The steam had barely cleared when they finally stepped out of the shower, bodies sore, skin flushed, hearts still racing. Damien wrapped Maya in a thick towel, pressing a lingering kiss to her damp hair before handing her one of his shirts to slip into. She wore it with an easy.
smile, the fabric swallowing her frame, her bare legs peeking out beneath the hem.
Maya chuckled softly, smoothing the hem. “You know… I actually brought my own clothes.”
Damien’s gaze darkened, slow and deliberate as it traveled over her. “I know,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “But I prefer you in mine. It makes it clear who you belong to.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she laughed, rolling her eyes. “So it’s not about comfort, it’s about
possession?”
“Exactly,” he said with a wicked grin, tugging her closer by the waist. “And for the record, you look far too good in my shirts for me to let you wear anything else.”
Maya leaned against him, giggling. “Well… I guess it saves me on laundry, too.”
Damien smirked, brushing his lips across her temple. “Then it’s settled. Whenever we’re home
you’ll wear only my clothes.”
Maya’s brows lifted slightly, her voice soft, almost uncertain. “Home?”
His arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against him until her face rested against his chest. He pressed a slow kiss to the top of her damp hair, his voice low but steady. “Yes… our home.”
Something inside her ached at those words. Warmth spread through her chest, chasing away every shadow of doubt. For the first time in a long while, the word home didn’t sound like a place-it felt like him.
By the time they dressed, their hunger had shifted. The craving for intensity was replaced by a simpler one-food. Damien moved around the kitchen with a casual grace, sleeves rolled up, shoulders broad as he chopped vegetables and set pans sizzling. The scent of garlic and butter filled the air, making Maya’s stomach growl despite the warmth still coiling in her belly.
“Mmm, smells good, love. I still can’t believe the Damien Blackwood can cook,” she teased, perched on a stool at the counter, chin in her hand as she watched him work.
Damien smirked over his shoulder, sliding a pan across the burner. “Not everyone has the privilege of tasting my cooking. I only cook for myself… and for someone I love.”
She rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered, soft and playful. When he finally set the plates
Cham
down-perfectly seared chicken with roasted vegetables-Maya’s heart swelled at the domestic normalcy of it all. After everything between them, this-sitting across from him, sharing a meal-felt almost surreal.
Halfway through lunch, her curiosity got the better of her. She set her fork down, studying him with quiet intensity. “Damien… can I ask you something?”
His gaze flicked to hers, cautious but open. “Go on.”
“You’ve told me so much about business, about the empire you’ve built… the things the world sees. But not much about your family.” Her voice softened. “What was it like growing up? Besides, you know… being trained as the heir.”
For a moment, Damien was silent, his fork paused mid-air. The cool mask he always wore slipped, revealing something far more vulnerable underneath. Slowly, he set his fork down and exhaled.
“Typical, in some ways,” he began. “Inside the house, titles didn’t matter. My grandparents handled most of the parenting because my parents were… busy. Dad was running the company, and Mom had her own empire to manage. But despite that, they tried. They showed up for the important things. School events, milestones… they cleared their schedules when they could. That mattered.”
His jaw tightened slightly, his voice dropping to a lower, almost confessional tone. “What I never got growing up was coddling. If I was wrong, I was wrong-no soft landings, no gentle words. Funny thing… my dad was the softer one. My mom… she’s a strong woman, probably stronger than I’ll ever be. When she makes a decision, my dad goes along. So if I wanted. something, I went to her, because whatever she said was final. Same with my grandma- between her and my grandpa, her word was law.
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Cedella
Cedella is a passionate storyteller known for her bold romantic and spicy novels that keep readers hooked from the very first chapter. With a flair for crafting emotionally intense plots and unforgettable characters, she blends love, desire, and drama into every story she writes. Cedella’s storytelling style is immersive and addictive—perfect for fans of heated romances and heart-pounding twists.