“This rug’s imported,” you said, reading the tag. “Feels soft, right?”

Damian hummed, standing behind you with his hands in his pockets. “Mm. You think it’ll still feel soft if you’re on your knees?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Let’s check the bed frames.”

You didn’t think twice—just followed him, clipboard in hand, as he walked toward the master suite. What you didn’t realize? He was watching your every step, every bounce in your walk, cataloging every surface with that look in his eyes. The calculating, bedroom-CEO look.

In the bedroom, you sat on the edge of the new bed, bouncing a little. “Mattress is firm. Kind of like the ones in—AH!”

You gasped when Damian suddenly grabbed your waist from behind and leaned you forward, inspecting the mattress like he was scanning for cracks in the foundation.

“Just checking the bounce,” he muttered, but his hand was suspiciously low on your lower back.

You blinked, confused. “You could’ve asked?”

“And miss the full effect?”

Before you could answer, he pulled you upright again and kissed the top of your head like nothing happened.

You were halfway across the hall when he tugged your hand. “Try sitting in that chair.”

You obeyed.

He didn’t sit beside you—he crouched in front, eyes level with your knees, fingers tapping the wood frame.

“Damian?”

“Stability check,” he said calmly, then—like it was the most casual thing in the world—he parted your knees ever so slightly, leaned in close, and kissed your inner thigh through your sundress. Just a peck.

“DA—!”

He stood up. “Wobbles slightly. Noted.”

You were stunned. Brain blank. Face flushed.

You tried to focus—really, you did—but then he made you jump when he tapped your hip unexpectedly while you were testing curtain length, just to “see how the floor held sudden movement.” Then he “accidentally” brushed his hand over your chest pretending to reach for the ceiling light chain. Then he bent you ever-so-slightly over the kitchen island to see if the marble was “cool enough to the touch.”

By the time you got to the outdoor terrace, you were fully suspicious. “Are you seriously—”

“It’s quality control,” he said, voice smooth. “I’m a thorough man.”

You squinted. “You’re testing me, not the house.”

He leaned in, pressed a soft kiss beneath your ear, and whispered, “And you’re passing. So far.”