. The way she’d said I love you like it was the only truth in the world.
He came with a groan, her name on his lips, and felt absolutely no relief.
Because tomorrow, he’d see her again.
And he’d have to pretend that tonight never happened.
That he hadn’t touched her. Tasted her. Made her come three times in the front seat of his car.
That he wasn’t completely, helplessly, devastatingly in love with her.
Tomorrow, the torture would begin again.
And neither of them would survive it intact.
