No sooner have we stepped inside that he releases his hand from mine and shuts the door behind him. The nick of the key turning in the lock makes my heart race. He turns and his hungry gaze lands on me. That spark that had started burning under my skin as soon as he took me into his arms on the dance floor is now a roaring inferno.

I suck in a harsh breath as we stare at one another. God! This is my husband! We’ve had sex before. We’ve even made a baby together! But this man in front of me is not the Damien I know. He looks like a predator calculating how best to consume his prey. I shiver, taking an involuntary step back and he smirks.

He takes a step forward and I take one behind. He follows me, his eyes never leaving mine. My back finally hits a desk and he leans into me. He rests both his hands on either side of me, effectively caging me in. I have nowhere to run and no other place I want to be. I inhale and the woodsy, musky smell of his cologne hits my senses in recognition and my core clenches in need.  But before I lose myself into him, I grab his face and plant my mouth on his.

It takes him a second to recover from the shock of my mouth on his before he holds my face and devours me just like I’m devouring him. Our lips meld and tongues clash in a war of dominance until he knots his hand in my hair and pulls my head back, his lips an inch away from mine. His stormy eyes lock onto me with a startling intensity, the green swirling heavily in the grey.

“There’s only one person controlling this encounter and that is me. Are we clear on that?” he rasps.

My mouth pouts into a moue, but before I can protest his other hand reaches inside the front of my gown and flicks my bare nipple. Electricity zings through my body at his touch. And then without waiting for my response, his mouth crashes on mine, taking control. He lifts me up and drops me on the desk and moves into me, kissing me hard, like he has been starving for me and I let him take what he wants from my mouth and lips. And he does. He takes my mouth over and over with certainty and skill. There is nothing gentle in this kiss. It’s a claiming. A statement of conquest; little does he know that I’m already his, his to take, his to command.

His mouth moves lower, down my throat, across my chest and my thoughts go blank as he lowers the straps of my gown and my breasts spill into his hands. He stares at them and my body melts under his ardent gaze.