Claimed by My Ex's Half-Brother-Chapter 187 What if I don’t want to try?
Victoria’s POV
"What if I don’t want to try?" I said defiantly, chin raised high, refusing to give in.
My wolf Nora purred excitedly within me.
"Then I still won’t let you leave." Damian’s voice dropped an octave, sending shivers through my entire body.
Before I could protest again, his lips covered mine once more.
This time, the kiss wasn’t rough and urgent like before, but rather like mature lovers carefully exploring each other’s boundaries. His hands, which had been gripping my waist tightly, began roaming over my body. His lips traveled from mine down to my neck, leaving a trail of fire.
I couldn’t deny my body’s response to him. My breathing quickened, my skin burned, and Nora practically howled with approval. My wolf nature recognized what my human side refused to admit—Damian Sterling awakened primal instincts deep within me that Ethan had never touched.
It wasn’t until my clothes were half undone that I snapped back to awareness. "Damian, you—" I gasped as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot on my neck.
He wasted no words. Those burning eyes met mine, blazing with hunger that made my heart clench. Just his gaze alone was as intoxicating as physical contact. His wolf Arthur peered at me from behind those eyes, equally filled with desire.
"Do you want this?" he asked simply, his voice rough with longing.
The question hung between us, haunting. Even now, he was still giving me a choice. After driving me to the brink of madness, now he was asking if I still wanted him?
"Stop talking and get to work," I growled low, "or I’ll find someone else to do it."
My answer satisfied him completely. His restraint vanished instantly as he pressed me down, tearing at my clothes like an eager teenager. My wolf nature rejoiced, craving this display of primal desire.
I had to admit, Damian was exceptionally gifted in this area. Unlike our first encounter, his movements now displayed skilled technique rather than mere passion. His physique was... impressive, to put it mildly, and his stamina matched his enthusiasm.
I felt as if I was being dragged underwater by massive waves, drowning in sensory overload, then lifted up, suspended in air, feeling the rush of weightlessness.
He pushed me relentlessly to the edge of collapse again and again, well into the night. By the time he carried me into the shower, I was completely exhausted, only able to lean against him as warm water cascaded down. I fell asleep in his arms, my last awareness being his lips against my temple.
I woke in the morning to find the bed empty, my muscles aching as if they were loudly protesting, every small movement causing discomfort.
Last night’s pleasure had clearly come at a cost—my arms felt heavy as lead, my back ached dully, and parts of me hurt that I didn’t even know could hurt.
Looking down at myself, I found my previously flawless skin now covered with mottled purple-blue marks. Anyone seeing me would think I’d been in a fight rather than a night of passion.
What exactly was Damian? Half-wolf, half-vampire? His passionate marks were scattered across my body like an artist’s signature.
Where was the perpetrator? Had he already fled the crime scene?
I propped myself up, wincing at the soreness between my legs. My clothes were beyond salvage, so I had to rummage through Damian’s closet for a shirt. The white shirt I chose practically swallowed me whole, the hem reaching nearly to mid-thigh.
Pants were definitely out of the question—none would slide past my hips. I had to resign myself to this semi-naked state and head to the bathroom to freshen up.
In the mirror, I discovered more evidence of Damian’s possessiveness. My neck looked like it had been mauled by a wolf—which, I supposed, wasn’t entirely inaccurate. These marks would be obvious to any wolf—clear declarations of ownership, though not yet permanent mating marks. I was somewhat surprised he hadn’t taken that final step.
After washing my face and attempting to tame my disheveled hair, I prepared to venture out and find my temporary captor, hoping for some breakfast. My stomach growled, reminding me that we’d skipped dinner to... satisfy other appetites.
As I opened the bathroom door, Damian was just entering the bedroom. He glanced first at the empty bed, then his gaze fell on me emerging from the bathroom. The moment he saw me—face still dewy from washing, hair tousled, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt—his pupils dilated until only a rim of color remained.
His distinctive scent of smoky cedar and midnight roses intensified, as if his arousal permeated the entire room. I could almost feel his gaze like a physical touch, traveling from my face downward to finally rest on my bare legs.
He swallowed hard, his throat making a clicking sound, and I knew exactly what he was thinking—he wanted to throw me back onto the mattress and continue where we’d left off.
"Turn around!" I commanded, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I was under that predatory gaze. My legs trembled involuntarily, and Nora stirred within me, ready for another round despite my body’s protests.
"I came to tell you breakfast is ready," he said, trying to sound casual, but his eyes still burned with desire.
"Go downstairs and get me some clothes," I ordered. I couldn’t have breakfast like this—half-naked and defenseless. Besides, I wore nothing beneath his shirt. Standing before him like this, though theoretically covered, made me feel completely exposed.
"I think you look perfect as you are," he said with a wicked grin. "You can wear my clothes anytime." His eyes gleamed mischievously, silently adding: or nothing at all.
"I don’t want to wear your clothes. Will you help or not?" I glared at him, trying to ignore how his hungry gaze made my stomach flutter with heat.
"I’ll go," he grinned, conceding, but the smile promised trouble ahead.
As Damian disappeared to fetch my clothes, I reflected that being with him seemed disastrous for my wardrobe. Nearly every encounter ended with clothes torn beyond repair.
When he returned, I should never have trusted his choices. My walk-in closet was packed with various styles—most custom pieces from Grace’s design studio or direct gifts from her. These presents were usually things I’d never buy myself—sexy little numbers that normally stayed hidden in the depths of my closet.
Naturally, these caught Damian’s attention. He brought a white slip dress so short it barely covered my thighs. The strapless design perfectly outlined my curves, with strategic ruching at the waist and hips. I had to admit, it was beautiful—exactly the kind of thing I’d never wear to business meetings.
"This is what you chose?" I asked, eyeing the garment suspiciously.
"You didn’t specify what you wanted," he replied innocently. "I just happened to notice this."
I decided to test his limits. "Fine. Since you chose it, I’ll wear it to my morning meeting and afternoon client session."
Damian’s expression darkened immediately. "...What?"
"You heard me. You chose it, so I’m wearing it out today," I said, enjoying the flash of possessiveness across his face. "After all, this represents Damian Sterling’s taste, doesn’t it?"
Without waiting for his response, I grabbed the dress and retreated to the bathroom.
Minutes later, I emerged.
The dress fit exactly as expected—as if tailored specifically for me. The white fabric complemented my wheat-colored skin, and the cut perfectly accentuated every curve. This kind of dress required perfect proportions to pull off, and I happened to have them.
Damian’s gaze traveled slowly from my face to my legs and back again, his expression growing stormy. I noticed he focused particularly on the marks on my neck and collarbone—evidence of his possession, stark against the white dress. The contrast seemed to fascinate him—innocence mixed with passion.
I realized then that Damian’s reaction had nothing to do with what I wore. Even in a potato sack, he’d look at me the same way. He didn’t want the packaging—he wanted what was inside it. Me. Though this dress certainly achieved the intended effect, making him want to tear it off immediately.
"What are you staring at? You chose this yourself, so if it looks bad, that’s your fault," I retorted.
"Do you really think my expression suggests I don’t like what I see?" he asked, his voice husky with barely controlled desire.
I didn’t need to answer. We both understood what that look meant—and knew that if I showed the slightest weakness, we’d easily end up back in bed. So I walked straight past him toward the door, pretending not to notice how his body tensed at my proximity.
