The days that follow feel like a slow unraveling. Each moment with Damon chips away at the walls I've spent so long building around myself. The control I thought I had is slipping through my fingers, and it scares me more than I care to admit.
I wake up to a text from him, as I have every morning for the past few days.
We need to talk.
It's not a request, it's a statement. Like he believes we don't have a choice. I should ignore it. I should delete it. But I can't. Not anymore.
The rest of my morning passes in a blur—getting dressed and going through the motions of my day. But my mind is stuck on Damon. He's everywhere, in the back of my thoughts, in the air I breathe. Every time I see him, I feel myself slipping further into his world. And I hate it. I hate how much he controls me with a single look, a single word.
By the time I'm standing in front of his door, I can barely keep my thoughts in line. My heart is pounding in my chest, each beat a reminder that I'm walking into something I don't fully understand. Something that I don't know how to fight anymore.
I knock, and he opens the door almost immediately as if he's been waiting for me.
"Ella," Damon says, his voice rough with something I can't quite place. He steps aside, allowing me to enter, but his eyes never leave mine.
I feel the weight of his gaze, and for a moment, I wonder if he can see right through me.
"Talk," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, though the tremble in it betrays me. It's all I can manage.
He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he closes the door softly behind me and turns to face me. His eyes are dark and intense. "You've been avoiding me."
"I've been busy," I lie, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to ward off the storm of emotions swirling inside me. The tension between us is thick enough to cut through with a knife.
Damon steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "That's not it," he says, his voice low and firm. "You're scared. You've been scared from the moment I walked back into your life."
I open my mouth to argue, to deny it, but the truth is hanging in the air like a dark cloud. He's right. I am scared. Scared of how he makes me feel, scared of how much I crave his touch, his presence, his obsession. Scared of how easily he's breaking me down.
"I'm not scared of you," I say, but it's a lie. I don't know what I'm scared of anymore. Maybe it's the way Damon makes me feel alive in a way I haven't felt in years. Maybe it's the way he knows exactly how to push my buttons, how to make me feel things I can't explain.
"You're scared of losing control," he says, his voice softening just slightly. "Of letting go."
I don't answer, but I feel the truth of his words like a punch to the gut. Damon knows exactly what I'm running from. He knows I've never had the luxury of letting go, not with everything I've been through. Not with the scars I carry.
He steps closer still until there's barely any space between us. His breath is warm against my skin, his presence so consuming that it feels like there's no room for anything else.
"Tell me you don't want this," he murmurs, his hand coming up to touch my cheek. It's gentle, like a caress, but it sends a jolt of heat through me.
I should pull away. I should say no, I should fight this. But the truth is, I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to keep denying what's between us.
"I don't know how to stop wanting you," I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them. The admission hangs in the air between us, heavy and raw.
Damon doesn't say anything at first. He just looks at me, his eyes searching mine like he's trying to read my soul.
"I don't want you to stop," he finally says, his voice low, almost like a promise. "I want you to want this, too."
And then he kisses me.
It's not like the kisses we've shared before, full of tension and frustration. This one is different. Slower. More deliberate. His lips are warm and soft against mine as if he's savoring the moment as if he's waiting for me to stop him.
But I don't. I don't want to stop him.
The kiss deepens, and I feel the heat of his body pressing against mine. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer, and every inch of my skin burns under his touch.
I should stop this. I should pull away, and remind myself of all the reasons I can't let him in. But it's too late. The walls I've built up are crumbling, and I'm not sure I want to rebuild them.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathing heavily, Damon looks at me like he's won. And maybe he has.
"I told you," he says, his voice thick with desire. "You can't resist this. And neither can I."
I swallow hard, my heart racing, unsure of what comes next. All I know is that I've just crossed a line I can't cross. And deep down, I'm not sure I want to.