Page 11 of The Founder's Power

I should step back.

I should shut this down.

But when he whispers, “I never stopped wanting you,” my heart skips a beat.

And then his mouth is on mine.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate, raw and aching and years too late. His hands are in my hair, mine at his chest, and the kiss is fire and ruin and everything we swore we wouldn’t do again. He tastes like control undone, like power finally bending at the knees.

I hate how much I still want this.

I hate that he remembers exactly how to kiss me, tongues dueling, fighting, giving and taking.

This kiss? It’s like I’m not just someone he wants but someone he needs.

We break apart, and I’m panting. So is he.

“This changes nothing,” I whisper, even though we both know it’s a lie.

Damian’s eyes are wild with emotion. “It changes everything.”

And when he kisses me again, I don’t stop him.

Whatever fire we thought we buried, it never went out.

His hands are on my waist now, pulling me closer like he can’t bear the space between us. I feel it too, that magnetic ache, the desperate need to be closer, to feel something real in a world that’s always spinning too fast.

I break the kiss just long enough to gasp, “Damian…”

But I don’t stop him.

My back hits the wall, and his mouth is on my neck, slow at first then more urgent, like he’s trying to memorize the curve of my skin. He has to hear the sound of my breath catching.

I arch into him without meaning to, every nerve lit up, every thought gone.

His hands move over me—my sides, my hips, my back—like he’s trying to remember the shape of us piece by piece. When he slips one hand beneath the hem of my blouse, just to rest his palm against my bare waist, my breath stutters hard.

I’m burning.

Not with lust—though that’s there, sharp and electric—but with memory, longing, anger, and regret. The raw, unbearable truth that he still knows my body better than anyone ever has.

And that I still want him.

I reach up, tugging at his tie with trembling fingers. I loosen it just a little, like I used to. His breath hitches against my collarbone. His hand slides higher under the lace edge of my bra, but he doesn’t grope. He rests there. He’s not trying to possess me, just hold onto me. Just feel me.

And maybe that’s worse.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Not from sadness. From everything.

He kisses my mouth again, slower this time. Less heat and more ache. It’s like he recognizes the fact that this moment won’t last, but maybe he’s not ready to let go yet.

Neither am I.

My fingers find the buttons of his shirt. I undo two, maybe three, before flattening my hand against his chest over his heart.

It’s pounding just like mine is.

I’m afraid to say anything in case it breaks the spell.

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