By 2:00 PM, the central air had been restored, sending a cold breeze through the penthouse. But inside Damien's private study, the air was still thick enough to choke on.
He sat behind a desk carved from a single slab of obsidian, staring at a spreadsheet of quarterly projections for Voss International. The numbers were blurring. Every time he blinked, he saw the phantom image of Sera on his kitchen counter, her skin flushed, his white shirt ruined by his own hand.
Distraction is a liability, he reminded himself, his jaw tight. She is a guest. She is family. This is a mistake.
Then, the door creaked open.
He didn't look up. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction. "I told you to stay in the guest wing, Sera. I'm in the middle of a billion-dollar merger."
"The guest shower is tiny," her voice drifted in, sounding damp and breathless. "And the water pressure is pathetic. I thought you wouldn't mind if I used the master suite. Since we're... sharing everything else."
Damien finally lifted his gaze, and the breath left his lungs.
She was standing in the doorway, draped in a single, dangerously small white towel that was barely tucked over her breasts. Droplets of water were still tracing slow, agonizing paths down the valley of her cleavage.
Her skin was pink from a recent scrub, and her hair was wrapped in a second towel, making her neck look long, elegant, and vulnerable.
"Use your own," he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel.
Sera didn't argue. She didn't even acknowledge the command. She simply turned and walked past his desk toward the master bath, the towel swaying with every rhythmic pop of her hips. As she crossed the threshold, she reached up and pulled the tuck.
The towel hit the floor in a soft heap.
Damien caught a flash of her bare, rounded buttocks, the dimples at the base of her spine, the pale invitation of her thighs before the frosted glass door shut and the hiss of the rainfall showerhead filled the room.
He stared at his computer screen for exactly sixty seconds. Then, he stood up, his chair screeching against the floor, and began to strip.
The bathroom was a sanctuary of steam and the scent of expensive eucalyptus soap. Damien stepped into the massive glass enclosure, the spray hitting his shoulders, but he didn't feel the heat of the water; only the heat of the girl standing with her back to him.
Sera didn't jump. She didn't pretend to be surprised. She simply leaned back, her wet, slick body molding against his hard chest the moment he was within reach. Her hand reached back, finding him instantly; already thick, already stone-hard and pulsing.
"I thought you said to stay out of your way, Damien," she whispered, her voice vibrating against his skin. Her fingers curled around his nine-inch length, stroking the velvet head with a practiced, agonizing slow motion.
"Shut up," he growled, his hands catching her waist and spinning her around.
He didn't want to talk. He wanted to erase the smug look on her face with pure, unadulterated sensation.
He grabbed her by the hips and shoved her forward, pinning her chest against the dark subway tiles. The contrast; the freezing tile against her front and his burning skin against her back made her let out a sharp gasp.
He didn't offer a warning. He reached down, guided himself to her entrance, and drove home in one long, smooth, punishing thrust.
The water made everything louder. The slap of his groin against her ass echoed off the marble walls, a rhythmic, wet percussion.
Sera's forehead hit the tile as she moaned, her fingers scratching at the grout for purchase.
"Fuck!!....—" she choked out. "You're so deep... I can feel the head hitting... everything. Ughh...."
"This pussy is mine now," Damien snarled into her ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of her neck.
He reached around, one hand brutally mauling her heavy, water-slicked breast while the other found her clit, his thumb grinding against her in time with his thrusts. "It doesn't matter whose name is on the marriage certificate. This belongs to me. Say it, Sera."
"It's yours," she sobbed, her legs beginning to shake as the friction of the water and his body pushed her toward the edge. "It's all yours, stepbrother... use it whenever you want. Just don't stop."
The word stepbrother acted like high-octane fuel. Damien increased the pace, his thrusts becoming a blur of motion. He wasn't just fucking her; he was marking her soul. He felt her internal muscles begin to riot, the tell-tale tremors of an orgasm beginning to seize her.
She shattered first, her body going rigid under the spray, her muffled screams lost in the roar of the water.
Damien followed a heartbeat later. He let out a guttural growl, his fingers digging into her hips so hard he knew there would be bruises, and emptied a hot, thick load deep into her womb.
They stood there for a long minute, the water washing the evidence of their sin down the drain.
For a fleeting second, Damien's hand lingered on her hip, a gesture that almost felt like care until the ice returned to his veins.
He pulled out with a wet sound and reached for the handle, cutting the water. The silence that followed was heavy and deafening.
"Dry off and get out," he said, his voice as cold as a winter morning. He stepped out of the shower, grabbing a fresh towel and wrapping it around his waist without looking back at her. "Our parents are calling on Zoom tonight at eight to 'check in' on us. You will put on a dress that covers your neck. You will smile. You will act like a normal, well-adjusted sister."
He paused at the door, his eyes cutting back to her. She was still leaning against the tiles, dripping and beautiful, a dark smirk playing on her lips.
"If you give them even a hint of what's happening in this penthouse," he warned, "I'll make sure you regret it."
Sera just tilted her head, water dripping from her lashes. "I'm a great actress, Damien. But
.. are you?"
He didn't answer. He slammed the door, leaving her alone in the steam.