Groans ripple through the team—Cole whining, Shane muttering, Tyler looking like he might cry at the thought of wandering dark hallways—but nobody disobeys. Chairs scrape, boots thud, bags get grabbed.
I stand too, grinning just to cover the way my pulse jolts every time his gaze flicks across me. He’s still close, stillwatchful, his hand brushing mine for the briefest second as we move toward the stairs. Just a touch. Just enough.
And my brain is buzzing again—panic traded for something hotter, sharper. Every nerve in me screaming for more.
The stairs creak under twenty sets of boots, thunder groaning overhead like it wants to shake the whole inn off its rotten foundation. Everyone’s muttering—Cole bitching about candlelight room service, Shane whispering prayers under his breath, Mats sighing like he’s too good for any of us.
I’ve got my phone out, flashlight cutting through the pitch-black hallway as Damian leads us to our room. I trail after him, curls dripping from the storm, bruises aching, brain still replayingmineon a loop like a song I can’t shut off. My chest is buzzing, nerves sparking.
The old lock clicks, hinges groaning when Damian shoves the door open. I step in, hold my phone high to light the corners—the cracked wallpaper, the warped wardrobe, the crooked mirror that probably is cursed because Shane’s right about everything.
Then the door slams.
And I don’t even have time to gasp before my back hits it.
My phone slips from my hand, flashlight beam spinning wild across the warped floorboards before it dies with a clatter. Darkness swallows the room—dark except for him. Damian’s weight pins me, chest to chest, his palm flattening against my ribs, his mouth crushing down on mine.
Holy fuck.
My brain blanks. My body takes over. I gasp into the kiss, then melt, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt like I’ll drown if I don’t anchor myself to him. His mouth is hard, deep, filthy—his teeth catch my lip, his tongue drives past mine, and I moan into it, shameless, desperate.
I forget the storm. Forget the creaks and whispers of this haunted inn. Forget my bruises, my panic, everything.
It’s just him.
Captain. Predator. God.
I kiss him back like my life depends on it, sloppy and frantic, my whole chest shaking. He tastes like whiskey and war, heat rolling off him, his hair damp where it brushes my face. My knees actually buckle under the weight of it, and he just presses harder, one hand braced against the door beside my head, the other sliding up into my curls, fisting, tugging until I gasp again.
“Sir—” I choke against his mouth, breath ragged.
“Quiet.” His lips crash back onto mine, swallowing whatever else I try to say, drowning me in him.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I’m gone. Completely gone.
The kiss turns feral. His mouth eats mine alive, tongue forcing me open, teeth biting until I gasp. My whole body thrums, a live wire sparking against his weight, my brain gone static. Then he’s moving—pushing, dragging me off thedoor like I weigh nothing, hauling me across the room with his hand still twisted in my hair.
The backs of my knees slam into the mattress. I fall, bounce once, and he’s over me instantly. Towering. Hungry. His hands catch my wrists, pinning them above my head, his hips crashing down between my thighs.
I gasp, arch, and he grinds against me, hard, heavy, deliberate. Heat explodes through me. My ribs ache but I don’t care, not when his mouth is on me again, rough and claiming. His hair drags across my face, his gaze blazing down when he rips his mouth free.
“Breathe,” he growls, low, lethal, like he’s dragging me through it again. “Good boys breathe when I tell them to.”
My lungs obey before I can think, dragging in air sharp enough to burn. My chest heaves, my body thrashing under his weight, but he doesn’t move an inch. He’s a wall, crushing me down, reminding me exactly who owns the ground I stand on.
“Sir—” I rasp, but it breaks when his hips slam down again, grinding me into the mattress, filthy friction tearing a cry out of me.
“Say it,” Damian snarls, his mouth ghosting over mine. “Say who you belong to.”
My whole body trembles. My wrists burn under his grip, my throat closes around words I’ve been choking on for weeks. I arch helplessly, moaning into the space between us. “You. I’m yours—sir, I’m yours.”
He crashes down on me again, mouth biting like my confession just wasn’t enough, his hips grinding harder, crueler, until I’m nothing but wrecked sound and trembling limbs beneath him. Every promise he whispered on the plane, every filthy order he used to drag air into my lungs—it’s all here, written into my skin now.
He finally rips his mouth away, his forehead slamming against mine, his breath hot against my lips.
“Good boy.”
