We Kissed.

Bonne soirée, mon Éloise.

Good evening, my Éloise.

My breath caught.

Mine? His? How was I his? What was happening, and why did I feel so hot?

I turned around slowly, my pulse thrumming in my ears. Damien stood there, bathed in moonlight, his dark hair tousled, his sharp eyes glinting with something unreadable. No, not unreadable, undeniable.

I swallowed hard. "Why did you call me that?"

He stepped closer, deliberate, unhurried. The air between us grew thick, charged. He smelled of something dark and addictive, cedarwood, spice, and danger. He inhaled deeply, his gaze never leaving mine.

"You smell... different from the others," he murmured, his voice velvet over steel. His fingers brushed my wrist, barely a touch, yet it sent a wildfire through my veins. "Like roses after the rain."

I shuddered. "You, you shouldn't say things like that."

He tilted his head, his lips curving ever so slightly. "Why not?" His voice dipped lower, a whisper just for me. "Does it make you nervous, mon Éloise?"

His fingers ghosted up my arm, the touch so light it felt like a whisper against my skin. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

"You’re trembling," he noted, amused, as if he could hear the pounding of my heart.

I forced a breath, my throat tight. "I should go back inside."

He exhaled slowly, deliberately. "You could..." His lips brushed the shell of my ear, not a kiss, just the warmth of his breath. "Or you could stay."

His words tangled around me, a slow intoxication, his scent, his voice, his presence weaving into my senses.

I should leave. I should definitely leave.

But I didn’t.

He felt different from Shallow.

My husband was never this gentle.

Shallow took. He claimed. His touch was bruising, possessive, a constant reminder that I belonged to him. But Damien… he barely touched me, and yet, I felt him everywhere.

His fingers lingered at my wrist, tracing slow, feather-light circles over my skin. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t demanding, just there, like a question I didn’t know how to answer.

"You’re quiet, mon Éloise," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, yet edged with something deeper. Something dangerous.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "I should go."

Damien didn’t stop me. He didn’t grip my arm or pull me back. He only tilted his head, watching me the way a predator watches something fragile yet fascinating.

"Then go," he said, but his voice dipped lower, laced with something knowing. "But if you stay… I’ll be very, very good to you."

Heat curled in my stomach.

This wasn’t right. I was married. To his uncle!

But my feet refused to move. And when he leaned in, inhaling deeply as if memorizing my scent, I realized something terrifying,

I didn’t want to leave. I stayed.

"Good girl," he murmured, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.

His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment, savoring me. The tip of his index finger trailed along my jaw, light as a whisper, and my breath hitched. My eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the sensation, but then, his palm pressed gently against my neck.

I gasped, my eyes snapping open, and met his gaze.

Damien was looking at me like I was something precious. A jewel. A prize. His eyes weren’t just dark, they were searching, drinking me in, as if trying to carve this moment into his memory.

"You're beautiful," he said, voice softer than I expected.

A shiver ran down my spine, because he meant it. There was something raw in the way he said it, something vulnerable. Not a line. Not a tease. Just truth.

“Damien…” I breathed, helpless against the weight of his stare.

I should pull away. I should stop this. But before I could think, before I could even see it coming, his lips were on mine.

And I was lost.

The moment Damien’s lips met mine, the world around me ceased to exist.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t demanding. It was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the taste of me, the feel of me. His lips moved against mine in a way that made me feel… cherished. Like he had been waiting for this, longing for this, like I was something precious in his hands.

His palm rested at my waist, fingers splaying, warm and firm, pulling me closer. The other cupped my neck, his thumb ghosting along my jaw, tilting my head just enough for him to deepen the kiss. And when he did, God, I felt everything.

The first slow swipe of his tongue against mine was pure electricity, a silent conversation I had never known was possible. He was speaking to me, not with words, but with the way he explored my mouth, the way he breathed me in between every kiss. It was like he knew me. Like he had missed me.

His body pressed into mine, solid and unyielding, making me melt against him. My hands, almost on instinct, found their way to his chest, fingertips tracing the hard ridges of muscle beneath his shirt. And when my fingers curled against him, he shuddered, as if my touch affected him just as much.

I didn’t know a kiss could feel this… full. Full of emotions, full of longing, full of things I couldn’t name but felt with every brush of his lips. He kissed me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like he had all the time in the world to unravel me.

And I let him.

We kiss.

As if waking from a dream, I felt the warmth of his lips leave mine, and my eyes fluttered open.

Damien’s gaze was intense, searching, as if trying to commit every detail of my face to memory. My cheeks burned, a soft flush creeping up my skin, but the dim lighting kept my embarrassment hidden.

Before I could think, before I could breathe, he leaned in again, pressing the softest, most delicate peck against my lips, so fleeting yet so disorienting, I barely understood it.

His fingers at my waist tightened, not forceful, just firm, grounding. My body tensed at the pressure, and before I could stop it, a whimper escaped my lips.

Damien frowned instantly. “Are you okay?” His voice was low, concerned.

No.

I couldn’t let him know.

I couldn’t let him see.

I took a careful step back, my pulse thrumming in my ears. My body ached, not from his touch, but from the bruises, bruises his uncle had left on me.

I shook my head quickly. “I’m fine,” I whispered, forcing a small, shaky smile.

Damien didn’t resist when I slipped away, his hands falling from me effortlessly. No force. No anger. Just… watching.

But I felt it, the sting behind my eyes, the awful tightness in my throat. I can’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

I sucked in a sharp breath, willing myself to keep it together, and turned away. “If you’ll excuse me,” I murmured, my voice barely steady.

Then I walked away.

“Mon Éloise!” Damien’s voice followed me, edged with something I couldn’t place.

I ignored it. Ignored him.

And without looking back, I hurried downstairs, blinking fast to keep the tears from falling.