When he finally pulled away, his breath was uneven, jaw tight. He didn’t move far—just enough to catch her eyes.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since earlier,” he muttered, low and rough. “Right in front of him.”
He exhaled slowly. Then added, “I don’t like him calling you May.”
Maya blinked, lips still tingling, pulse still wild.
“I don’t like that he has memories with you in them,” Damien continued, voice sharpening.
“I don’t like that he saw a part of you that was vulnerable. I don’t like that he was there when I wasn’t. I don’t like that he’s part of your past.”
There was no jealousy—only possession. A steady ache of resentment that someone else had touched a chapter of her life that mattered.
Maya held his gaze, unwavering. She could see the storm beneath the surface, fierce and
