Chapter 22: The Devil Wants My Panties
The seconds ticked by like a death sentence.
Ana’s heart hammered so hard against her ribs she was certain the diners at the adjacent table could hear it. Her face burned with a volatile mix of humiliation and sheer panic. Under the heavy, draped white tablecloth, Damian’s large, open palm remained waiting, steady and demanding.
"Fifteen seconds, Anastasia," he murmured, his voice as smooth as velvet, yet carrying the weight of an absolute threat. He picked up his wine glass again, taking a casual sip as if he weren’t actively breaking her down in the middle of a five-star establishment.
Ana swallowed the lump of pride in her throat. She looked at his cold, beautiful face, searching for any sign of hesitation. There was none.
Her hands shook as she slowly lowered them into her lap, disappearing beneath the safety of the tablecloth.
She leaned slightly forward, pretending to inspect her plate of untouched lasagna to mask her movements. Her fingers gripped the hem of her pencil skirt, slowly sliding the fabric up her thighs.
Every rustle of her clothes felt deafeningly loud. A waiter walked past their table, the soft clink of a champagne bucket making her entire body go rigid. She froze, her breath catching in her throat, until the footsteps faded away.
With trembling fingers, Ana hooked her thumbs into the lace edges of her underwear.
The fabric was smooth, sliding down her hips, then her thighs, and finally pooling around her ankles. She slipped one foot out, then the other. Bending slightly to retrieve the delicate piece of silk, she felt utterly exposed, the cool air of the rooftop restaurant brushing against her bare thighs.
Her face flushed crimson. She balled the tiny piece of fabric into her fist, her hand trembling violently as she reached across the small gap beneath the table.
Her knuckles brushed against his warm, calloused palm.
Instantly, Damian’s long fingers closed tightly around her hand, capturing both her fingers and the lace. The heat of his touch sent a sudden, traitorous jolt of electricity straight up her arm, settling deep in the pit of her stomach.
A dark, victorious smirk pulled at Damian’s lips. He slowly pulled his hand back, sliding her underwear into the inner pocket of his bespoke suit jacket.
"Good girl," he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a possessive, predatory hunger that made her shudder. "Now, eat your dinner. We wouldn’t want you losing your energy for later tonight."
Ana’s throat felt dry as she picked up her fork. She forced herself to take a bite of the lasagna, though it tasted like cardboard in her mouth. She kept her eyes glued to her plate, desperately trying to process the sheer audacity of what she had just done.
But as she reached for her water glass, her gaze drifted to the table just a few feet away.
Sitting there was an elegant, middle-aged woman wrapped in a Chanel shawl. The woman wasn’t looking at her food.
Instead, she was looking directly at Ana, a knowing, highly amused glint in her eyes. Catching Ana’s gaze, the woman gave her a subtle, incredibly encouraging wink before taking a slow sip of her champagne.
Ana’s face exploded in pure, agonizing heat. She saw.
She choked on her water, quickly coughing into her linen napkin. It was mortifying. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
The walk back to the car was an absolute nightmare. Every step she took in her high heels felt like torture.
The cool night air brushing against the bare skin under her pencil skirt only amplified the deep, burning ache low in her stomach... a ruthless reminder of the intoxicating, breathless kiss they had shared in the elevator. She felt entirely unraveled.
Worse, when she glanced up, she noticed a sneaky, faint little smile playing on Damian’s lips. He didn’t say a word, but the triumphant look in his dark eyes proved he was thoroughly enjoying her silent suffering.
Once inside the car, Ana immediately pressed herself against the passenger door, keeping a wide, clear distance between them.
Damian didn’t chase her. He simply leaned his head back against the leather seat, closing his eyes as the city lights flickered across his sharp silhouette. In the dim, lighting of the luxury vehicle, he looked devastatingly handsome.
Looking at him now, a sudden wave of painful nostalgia hit Ana’s chest. This version of him... quiet, powerful, and breath-takingly beautiful... was the exact reason she had craved his love so desperately in the past. If only he had looked at her like this back then, instead of treating her like a ghost in his house...
"Staring at your master is impolite, doll."
Damian’s deep baritone cut through the quiet car, startling her. He slowly opened his eyes, turning his head to lock his piercing, dark gaze right onto her flustered face.
Before she could pull her eyes away, he patted his strong thigh.
"Come sit on my lap," he commanded softly, a dangerous, heavy rumble in his chest. "Let’s continue what was interrupted in the elevator. I still need my reward."
Ana’s breath caught in her throat. She looked at the small space separating them, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Damian, the driver..."
"The partition is soundproof and tinted, Anastasia," Damian interrupted flatly, his dark eyes narrowing as his voice dropped an octave. "I won’t tell you a second time. Come here."
Knowing the consequences of defying him, Ana slowly moved across the leather seat. Her hands trembled as she climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs.
The smooth, bare skin of her legs slid against his expensive suit trousers, the friction sending an immediate spike of heat straight to her core.
Damian didn’t wait. His large hands immediately clamped onto her hips, pulling her flush against his massive chest.
"Look at me," he commanded, growling low in his throat.
When she lifted her gaze, he captured her mouth again. It wasn’t the slow, testing kiss from before; this was dominant and consuming.
His tongue tangles with hers, drinking her groans as his hand slid down the back of her pencil skirt.
Because she had surrendered her underwear at the restaurant, there was absolutely no barrier.
The moment his warm, calloused fingers made direct contact with her bare, aching center, Ana let out a sharp, muffled cry against his lips. He arched her body into his touch, his thumb finding her sweetest spot and moving with an agonizingly perfect rhythm that drove her to the brink of madness.
Her fingers clawed into his shoulders, her head tilting back as she whimpered, completely unraveled by the sensory overload of the moving car.
She was so close, her breathing shallow, her vision blurring as the pleasure built to a fever pitch...
Suddenly, Damian pulled his hand away.
Ana gasped, her eyes snapping open in pure shock and desperation. She was trembling, left completely suspended on the edge of a cliff.
Damian looked up at her, his expression entirely controlled, a dark, wicked smirk playing on his lips despite the heavy rise and fall of his own chest. He reached into his suit jacket, pulling out the delicate lace underwear she had given him earlier, and casually draped them over her trembling shoulder.
"Save the rest," Damian whispered, his deep voice dripping with a terrifying promise as the car smoothly ground to a halt.
Ana looked out the tinted window. They were parked in the private underground garage of his penthouse suite.
"We’re home, doll," Damian murmured, his thumb tracing her swollen lower lip one last time before he effortlessly pushed her off his lap. "Go upstairs. Let’s see if you can make it to the bedroom before you beg me to finish what I started."