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Then my baser instincts take over, and I use my magic to finish undressing her.

And. Oh. My. Fuck.

I know immediately I wasn't ready for that.

Objectively, Belinda is an attractive woman.

No. Scratch that.

She's fucking gorgeous.

Gloriously curved. Thick and round in all the right places. Curly brown hair that practically begs for my hands in it. Those warm velvet eyes. Those sweet-as-sin lips that have been haunting me since the first time I kissed her.

Everything about her is fucking delightful.

And yeah, I'm aware society has its preferences. Tall. Thin. Svelte. Whatever the fuck else someone decided women are supposed to look like this decade.

Fuck that.

I've never been a man who changes his preferences based on someone else's opinion, and to me?

Belinda is the ideal woman. Soft where I want softness. Curved where I want curves.

Strong enough to stand toe-to-toe with me and stubborn enough to tell a Jersey Devil billionaire to shove his money up his ass when he tries to buy her house.

But naked? Holy fucking shit.

“You’re staring,” she whispers.

“Yeah, I’m staring, Sweet. You’re fucking beautiful,” I growl.

I am staring and I have no intention of stopping. I stare because I genuinely don't know where to start.

Belinda's bravado falters beneath my attention. Her hands twitch like she isn't sure whether she should cover herself.

Absolutely fucking not.

I catch one before she can.

“Don't.”

Her eyes jump to mine.

“Don't what?”

“Hide from me.”

Something vulnerable flickers across her face, and I hate whoever put it there.

“I'm not hiding.”

“Sweet.”

I kiss her hard, using my hands to spread her legs and wedge my body between them.

“Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes, Damian. I want this. I want you,” she whispers and all my restraint flies out the window.