She didn't just want his dominance.
She wanted all of him.
The realization settled in Alina's chest like a sweet, aching stone. It terrified her almost as much as it thrilled her — because wanting all of Damian meant inviting heartbreak. It meant risking a vulnerability that was far more dangerous than any silk rope or leather strap.
But there was no stopping the need that had taken root inside her. It grew every time he looked at her with those dark, unreadable eyes. Every time his hands claimed her body, or his voice coaxed soft confessions from her trembling lips.
So when his invitation came two days later, she said yes before she even knew the details.
---
> Damian:
There's a masquerade gala at the Mercer House this Friday. I want you there with me.
It's important — for reasons that have nothing to do with business.
Her breath caught on that last line.
Nothing to do with business.
So it was personal. Which meant she was about to step into more than just his bedroom. Into his life.
---
When the car arrived, she was already waiting by the door, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her gown. It was black, sleek and daring, hugging her body like a second skin. A delicate mask of dark lace framed her eyes, making her feel wicked and mysterious all at once.
Damian didn't wait inside. He stood by the car, watching her approach with a smoldering intensity that made her pulse stutter. Even masked in a half-face of glossy black leather, he was unmistakable. The way he held himself — powerful, controlled, every inch the dark prince of her private fantasies.
"Breathtaking," he murmured when she reached him, lifting her hand to his lips.
"I could say the same," she whispered.
His mouth curved into that slow, dangerous smile. "Careful, little one. Flattery might make me forget we're expected at all."
---
The Mercer House was a sprawling mansion in the historic district, its gardens glittering with lanterns and small marble fountains. The air thrummed with the subtle hum of wealth and secrets. People drifted in elegant clusters across the manicured lawns, champagne flutes in hand, laughter echoing under strings of delicate lights.
Inside, chandeliers bathed the grand ballroom in molten gold. Music swelled — a haunting waltz that seemed to curl right around her ribs. Masked strangers danced in intricate patterns. Every brush of silk, every murmur behind ornate disguises, was electric with possibility.
Alina felt Damian's hand splay low on her back, grounding her.
"Nervous?" he asked.
"A little. I've never… this world, Damian, it's not mine."
"It is tonight." His hand tightened, guiding her forward. "Because you're with me."
---
He introduced her to people she'd only ever read about in glossy magazines — a world of investors, artists, political heirs. Their masked faces smiled politely, but Alina felt their curious eyes linger a touch too long on her body, on the way Damian's hand never left her. On the faint marks that still bloomed like bruised roses at the edge of her collarbone, where his mouth had claimed her.
At one point, a sleek blonde in a silver mask drifted over, her laughter low and intimate.
"Damian. It's been far too long. You're impossible to reach these days."
"Perhaps that's by design," he replied smoothly.
Her eyes cut to Alina, sharp with appraisal. "And who's this exquisite creature?"
Damian's arm tightened possessively around her waist. "Alina. Mine."
The woman's smile faltered. Then she inclined her head gracefully. "Of course. Enjoy your evening."
When she was gone, Alina looked up at him. "An old… friend?"
His jaw ticked. "An old mistake. One I won't be repeating."
Heat curled through her — a heady mix of jealousy and triumph. Damian noticed, his mouth brushing her ear.
"Does it please you to know that you're the only one I want here? That I'd parade you before every last one of them, if it means reminding them you're mine?"
Her answering shiver was all the reply he needed.
---
They danced later, slow and sinuous, her body flush to his under the crystal chandeliers. Damian's hand guided her with a mastery that left her breathless. When he spun her out and then pulled her sharply back, his mouth found her ear.
"I've been patient long enough," he murmured. "Come."
She followed him through a side corridor, heart racing. They emerged into a dim library, lined with old leather volumes and heavy velvet drapes. The moment the door clicked shut, Damian pressed her back against it, kissing her hard.
His hands found her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his hips, gasping when he pressed against her. Through layers of fabric, she felt his arousal, thick and demanding.
"Damian — someone could—"
"Let them. Let them hear how sweetly you beg for me."
He pushed aside the folds of her dress. One hand slipped between them, finding her slick and ready. She moaned, hips canting.
"Look at you," he breathed. "All wet just from a dance. Just from knowing you're here on my arm, wearing my marks under this gown."
---
When he finally pushed inside her, it was slow, deliberate — a torturous claiming that made her whimper his name. Damian's forehead dropped to hers, his breath harsh.
"Mine," he rasped. "Say it."
"Yours," she sobbed. "Always yours."
He thrust deeper, drawing out each movement until her vision blurred. Outside the heavy door, voices drifted by, oblivious to the way she clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders. The risk of discovery only made it sharper.
When release crashed over her, it was so intense she nearly forgot where they were. Damian followed with a low groan, hips driving hard as he spilled into her.
---
They stayed tangled for long moments, the world outside the library utterly forgotten. When Damian finally set her back on trembling legs, his thumb brushed away a stray tear on her cheek.
"Does it frighten you," he asked quietly, "how deeply I want you?"
Alina searched his face — the shadowed eyes behind the mask, the vulnerability that slipped through despite all his carefully crafted control.
"No," she whispered. "Because it's exactly how deeply I want you too."
His hand curled around her neck, pulling her into a tender, lingering kiss.
When they finally emerged back into the candlelit corridors of the gala, Alina realized something that made her chest tighten in wonder.
This was no longer just about pleasure.
No longer just about games of power and surrender.
It was becoming dangerously, beautifully real.