AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Before I can form words, Damon stands from the bed and walks out of the room, leaving me panting with burning lust.
“Damon?” Confusion is clear in my voice. “Damon!” I call out louder.
He doesn’t respond, and shock rolls through me, unable to process what just happened. Several agonizing seconds later, I hear the front door shut and the lock click into place.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I groan and roll over.
My clit throbs with my pulse. Dammit. He’s left me desperate for release. I give in to my need and slip my panties off, my fingers immediately stroking my clit. I shift my hand lower and imagine it’s his fingers burying themself deep inside me. It takes seconds to make myself come, his name a whisper on my lips.
Panting, I roll onto my stomach, and the glimmer of silver catches my eye in the moonlight. He’s put a thin bracelet on me. I twist it, trying to get it off, but it’s too tight to go over my hand. I stop when the pressure bruises the bones in my wrist.
A shiver runs down my spine. What the hell is this?
Chapter 21
Damon
“Fuck.” I dig my fingers in my hair, tightening them until my scalp hurts. Anything to cut through the consuming need to go back into her apartment, flip her over, and sink my cock into her pretty pussy. Even without removing her panties, my fingers are wet from where I touched her. I groan as I suck each one, licking off her taste.
She’s temptation incarnate. I smile, satisfaction burning in my chest at knowing she’s mine. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s locked to me forever, right where she belongs. My Little Nymph is the only thing keeping me from sinking into the darkness, and I will not let her go.
I adjust my pants, which I grabbed off the floor on my way out, and tuck the head of my cock beneath the waistband, pinning it in place. There’s no chance it’s going down anytime soon, especially now that her taste is in my mouth.
Thankfully, I have other things to do to take my mind off it. I grab a spare shirt from my bag, a cigar, and my favorite pen before heading to the building’s front door.
As expected, there’s a man guarding the door, holding a folder in his hand.
“That for me?” I ask, the air heavy and humid when I open the door.
“Yes, sir.” He startles momentarily before handing it over. “Lawyer dropped it off a few minutes ago.”
I head down the hall to where the owner lives. Part of Matthias’s research of the building was to provide me with all the information on the owner. The man lived here his entire life, the building passed down by his father. Even in its crumbling state, it’s turned a profit year after year, only increasing in value with the higher property cost. Which complicates things, but I do love a challenge.
The door rattles on its hinges as I pound the side of my fist into it, not giving a shit that it’s past eleven.
“Who the fuck is it.” The owner’s voice is muffled through the door.
“You can open it, or I can break it. Your choice.” I keep my voice emotionless, letting him know I don’t care what he chooses. I’m getting to him no matter what.
It takes several moments before the door cracks open, a thin chain link holding it closed. I hit my palm next to its connection point and meet his gaze when it snaps. “Are you done fucking around?”
The door swings open, and the middle-aged man stands in front of me with a gun pointed directly at my chest. His hands shake as he cocks it. “Don’t move. I don’t have any money. There’s nothing for you in here.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” His eyes widen as I step into the gun, letting the muzzle touch my sternum, calling his bluff. In one swift move, I grasp the barrel while simultaneously connecting with his palm, taking control of the gun.
“Oh fuck. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do whatever you want. There’s money in the safe,” he pleads, his voice cracking.
“No need for that.” I engage the safety and place the gun on a small entry table. “I’m here to make you an offer.”
His brows pull together. “Listen, whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.”
“You’re mistaken. I’m the one who’s buying. Your building.”
“What? It’s not for sale,” he scoffs.
“You turn a profit of three hundred thousand a year, correct?” I ask, but I already know the answer.
He shifts his jaw from side to side, trying to figure me out. “Around that.”
