Chapter Ten: A Birthmark and a Whisper.
Later that afternoon, Eric appeared in the hallway outside the bedroom.
"Sir," he said carefully. "We're due back in California tonight. Your aunt's birthday celebration is already underway."
Damian looked over his shoulder at Ana's sleeping form.
"I'm not leaving her like this."
Eric hesitated. "Understood."
"But, you can't keep dodging your father's calls forever," he added gently. "He's already called six times."
Right on cue, the phone on the counter began to buzz again Joseph Lopez.
Damian sighed. "You take it."
Eric picked up.
"Sir," he said. "Apologies for the delay. Mr. Damien's absence at the party was, personal."
Joseph's voice was a deep baritone on the other end. "Personal?"
"Yes, sir. He's fallen in love. Quite suddenly."
There was silence.
Then; laughter. Loud, surprised, delighted laughter.
"Well, I'll be damned," Joseph said. "And here I thought the boy was either allergic to women or secretly gay."
Eric didn't comment.
Joseph continued, still chuckling. "So he's in love, huh? That's good. Very good. It's about time. Tell him he has my blessing and tell him to bring the girl home. I want to meet the mystery woman."
The fever hadn't subsided yet.
Damian sat beside the bed, watching the beads of sweat shimmer across Tyler's brow. Her skin was flushed, her breathing shallow. She stirred repeatedly in her sleep and it was obvious she was being hunted in her sleep, her lips parting from time to time.
She mumur inaudible words repeatedly, her brow nitted as she frowns non stop, at some point she was even crying in her sleep.
Damien could see how restless she was in her sleep, and he began to wonder what could be so serious that troubles her this much, that she can barely have a proper rest; for the first time in his life he seemed genuinely worried for someone.
He decided to take proper care of her first, he believes when he shows her how much he is willing to sacrifice to make the relationship works, she would eventually lay it all on the ground. He seriously hopes that she drops that burden, since it was way too obvious how humongous it is.
He reached for a cloth, but paused.
"She needs a proper bath," he muttered to himself.
Without hesitation, he moved gently like he was handling something made of glass.
"Tyler," he whispered, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. "Come on we need to cool you down."
Her eyes fluttered open for a second clouded, unfocused but she let him help her up. Her body sagged into his arms, pliant and warm as he carried her toward the bathroom.
The bathroom filled with soft light and the faint sound of running water. Damian turned on the tap, adjusting the temperature until it was perfectly cool. Steam rose and swirled as he filled the wide tub halfway.
He set her gently on the edge, his touch firm but careful, then dipped a soft towel into the water and began running it slowly across her skin, shoulders, arms, the back of her neck.
Her breath hitched softly under his hand.
When he reached her spine, she leaned forward instinctively, and he caught her, holding her steady.
"I've got you," he murmured.
He moved methodically, never lingering too long, never crossing a line. And when he was done, he wrapped her in a thick towel, cradled her again, and carried her back into the room.
He pulled open one of his drawers and found a clean, oversized shirt, charcoal gray, soft as silk. It was the kind of shirt that made a man look rugged, but made a woman look like the center of the universe.
He slipped it gently over her.
It draped over her curves in all the right ways, stopping mid-thigh, clinging softly to her damp skin.
He exhaled.
God, she looked beautiful.
He swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he stared at her for a moment too long.
Not now. She's not well.
He helped her back into bed, lifting the covers. But just before he could tuck her in, her leg shifted and the hem of the shirt rose slightly.
His breath caught.
There it was again.
That birthmark.
A single teardrop shape on her upper thigh just visible beneath the fold of the fabric.
He stared.
Something about it disturbed him.
Not the mark itself but the way it felt familiar. Like it didn't belong to a stranger. Like he'd seen it before somewhere important.
His jaw clenched.
He turned away quickly, pretending to adjust the pillow.
She was halfway asleep when he leaned closer. His voice was barely a whisper, almost as if he didn't mean to speak aloud at all.
"Tyler, I can't leave you like this," he said. "But I have things I need to take care of back home."
A pause.
""Will you come with me to California? My dad would like to meet you."
She heard it.
Through the fevered haze and the drifting edges of sleep, she heard his voice and something inside her stirred. No, bloomed. Like wildflowers after a long, aching drought. It wasn't just his words it was the promise beneath them. The invitation. The hope.
Her fingers twitched.
And then, slowly, she turned to him.
Before he could lean away, she reached up with trembling hands, cupped his face, and kissed him.
Hard.
There was nothing careful in it. Nothing sweet or restrained.
It was wild. Fierce. Full of heat and need and everything she had been holding back.
Like her soul had been unraveling, and she was stitching it back together with his mouth.
She kissed him with the ache of being seen, the fear of losing it, and the desperate gratitude that she hadn't. Her heart poured into that kiss fire, softness, longing, all tangled in one beautiful, impossible breath.
And for a moment he kissed her back.
Damian's hand slid into her hair, cradling her like something precious. His breath matched hers. His chest pressed against hers, the fabric of the shirt he had just helped her into warm between them.
But then, slowly, achingly, he pulled back.
"No," he whispered, voice rough with restraint. "You're not well. You need to rest."
She looked up at him, dazed, lips parted, eyes wide and glassy.
"We have a long trip ahead," he murmured, brushing his thumb along the curve of her cheek. "Get better first. Then kiss me like that again."
Her blush bloomed instantly a perfect, flushed rose across her cheeks. It was the kind of blush that made something in Damian's chest twist, a tug of tenderness laced with something deeper. Something darker.
She was so damn beautiful when she was vulnerable.
And somehow, without even trying, she reached inside him past the walls, past the logic, all the way to the part of him he thought no one could touch.
He couldn't remember the last time someone made him feel like this.
Like home.
He wanted her. God, he wanted her. But not like this. Not when she was half sick, fragile in a way that deserved care before passion.
So he did the only thing he could do.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"Sleep, sweetheart."
But before Damian could rise to leave her side, she reached for him again this time with no hesitation.
She pulled him closer.
Then, with a sudden burst of wild energy, she climbed into his lap, legs straddling his hips, her body flush against his.
"Tyler"
She silenced him with a kiss.
Not gentle. Not soft.
It was feral, breathless, and hungry. Like her lips were starving for him, like he was the only thing that could fill the ache inside her. She kissed him like a girl possessed, her hands buried in his hair, her hips shifting instinctively against him, searching.
Searching for more.
And God, it took everything in Damian not to surrender to it.
Her mouth was intoxicating hot, urgent, tasting of vulnerability and raw, unfiltered need. Every moan against his lips sent heat spiraling through his veins. Her fingers clutched at his shirt, her body rolling against his like she couldn't get close enough. Like she'd waited years for this one moment.
Like she was addicted.
Like he was a drug.
And for a while, he let her.
He kissed her back. Let her explore. Let her take.
Let her show him how badly she wanted him. It didn't take him time to pull off that single shirt she was wearing, and in a short period of time body was already against body unclad.
Until,
His breath caught.
His body froze.
She flinched. Just barely.
A moment of resistance subtle, but unmistakable. He shifted, tried to penetrate into her, but her body resisted. Tight. Unyielding.
Then she whispered it.
"Damian, I've never, I've never done this before."
He went utterly still.
Her eyes searched his, wide and a little afraid, the blush creeping from her cheeks to her chest. "I thought I was ready,"
Damian pulled back, breath ragged, heart pounding not with lust now, but something sharper. Protective. Disbelieving.
"You're a virgin?"
She nodded, biting her bottom lip.
And something in him cracked.
He sat up slowly, still cradling her gently on his lap, like she might break if he moved too fast.
"Jesus, Tyler." His voice was thick with emotion, eyes searching hers. "You should've told me."
"I didn't want you to stop."
He exhaled hard, forehead resting against hers, torn between wanting her and wanting to do the right thing.
"Baby, I have to stop."
She blinked. "But I want you."
"I know." He kissed her forehead, his hands trembling as he touched her. "And God, I want you too. But not like this. Not when you're not well. Not when it might hurt you."
She looked away, embarrassed.
He lifted her chin, eyes soft but intense.
"You deserve more than being rushed into something you can never take back. I'm not going to be the guy who takes it like that."
Her breath hitched, and her eyes shimmered with unshed emotion.
He leaned down slowly, reverently, and gently pushed the hem of her nightshirt higher. His fingers found the inside of her thigh and there it was.
That tiny birthmark.
Shaped like a teardrop.
He stared at it, mesmerized.
Like it was a secret the universe had tucked into her skin just for him to find.
He traced it with the pad of his thumb, slow and worshipful.
"You're beautiful, Tyler."
Then, he kissed the mark.
Delicately.
Almost reverently.
His lips lingered there for just a moment, breathing her in.
Then he shifted, gently easing her off his lap. She made a soft sound of protest, but he silenced it with another kiss this one soft, full of unspoken promise.
"When you're ready," he whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear, "I'll make it perfect. But tonight, tonight, you rest."
He tucked the blanket around her again, smoothing it over her shoulder, his fingers brushing her skin one last time.
But even as he stepped back, he was changed.
Because Damian was in disbelief.
The girl who had just turned his world upside down
Was his first.
And somehow, that made him want her even more.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he'd protect her.
Tomorrow?
He wasn't so sure he'd have the strength to stop.
Then he tucked the blanket around her, slow and careful, like she was something worth protecting.
Because she was.
Then turned off the lights, letting the silence hold the rest.