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When I see this Damien, sitting in my father’s desk chair while my father stands behind one of the chairs in front of his desk usually reserved for guests, I want to run away. I’m frozen in place. Damien is tall, taller than any man I’ve ever seen before. His shoulders are broad and frame an impressive barrel chest and a chiseled set of abs I can see through the cotton of his shirt, it fits so tightly. He has tattoos, intricate designs that are striking. But nothing is as striking as the power he seems to emanate. While his face is the very image of classically handsome prince charming, there is a rugged danger about him that screams villain more than savior. That danger doesn’t mar the definite sophistication he has, but it’s the final touch of a devil’s food cake of a decadently hot man.
I’ve upgraded from thinking about drinking hot chocolate. This incredibly hot man makes me think about wanting to drink him in, eat him up, even though I wouldn’t know the first thing about that. A man like him couldn’t be attracted to a nerd like me. All I do is read and study. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Until seeing him, I hadn’t had much of an interest in one.
But nothing about him is ‘boy’—Damien is one hundred percent male, a grown man. I hug my arms to myself.
“Hi, dad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drop the mug, I was just going to make some hot cocoa–” I stop stammering when I follow my father’s gaze to see that now he’s looking at Damien.
Damien looks at me. I feel something in my core pulse when Damien’s hot gaze meets mine. I know this look, though not usually do I see this look in my direction. Or so intensely. Damien is looking at me the way a man looks at a woman that he wants. On Damien’s face, looking at me, it’s so intense that the temperature of the room heats to a suffering boiling point. I want to tear off my sweater. I gulp. My palms sweat. My stomach swirls.
“Sarah, honey,” my father says, putting on a sweeter voice than he normally does with me. I can’t figure out why.
I can’t pull myself from this spell Damien cast on me with just his wicked eyes.
“Yes, daddy?” I don’t understand what my father is doing. I can’t linger to think about it because my heart is racing so much I can barely listen to my father’s words.
“Why don’t you sit on Damien’s lap, you could help with this decision we’re trying to come to?” My father phrases and inflects it like a question. But it is a request. I think I must be hearing him incorrectly. What?
I can’t breathe. Damien’s eyes blaze in my direction, and a smirk plays over one corner of his mouth. It eggs me on, annoys me a little even. It’s like he’s saying that I won’t do it, and for some reason, I’m unable to accept that. Sure, he’s right, it’s the sort of thing I would never do.
But I want to.
The reptilian part of my brain wants it. Hungers for this man.
I will do anything for this man. Just looking at him, somehow I know this.
I waltz right behind my father’s desk. My legs move me, my brain able to get the message to them even though I feel like I’m made of jelly and can’t think straight. I sit on Damien’s lap. Internally, I’m screaming.
Damien pulls me further back on his lap, not allowing me to sit on the edge of his knee tentatively. I feel the full length of the undeniable form of Damien’s cock in his trousers. I nearly yelp out loud but contain the screaming to my mind. A small gasp escapes. I hope no one notices. I can’t hear anything other than the rushing of my blood, blasting through my ears, as if it’s playing through speakers.
2
Damien
I came here to collect. That’s all I should care about. You steal from me, I will collect from you.
When her pale thighs catch my eye, I should see an asset. Sarah strolls in with her porcelain doll face and her creamy skin, and I’m thinking with my cock.
My cock doesn’t get a say in business affairs, not normally.
Sarah’s father tells her to come in, and my cock wants to make all the decisions.
A cracking sound of porcelain hitting tile interrupts the whiny grumblings. I rub my temples, wondering if his petulant wife decides now is a good time to speak on her husband’s behalf. When I open my eyes, however, there’s no washed up screech owl covered in makeup and plastic. No nouveau riche skank. Instead, it’s a young, striking woman that has all my thoughts leaning toward hope that she’ll bend over in my view to pick up the mug she dropped.
