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2. A Stranger’s Mercy
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2025-02-09 05:28:50Damien’s POV
I don’t help people.
Not unless there’s something in it for me.
Yet here I was, carrying an unconscious woman in my arms, her head resting against my chest as if she belonged there.
She wasn’t just any woman. She was too beautiful, even in this state. Long dark lashes brushed against flushed skin, her lips parted slightly, soft breaths escaping. Her body—small, delicate—felt weightless against me.
And I didn’t even know her damn name.
Why the hell did I care?
The scent of her—something sweet, like vanilla and jasmine—wrapped around me, making it impossible to ignore the strange pull in my chest.
I should’ve just left her there.
But I couldn’t.
I reached my car, lowering her onto the cool leather seat. The moment I pulled away, she whimpered—a small, broken sound that had no business affecting me.
"Please…"
I stilled.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, her lips trembling as she mumbled something incoherent.
My jaw clenched.
She was drugged. Vulnerable. And yet—she was begging.
For help.
For something else.
I exhaled sharply, slamming the door shut and driving off, the city lights blurring past.
She shifted beside me, her body arching slightly.
"Too hot," she murmured, her hands weakly tugging at the fabric of her dress.
I flicked my gaze toward her—only to curse under my breath.
She was struggling, fingers fumbling to strip herself bare.
"Shit," I muttered, gripping her wrist before she could slide the straps of her dress down her shoulders.
Her skin was burning under my touch. Feverish.
Whatever they drugged her with—it wasn’t just a sedative.
She let out a desperate little whimper, her body pressing against my touch.
"Please," she pleaded, her voice trembling, wrecking me.
I forced myself to look away, my grip tightening around the steering wheel as I sped up.
What the hell was I supposed to do with her?
Aurora’s POV
Heat.
Too much heat.
It burned under my skin, coiling in my stomach, making my breaths come out in ragged gasps. My body felt out of control, desperate.
I couldn’t think.
Only feel.
A touch. A presence.
Strong. Overpowering.
The scent of power, of something dark and male.
I wasn’t afraid.
I wanted more.
Damien’s POV
By the time I reached my penthouse, she was a mess—moaning softly, her body restless, fighting against the heat that was consuming her.
The second I carried her inside, she curled into me, her arms slipping around my neck, lips brushing against my throat.
"Help me," she whispered, her voice dripping with need.
Fuck.
I laid her on my bed, stepping back, running a hand through my hair.
She was beautiful. More than beautiful.
Temptation wrapped in soft, delicate skin.
She arched against the sheets, her breath hitching. "Please…"
My hands clenched into fists.
She didn’t know what she was asking for.
She didn’t even know me.
Hell, I didn’t even know her name.
And yet—when she reached out, pulling me down to her, I didn’t move away.
Her lips pressed against mine. Soft. Sweet. A quiet, desperate plea.
"Take it away," she murmured against my mouth.
The heat. The torment.
She was losing control, and I was losing my mind.
I pulled back, my breathing heavy. "I don’t even know who you are."
Her glassy eyes met mine, filled with a hunger that wasn’t her own.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
Because right now, I was the only one who could save her.
And I wasn’t sure if I could resist her much longer.
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