Page 32 of The Billionaire's Obsession

"Don't ever disappear like that again," he murmurs against my skin. "I can handle anything but losing you."

His lips find mine, desperate and claiming. There's no gentleness in the kiss—only relief and need and somethingdeeper that makes my heart race. His hands tangle in my hair, holding me in place as if afraid I might vanish if he loosens his grip.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, he presses his forehead to mine. "Tell me you're mine," he says, echoing his words from last night. But there's a new rawness to them now—less a demand, more a plea.

I cup his face in my hands, feeling the slight stubble against my palms. This powerful, terrifying man who commands empires is trembling beneath my touch.

"I'm yours," I tell him, the truth of it settling into my bones. "And you're mine."

Normal or not, this is what I want. This is who we are together. And I'm done questioning it.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Lucy

The elevator climbsto Damon's penthouse with excruciating slowness, our bodies not touching but connected by the invisible current that always runs between us. He hasn't taken his eyes off me since we left the limo, like he's afraid I might disappear if he blinks. The possessiveness that drove me away this morning now feels like sanctuary, a safe harbor after the storm of doubt. When the doors finally open to his—our—home, I step inside first, feeling his presence at my back like a physical touch.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, voice rough at the edges. "You left without breakfast."

The question is so mundane, so normal after the emotional intensity of our sidewalk confrontation, that it startles a laugh from me. "That's what you're thinking about? Food?"

He shakes his head, following me into the expansive living room with its wall of windows overlooking the city. "I'm thinking about taking care of you." The simple statement carries weight beyond the words themselves. "Always."

I turn to face him, taking in the disheveled appearance that's so unlike his usual perfect control. His shirt is still buttoned wrong, his hair a mess from nervous hands. The slippers are gone now—he must have changed into proper shoes before leaving the limo—but the disarray remains. This powerful man has been undone by my absence.

"I don't need taking care of," I say softly, testing the boundaries of our reunion.

His eyes flash, a storm brewing in their gray depths. "Let me rephrase. I need to take care of you." He steps closer, into my personal space but still not touching me. "It's not about your capability. It's about my necessity."

The distinction matters. It shifts the dynamic from condescension to something more complex—his need rather than my weakness. I sway toward him, drawn by the gravitational pull that's been there since we met.

"Then take care of me," I whisper.

His control—already frayed from the morning's panic—snaps. In one fluid motion, he lifts me into his arms, cradling me against his chest like something infinitely precious. I loop my arms around his neck as he carries me through the penthouse to the bedroom we fled from hours ago.

The bed is still unmade, sheets tangled from our passion last night and my hasty departure this morning. Damon sets me down beside it with a gentleness that contradicts the fierce possession in his eyes.

"I need to see you," he says, reaching for the hem of my shirt. "All of you."

There's no resistance in me as he undresses me slowly, each piece of clothing removed with reverent care. Unlike his usual impatience, he takes his time now, pressing his lips to each newly exposed inch of skin. When I stand naked before him, he drops to his knees, pressing his forehead against my stomach.

"When I woke up and found you gone—" His voice breaks, his hands gripping my hips like anchors. "I've never felt fear like that. Not when my parents died. Not when I nearly lost everything in the market crash five years ago." His breath is warm against my skin. "Nothing compares to the thought of losing you."

I thread my fingers through his dark hair, holding him to me. "I'm sorry I scared you."

He looks up, his eyes burning with an emotion too complex to name. "I'm sorry I scared you first. With my need. My possession." His thumbs trace circles on my hipbones. "But I won't apologize for wanting you to be mine. For needing you to be."

"I don't want you to apologize for that." The realization settles into me with perfect clarity. "That's what I figured out today. I want to be yours. I'm just not used to wanting something that feels so...consuming."

He presses a kiss to my stomach, just below my navel. "You think I am?"

The question hangs between us—this acknowledgment that whatever burns between us is new territory for both of us. Damon Blackwell, who controls every aspect of his world with ruthless precision, is as overwhelmed by this connection as I am.

Slowly, he rises to his feet, towering over me again. I reach for the misaligned buttons of his shirt.

"My turn," I tell him, beginning to undress him with the same careful attention he showed me.

---