Chapter 230: Devil’s Show Time

?Ana moaned into the kiss, the sound broken and desperate. Any lingering thought of dignity, of boundaries, of Vivian’s venomous broadcast melted into the searing friction of his skin.

She threw her arms around his neck, arching her spine off the marble, pulling him downward, refusing to yield to the onslaught without drawing blood of her own. Her nails dug into the taut muscle of his shoulders through his shirt, matching his aggression with a desperate, wild passion that drove him mad.

?Damian let out a muffled groan against her lips, his hands tearing at the silk belt of her robe. The pale fabric fell open, sliding off her bare shoulders and pooling uselessly around her elbows.

?His mouth broke away from hers, hot and damp, trailing a path of scorch marks down the column of her throat. He found the tender bruise he had made that morning in the elevator and bit down lightly, making her hips jerk off the marble with a sharp, ecstatic gasp.

?"Damian..." she cried out, her fingers tightening desperately in his hair, her head lolling back against the vanity mirror.

?"Look at me, Anastasia," he commanded roughly, his lips moving against her burning collarbone, his large hands gripping the soft curve of her waist, anchoring her to the edge of the stone. "Look at the man you think you can walk away from."

?Ana forced her heavy eyelids open. In the mirror behind them, through the silver moonlight, their reflection was raw, ruined, and primal. The ruthless billionaire bent over the woman he had caged, and the woman holding on to him as if he were the only solid anchor in a drowning world.

?His dark eyes found hers in the glass... possessive, lethal, and burning with a terrifying, absolute claim.

?Ana’s lips parted, drinking in the breathless agony of it all. She arched into his heavy touch, letting the warmth of his hands consume her, letting the madness of their bond burn away the world waiting outside their door.

The cold marble of the vanity became intolerable against her heated skin, a sharp contrast to the scorching fire tearing through her veins.

?Damian slid his arms under her thighs and behind her back, lifting her effortlessly against his broad chest. Ana’s legs naturally locked around his waist, her arms wrapping around his neck as he carried her across the moonlit room in three heavy strides.

?He tossed her down into the center of the massive bed.

?The dark silk sheets were cool for half a second before Damian followed her down, his imposing weight settling between her thighs, pinning her beneath him. The unbuttoned cotton of his shirt fell open, the heat of his bare, sculpted chest searing against her exposed skin.

?The confrontation had stripped away their masks, leaving only a slow, devouring hunger.

?Damian caught her wrists, pressing them back into the pillows on either side of her head, entangling his large fingers with hers. He looked down into her dazed, hazel eyes, his baritone dropping into a thick, low rasp.

?"You want to know why I never let you go, Anastasia?" Damian rumbled, his lips brushing the curve of her jaw, trailing down the column of her throat to the frantic pulse leaping beneath her collarbone. "Because no one else will ever touch you like this. No one else has the right."

?His mouth moved lower, worshiping every inch of her pale skin with deliberate, agonizing patience. He tasted the soft swell of her breast, his tongue tracing scorching circles that made Ana cry out, her back arching off the mattress as sharp electricity coiled tight in her lower belly.

?The lingering anger and betrayal in her chest dissolved under the sheer weight of his touch. Ana threw her head back, her fingers tightening desperately around his, anchoring herself to the only man capable of driving her to the edge of madness. She twisted beneath him, matching his rhythm, whispering broken, breathless gasps into the shadows of the room as he possessed her completely.

?When the storm finally broke, it shattered the silence of the suite with raw, shuddering cries.

?Hours later, the deep navy of the night began to dissolve into the pale, bruised violet of early dawn.

?The vast master bedroom was wrapped in exhausted, heavy stillness.

?Ana lay curled on her side, tangled in the dark sheets, her cheek resting against the warm, hard expanse of Damian’s bare chest. The rhythmic, steady beat of his heart hummed against her ear, grounding the lingering tremble in her limbs. Faint traces of silver morning light slipped through the sheer terrace drapes, catching the jagged, faded scars along his shoulder.

?Beside her, Damian wasn’t asleep.

?His dark eyes were fixed on the pale skyline, his jaw set in quiet thought. But his heavy arm remained locked firmly around Ana’s waist, pulling her flush against him with an almost desperate, unconscious possessiveness that broke through his cold exterior.

?Ana shifted slightly, her fingers tracing the faint outline of a scar along his ribs.

?"Damian," she whispered, her voice rough and quiet in the dawn light.

?Damian’s hand moved, his large, calloused fingers gently smoothing down the tangled hair at the back of her head, pressing her face closer against his chest. For once, there was no sharp rebuke. No icy arrogance. Just a suffocating, protective gravity.

?"Rest, Anastasia," Damian murmured, his voice low, gravelly, and stripped bare of the boardroom venom. "Tonight, the vultures will be waiting at the museum. Let them circle."

?His arm tightened around her, anchoring her to him as if he could shield her from the very city waking beneath them.

?"As long as you are beside me," Damian said softly into the shadows, his words a final, unyielding vow, "they will never touch you."

*************

By twilight, the Manhattan skyline was cloaked in drizzling rain, the city lights shimmering through the towering glass of the penthouse like blurred jewels.

?The styling team Victoria had sent had already packed their kits and cleared out, leaving the master dressing suite in pristine, quiet stillness. Ana stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, her reflection transformed into something breathtaking and lethal.

?The midnight-black silk gown clung to the curve of her hips and swept down to the floor in a sleek, liquid drape. Her dark hair was swept up into an intricate, modern chignon, leaving her long, slender neck bare. The crimson mark Damian had left beneath her ear was completely buried beneath layers of professional concealer, the skin pale, smooth, and untouched to the naked eye.

?She reached behind her back, her fingers fumbling with the microscopic row of covered silk buttons running down the plunging expanse of her bare spine. The delicate fastenings resisted her efforts, the sheer back of the dress hanging open to the dip of her lower waist.

?A quiet click broke the silence as the dressing room door swung open.

?Damian stepped in, completely attired in a bespoke Tom Ford tuxedo. The midnight-wool cut broadened his already formidable shoulders, the crisp white pleated shirt and silk bow tie presenting an image of imperial, untouchable wealth.

?His dark eyes found hers in the mirror, and the breath hitched in his throat.

?For a heartbeat, the ruthless corporate titan was entirely absent. Damian came to a complete halt, his obsidian gaze sweeping from the high collarbone of the gown down the bare curve of her waist, dark hunger and quiet awe burning through his cold exterior.

?"Here," Damian rumbled, his voice low and gravelly as he closed the distance between them. "Let me."

?Ana’s hands dropped to her sides, her pulse quickening as his towering frame loomed behind her.

?Damian didn’t rush. His large, calloused fingers were warm as they grazed the cool skin at the base of her neck. He worked the first tiny silk button into its loop with surprising, measured patience. With every fastening he secured, his knuckles drifted downward along the exposed ridge of her spine, leaving a trail of electric shivers in their wake.

?"You look dangerous, Anastasia," he murmured, his deep baritone brushing against the curve of her ear.

?"I look ready," Ana answered softly, her hazel eyes meeting his in the glass.

?Damian reached the final button at the small of her back, the silk smoothing flush against her skin, sealing her into the gown like armor. But he didn’t pull away.

?His hands slid around to rest lightly on the curve of her waist, anchoring her against his chest. He leaned down, his lips grazing the smooth, bare hollow of her shoulder just inches away from where his mark was concealed. He breathed in deeply, his chest expanding against her back.

?He reached for the crystal flacon of her signature scent resting on the marble vanity, lifting the glass stopper. With deliberate, reverent precision, Damian brought it to her neck, lightly dabbing the cool, floral-amber fragrance onto her pulse points, his gaze locked with hers in the mirror.

?"The vultures waiting at the museum will be watching to see if you bleed," Damian whispered against her skin, his thumb brushing over the concealed bruise beneath her jaw. "They will look for hesitation. They will look for a woman ready to step aside for Vivian Stark."

?His grip on her waist tightened, a dark, possessive certainty ringing in every syllable.

?"Show them who owns the floor, Anastasia."

?Ana took a slow, steady breath, feeling the iron strength of his presence settle into her own bones. She tilted her chin up, her gaze sharpening into cold, unyielding resolve.

?"Let’s go," she said.