The room was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains. Selena lay beside Damien, her breathing slow, even—an image of innocence and trust. Her hand rested lightly on the sheets, fingers relaxed, body soft and inviting, yet every curve and line exuded an unconscious allure.
Damien's gaze lingered on her as she slept. His chest heaved slightly, desire tightening around him like a coiled spring. The silk of her nightgown, the curve of her neck, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders—it all stirred something primal within him.
He wanted her, Needed her. But he could feel restraint, a tension in the air that he couldn't name. It was as though she owned not just his body, but his thoughts, his restraint, his longing.
He reached out slowly, hesitant, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His hand lingered near her cheek, trembling. Every instinct screamed to take her, to satisfy the fire she had ignited. But even as he leaned closer, he felt her subtle presence—even in sleep—holding him back, teasing him, making him ache for more.
Selena shifted slightly, murmuring softly in her sleep, her lips curling into the faintest smile. Damien's heart raced. Every second he spent beside her, desire burned hotter, more insistent. He couldn't understand how she could seem so innocent and yet wield such power over him.
And Selena, deep in her dreams, was already planning. She knew the effect she had on him. She knew how to use this fire—his lust, his need—as a tool. Every flutter of her eyelashes, every curve of her body, every delicate sigh in sleep was a thread in the web she was weaving around him.
Damien's hands trembled, his body aching with need, but he could do nothing. She had him exactly where she wanted: fully captivated, completely entranced… and entirely under her control
The morning sunlight poured through the large windows, illuminating the suite in a warm glow. Selena sat across from Damien at the breakfast table, a delicate porcelain cup in her hands, her gaze casual—but sharp, calculating.
Damien tried to focus on the meal, but his eyes kept drifting to her. The night had left a lingering tension in the air, an unspoken charge that made every glance, every movement, feel electric.
Selena smiled lightly, slow and knowing. "You're quiet this morning," she teased, her voice soft, almost innocent. "Not enough coffee?"
He shook his head, trying to smile back, but it faltered. "No… just… thinking," he said, unable to hide the way his gaze lingered on her curves even beneath the modest morning robe she wore.
Selena sipped her tea, eyes flicking briefly to his, letting him wonder what she might be thinking. Every slight movement—lifting the cup, tucking her hair behind her ear—was deliberate, designed to hold his attention while she subtly guided his thoughts.
When breakfast ended, she rose gracefully from the table.
"I thought a run might do us good," she said lightly, her tone casual, almost playful.
She moved toward her wardrobe, emerging moments later in snug athletic shorts and a small, fitted sports bra, the fabric clinging just enough to outline every curve.
Damien's eyes widened slightly, his breath catching. She didn't rush to meet his gaze—she let him look, letting desire build. Every step she took toward the door felt deliberate, every sway of her hips measured to draw his attention without seeming deliberate.
Selena turned to him, smiling soft but magnetic. "Care to join me?" she asked, voice low, teasing, letting the sunlight trace along her toned form.
Damien nodded, mesmerized. He didn't yet realize that her outfit, her presence, even this casual invitation was part of her plan—every flicker of desire she stirred, every ache she provoked, was a step toward bending him to her ambitions.
Selena paused near the balcony doors, sunlight tracing her silhouette, then glanced back at Damien as if remembering something important.
"We'll have a full day," she said lightly. "After the running, I want to review the project briefs. There are a few details I don't want overlooked."
Damien straightened a little. "The construction deal?"
She nodded. "Adrian Maxwell arrives this afternoon. American CEO—sharp, ambitious, very particular about timelines."
A faint smile touched her lips. "We'll be meeting him to discuss the coastal development and the new expansion phase."
Damien frowned slightly, thinking. "Maxwell Industries… that's a major name. He won't be easy to convince."
Selena's eyes flicked to his, calm and confident. "He doesn't need convincing. He needs clarity. I'll handle the vision—you handle the numbers. Together, we'll give him exactly what he's looking for."
"And after the meeting?" Damien asked.
She turned back toward the light, her tone effortless. "A site visit, a quiet dinner, and final approvals by evening." Then, almost casually, she added, "By tomorrow, he'll be fully on board."
Damien watched her, impressed, reassured, unaware of how precisely every hour of the day—and every word—had already been decided.
They retreated to the bedroom to get ready, the air between them already charged. Selena moved with unhurried grace as she selected her clothes, every motion fluid, intentional. She slipped out of her robe and into tailored pieces one by one, not hiding—never rushing—letting the mirror catch the sway of her hips, the arch of her back, the quiet confidence in the way she stood.
Damien tried to look away. He failed.
She reached for her blouse, lifting her arms slowly, fabric brushing her skin. When she turned, her gaze met his in the mirror—steady, daring—and she smiled as if she'd caught him exactly where she wanted him. She crossed the room, close enough that he could feel her warmth, the faint scent of her perfume.
"Focus," she said softly, though her tone did the opposite.
He stepped closer, hands finding her waist, his breath uneven. "You're doing this on purpose," he murmured.
"Am I?" she replied, tilting her head, letting him draw nearer. For a moment—just enough—she allowed it: his hands, the closeness, the spark flaring bright and urgent. Her fingers slid up his arm, guiding, encouraging, letting the promise linger.
Then she stopped him.
Gently, decisively, she pressed her palm to his chest and stepped back, leaving the heat suspended between them. The shift was immediate—his breath caught, frustration flickering across his face.
"Later," she said, calm and composed, fastening the last button with practiced ease. "We have a day to conquer."
He stared, torn between want and restraint. She smoothed his jacket collar as if to soothe the tension she'd created, her voice low and reassuring. "You'll thank me for the patience."
With that, she picked up her bag and headed for the door, leaving him standing there—half-drawn in, fully undone—while she walked away perfectly prepared, already several moves ahead.