CHAPTER 232: REVERSE HEAT (III)

Damon POV:

She emerged from the bathroom just as I was about to crawl my way to her.

Every bone in my body felt like it was melting from the inside out, fire licking through my veins, hunger digging its claws deep into my soul. Not just desire. Not just lust. But need. Heat. A primal, all-consuming force that demanded I take, claim, dominate.

And gods, when she stepped out, the soft golden light from the bathroom haloed her figure, and I almost lost my mind.

Her gasp sliced through the haze in my head.

"Damon," she whispered, her voice laced with alarm as she rushed toward me.

I was on the floor—shirt clinging to my damp skin, knees scraped from dragging myself toward the only relief I knew. Her.

Her hands reached me.

"Damon!" she dropped to her knees beside me. Her hands, gods—her hands on my arms, my back, my burning skin—they cooled me like patches of frost on a wildfire. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

And fuck—everywhere she touched sparked a trail of cool relief. Just a brush of her fingertips calmed the inferno searing through me. I was so close to breaking, to begging, to losing every last shred of the self-control I was clinging to by bloodied nails.

"Fuck—Elena," I hissed, my voice barely human, "Don’t touch me if you don’t want me to snap."

She ignored me, the damn stubborn thing. "Hold on, hold on." she murmured, cooing like she was coaxing a wounded animal. "The bath is ready," she coaxed me, voice trembling as if she already knew how close I was to losing it.

I tried to hold on, I did.

Every brush of her fingers made it worse.

I could feel her wolf react too, see it flash behind her eyes like golden flame. The pull wasn’t just mine—she felt it too. I could smell the shift in her scent. Lust. Want. Frustration. She was trying to fight it.

But the bond? The bond wanted to win.

She pulled me up—barely. I staggered, towering over her for a second before I forced myself forward, letting her half-drag, half-guide me toward the bathroom like I wasn’t about to throw her down and sink into her.

She tried to lift me, and I let her. Not because I was weak—though I damn near was—but because her skin on mine was the only balm to this cursed heat.

Her scent wrapped around me like velvet and smoke, thick and maddening, warm and floral, with a sharp undercurrent of her. I wanted to bury my face in her neck, breathe her in until I drowned in her, until every part of me—wolf, vampire, god—was coated in her scent.

I wanted to take her. Right there on the fucking bathroom floor. Tear the clothes off her, pin her down, make her mine.

But I didn’t.

Just a few more steps. Just a little more control.

My claws nearly split my own skin from holding myself back.

And then—cold.

She dumped me in the bath with zero ceremony. Water sloshed out like a wave crashing against tile. My clothes soaked instantly, the cold cutting into my nerves like a blade. It helped. Temporarily.

I closed my eyes, groaning as I let the chill bite into my skin. But it wasn’t enough. Not when she was still here. Not when her scent coiled around me, sunk into my lungs, thick with heat and wetness.

She leaned in and began splashing the cold water over me. Gentle. Focused. Determined. Every time her hand touched my skin, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath for centuries. Her scent drifted down with every motion, lacing the water, the air, my skin.

But instead of soothing me, it drove me mad.

It was like throwing a match on a pile of dry leaves and expecting it to put the fire out.

Her shirt clung to her body. Her breathing hitched every few seconds. Her wolf was pushing against her skin just as much as mine. Still, she acted as if she was unaffected. Like she wasn’t being devoured from the inside out, same as me.

"You’re not helping," I snapped, jaw clenched. "If you hate me that much," I growled, unable to stop it anymore, "then just go the fuck away. Your scent is only making it worse."

She froze.

Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

I should’ve stopped. Should’ve looked away. But I didn’t.

She didn’t leave.

Of course, she didn’t leave.

Too fucking stubborn.

She just sat there, teeth clenched, eyes burning into me like her own rage was the only thing anchoring her sanity.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The temptation. The ache. The betrayal in her eyes that pierced deeper than any wound I’d ever taken.

That was my final thread.

I snapped.

I surged forward, hands shooting out of the water like claws from the depths. She gasped as I grabbed her, dragged her fully clothed body into the tub, her limbs flailing in shock before she landed squarely on my chest.

She yelped, her body colliding with mine, chest to chest, her limbs tangled in mine. Cold water exploded around us like a wave, soaking her completely. Her shirt turned sheer, sticking to her skin like a second layer, outlining every curve, every hardening peak. Her thighs slid over mine, and her scent—now stronger, tainted with the heady trace of lust—wrapped around me like a noose.

The water roared around us, spilling over.

She sputtered, eyes wide. "Damon!"

Too late. I held her. Tight. I could feel the outline of her through those soaked clothes. Her thighs against mine. Her chest pressed to my bare skin. She smelled like salvation and fucking sin.

She scrambled, trying to pull away, but I held her there, tight against my chest.

She gasped, her breath hot on my jaw. I could feel her heart beating just as fast as mine.

She was affected.

Just like I was.

I buried my face in her neck, inhaling her deeply. Gods, she was everything. My mate. My salvation. My punishment.

Her hands slammed against my chest, trying to push away. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Saving myself," I rasped, my voice dark, ruined. "You’re the antidote, Elena. You’re the only thing that works."

"Let go of me—"

"No." I crushed her against me. "Just fucking—stay. Please. Gods, just for a moment. Just let me feel you. You don’t have to give me anything. Just—let me breathe you in."