Page 57 of Claimed By the Damned

Tonight’s car chase, coming so soon after the attack at the shop a few days ago – the hand grabbing me in the darkness, Grim breaking it – has ripped everything raw again, tearing through the fragile calm I'd started to feel. The fear is still sickeningly fresh, a cold dread coiled deep in my gut that even Grim’s competence and Ryker’s fury can't touch. I feel fragile, exposed, Kolya's phantom touch crawling over my skin, cold and suffocating.

After enduring Ryker's furious questioning and the low thrum of anxiety from Ethan when we got back, I mumbled something about needing a shower and escaped. But instead of finding solace under the hot water, I find myself pacing the upstairs hallway like a caged animal. Downstairs, the low murmur of the guys' voices drifts up – probably strategy, threats, plans I don't want to hear right now. I wander into my bedroom, the door clicking softly shut behind me, seeking refuge in the quiet.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, hands clenched in my lap, staring blankly at the wall. My breath is still unsteady, my muscles trembling with leftover adrenaline. I try to focus, to breathe, to push back the icy tendrils of panic threatening to pull me under.You’re safe now. Grim handled it. You’re in the house. He can’t get to you here.The reassurances feel hollow, thin against the crushing weight of Kolya’s relentless pursuit.

Ten minutes pass, maybe fifteen. The silence in the room doesn't calm me; it amplifies the frantic pounding of my own heart, the echo of tires screeching, the sickening crack of bone from the shop alley. The safety Grim provides feels external, a buffer zone. Ryker’s anger feels like a shield, but one that smothers. Ethan's quiet support feels distant in the face of this raw, clawing fear.

I need… something more. Something specific. Ethan’s comfort is a gentle balm, a safe harbor I cherish, but right now, his softness can't contain the jagged edges of my terror. Ryker’s fierce protection is a wildfire that would consume anyone who threatens me, but his own barely leashed chaos mirrors the storm raging inside me; I can’t anchor to a whirlwind. No, what I crave now is different. I need a steel wall, an unshakeable certainty. Someone whose presence doesn't just promise safety, butcommandsit. Someone whose control is so absolute it can absorb my panic, whose dominance isn't a threat, but a refuge. A man whose strength feels like bedrock, whose authority can silence the screaming in my head. And that craving, sharp and desperate, crystallizes around one name, one presence, one man whose very essence speaks of that unbreakable, dominant control.

Bastian.

The internal debate is short, sharp, overwhelmed by the sheer force of this profound, almost primal need. This isn't just about feeling safe; it's about surrendering the crushing weight of my fear to someone strong enough, dominant enough, to bear it for me, even if just for a while. Ignoring the rational part of my brain screaming warnings about complications and blurred lines, I push off the bed. My feet carry me out of the room, down the stairs, pulled towards his office by a craving so intense I can't put a name to it, only obey it. My hand hovers, trembling, before I finally manage a soft knock on the heavy wood.

A low, controlled voice calls, "Come in."

Pushing the door open, I step inside. The single green-shaded lamp throws long shadows across the room, catching him behind his large desk. He looks up from the file he was reviewing, his expression sharpens the second he sees me – the disheveled hair, the tremor I can't quite hide, the darkening bruise on my cheekbone. His usual control cracks for just asecond, something raw and intense flaring in his eyes before he masks it.

"Lila?" His voice is rougher than usual, laced with concern. He pushes back his chair, rising slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. "What happened? Grim reported the chase, but..."

The question hangs unspoken between us –are you okay?But his eyes are already seeing the answer.

Tears prick behind my eyes, hot and sudden. The dam of adrenaline and fear I've been holding back all evening threatens to break. "They tried, Bastian," I whisper, the words fractured. "The shop... and then the car... It was so close." I don't elaborate further; the raw terror in my voice says enough. I take a step towards him, maybe another, needing his solid presence like I need air. "I just... I needed..."You. Your strength. Your control.The word hangs unspoken but vibrates between us.

He closes the distance in three long, purposeful strides, moving with a force that pulls me in rather than pushes me back. He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the hard clench of his jaw, the turbulent storm gathering in his hazel eyes. His control is fraying, I can see it in the hard line of his jaw, the storm in his eyes, battling with the fierce protectiveness and the undeniable pull between us.

His large hand comes up, fingers gently brushing the bruise on my cheekbone, his touch surprisingly tender yet possessive. A low growl rumbles in his chest. The strategist is gone. This is the man, the protector, the Dom seeing his charge vulnerable and threatened. My eyes must show the silent plea, the desperate craving for the solid, controlling safety onlyheoffers. Iwanthim to take charge, to dominate the fear that’s dominating me. And in that moment, something in him breaks—the resolve that kept me at arm's length shatters.

"Lila," he breathes, his voice gutted, raw.

Then his other hand cups the back of my neck, firm and anchoring, tilting my face up to his. His eyes burn into mine, raw fury at those who hurt me warring with a consuming hunger aimed only atme. He claims my mouth in a searing kiss.

It’s not gentle. It’s pure possession, weeks of tightly leashed control crashing down in the force of his mouth on mine. I melt against him, my body instinctively arching, seeking the pressure, the dominance I came here for. My fingers clutch his shirt as his tongue sweeps inside, tasting, demanding, staking a claim, and damn him, it feels terrifyingly right. I surrender completely, clinging to him, anchoring myself in his overwhelming strength.

My back hits the cool wood of the door with a soft thud, he backed me against it without me even noticing, as his mouth continues its relentless assault, his body heat sinking into me, branding me. His kiss is brutal, possessive, a dark promise that bypasses thought and goes straight to my clenching core. My fingers fist his expensive shirt, needing the solid anchor of him as he devours me.

"Such an eager little thing," he growls against my lips, his hands roaming greedily down my sides, claiming my hips with bruising strength. His words, his touch, they're exactly what I craved, a balm to the fear, a fire to chase out the cold. "Show me how much you crave me, Little One."

My hands tremble as I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, each one exposing more golden skin and hard muscle beneath. Idocrave him, crave this surrender to his strength. I lean forward, kissing and biting my way across his collarbone, drawing a guttural growl from deep in his chest that makes my thighs clench.

"Please," I breathe, dizzy on his scent, his taste, the absolute dominance rolling off him in waves. This is what I came for. This feeling of being overwhelmed, controlled,safein his power.

His fingers tangle in my hair and tug gently, guiding me to my knees. The plush carpet cushions my fall, but it's the hunger in his eyes, the almost reverent way his gaze sweeps over me, that makes me ache. His thumb drags across my lower lip.

"Open up that filthy little mouth, Little One," he murmurs, his voice thick with demand. Then, his eyes darken further as he adds a second command, his gaze locking with mine, "Now, take my cock out."

My breath hitches, thrill and raw need churning together inside me. His orders are a lifeline, pulling me from the chaos of my fear into the sharp focus of desire and submission. Iwantto obey. Ineedto. My mouth parts slightly, tongue instinctively flicking out as my desperate fingers work open his belt buckle. The expensive leather resists for a moment before giving way. The rasp of his zipper sounds loud in the charged silence.

When I finally free him from his tailored trousers, I suck in a sharp breath. He's magnificent. Thick. Heavy. The head already beaded with precum, leaking formeat the command I just followed. The sight, the raw power rolling off him, makes my core clench tight.

"That's it," he says as I wrap my hand around him, barely managing to circle his girth. "Take what you need."

I moan as I slide him into my mouth, the taste of him hitting my tongue, sharp and addictive. His hips jerk, the blunt head pushing deeper. I take more, hollowing my cheeks and using my hand to work the base. He groans, low and filthy, and slickness pools between my thighs at the sound.

"Fuck, look at you," he grits out, watching me through hooded eyes. "On your knees, desperate for Daddy's cock."

His words—Daddy's cock—send a shiver of pure, needy arousal through me. This is it. This is the control, the possessive claim I sought. I hum around him, feeling the vibrations, and his hips flex in response. Salty, musky, addictive. I want to drown in him,in this feeling of belonging to his strength. His hand tightens in my hair, a firm guide urging me deeper, controlling the pace.

I pull back with a wet gasp, swirling my tongue around the tip before plunging back down, chasing the broken sounds spilling from his mouth.

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