11. Damien

Pissed off is an understatement. I'm fucking irate. Clenching my fists, I sit outside her apartment for a moment, attempting to collect my thoughts. That fucker deserved everything he got. I'm not going to apologize for putting a man, who lays his hands on women, in his fucking place.

My anger is searing – blinding white hot rage fills my vision red. I have a death grip on the steering wheel as I pull away, and it takes everything in me not to go back and knock some more fucking sense into that asshole.

And fuck some sense into Mila...

Autonomy is what gets me back to the office safely. The whole time my mind is fucking elsewhere. Back at Mila's apartment, showing her just how much she doesn't need that piece of shit.

When I park, I hop out of the car, slamming the door harder than anticipated. I hope the thing still fucking works. Fuck. I shove my hand through my hair, unbothered by its unruly appearance in the reflection of the glass to the front door. It's my eyes that catch my interest. Wide, cold and calculating. I look down at my hand, and notice small droplets of blood. Cole's blood.

A wry chuckle leaves my lips, and a grin spreads on my mouth.

Hm... I'd like to see him do that again in front of me. Bet you he fucking won't.

Kass's brows furrow the moment I near my office. She stands outside, arms crossed and concern wrinkling her forehead. I raise my hand, and ignore her hard stare, pushing past into my office.

"Damien, what the hell happened?" Her prying tone forces me to look up as I sit at my desk. It's genuine concern, but I don't feel like being a fucking disappointment again. Not right now. I'm in no mood for being lectured.

"Kass, I've got shit I've gotta' finish."

I gesture to the door and wave my hand dismissively. When I don't hear receeding footsteps, I lift my gaze from the paperwork on my desk. Her hands are placed on her hips and her brows have disappeared past her fucking hair line.

"What?" I snap. Regret knits my brows together and I mumble a quick apology. She honestly just cares about me. I know that, but I'm not the type who likes to sit and bitch.

"Where's Mila?" She questions. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid, but I guess it's inevitable. I tap my thumbs together with my hands clasped, and contemplate how the fuck I can avoid divulging the little scene I just made at Mila's apartment without sounding like my dick is getting me into trouble – as it has in the past. I know she'll be pissed.

Sighing, I decide it's better to just rip the fucking band aid off.

"She quit."

Kass inhales a sharp breath, and slams my door closed for privacy.

"What the fuck, Damien? Soon you'll have to schedule your own appointments and shit. Every fucking assistant..." She grumbles angrily, stepping closer to the desk. Suddenly, she looks tired, bags under her eyes, and a careless expression on her face.

"I give up. Seriously. I fucking give up. You're going to have to handle your own shit for a little while."

I shrug. It's not like I haven't done it before. Just prefer not to. I snicker, and cross my arms over my chest, leaning back in my chair with a smirk playing on my lips.

"What about Carly-"

"Not fucking happening. I like her. I wouldn't do that to her," She answer quickly. Carly's her assistant. Very punctual, on time with paperwork, and helpful. Ha. Probably not after working with me. She's a cute blonde, mousy face, but intelligent. Kass shakes her head rapidly, her hair flying about.

"Awe, come on, Kass? I'll be nice."

"Damien, I said no."

I raise my hands defeatedly.

"Fine. I'll handle it," I gruff, and pull out my phone. "Shit –"

A knock on the door catches my attention.

"Sir, your one O'clock is here. Mr. Harolds?" Carly interrupts us. She tucks strands of hair behind her ear and blushes when my eyes linger on her. She's an innocent girl. I can tell. I'd ruin her.

I nod.

" I don't have time to deal with this."

Kass spins on her heel.

"Fucking fix it, Damien."

With that she leaves, 'hmping' on her way out. I roll my eyes at her. What's there to fix? Mila would rather come to the aid of her loser ex, then fucking stand up for herself. Doesn't matter that I want to fuck her. She's clearly hung up on her ex.

Take her then...

I feel the tension in my shoulders. I have half a mind to go over there and remind her of who made her come uncontrollably today. I doubt that asshole has ever made her orgasm so quickly. 

A knock on my door is followed by James Harold making an entrance. He smiles politely and I rise, taking his offered hand and firmly shaking it. He firms his lips and sits in front of my desk, a knowing expression. His hair has wilted, and thinned. Stress forms thick wrinkles along his face.

"Let me guess – ex-wife want's more alimony?"

He laughs dryly, and places his hands on the arms of the chair. A deadpan expression forms on his face.

"The price we pay to get our cocks wet."

I chuckle, and rub the back of my neck. His words can't be more true.

"That woman is going to fucking drive me insane. I swear I almost drove my car off the bridge on my way over."

"Eh," I say, pointing to him. "You live and you learn."

"Ain't that the fucking truth. Lesson learned: Don't fuck crazy."

I spend the rest of the afternoon drafting a plan of action for James, thankful the situation with Mila has been pushed to the back of my mind.

***

I'm unsure what exactly compels me to go to the Gentleman's club. Maybe the need for a stiff drink, or to fuck Mila out of my system. I don't know, but I find myself there at the end of evening, sipping a gin and tonic.

My phone burns a hole in my pants pocket, Tatiana's number a teasing click away. She'd come. She always does when I call. She's probably surprised by my lack of interest these past few days.

I haven't been here since the day I saw Mila here.

Mila.

Just her name enacts a groan from my lips, and I smother it with another sip. I don't do complicated.

She's immensely complicated. Her and that douchebag ex. I want to move on, ignore the intense sexual pull I feel just from her fucking name, but I can't. The image of her mouth slacked in an 'O' while she came, sitting on my face, makes my cock strain hard against my pants.

That moist, little cunt was twitching to be filled by me, satisfied by me. And believe me, she would've been.

Sulking, I down the rest of the drink, and tap the bar. The bartender – Lorraine- fills the glass quietly, and goes back to the other end where she's being hailed.

This fucking tie is annoying me. I pull at it, loosening it.

"Damien?"

I twist in my seat to and watch Rayna gliding towards me. Her sequin dress is the shiniest fucking thing in the room. It clings to her body like a second skin and her eyes shine when she notices me devouring her with my gaze. She places her hand on my shoulder, stroking my neck lightly with her manicured nails.

"It's been too long," She says, her words heavy and seductive on her tongue. She uses her other hand to slide blonde locks away from her face. She bats her lashes and nods to my drink.

"Looks like you've started without me."

I clench my jaw, smile, and nod.

"It appears so," I reply and make it apparent to shift out of her hands, and take another drink. She lets her arm drop back down to her side, her smile faltering at my rejection.

"You're usually never alone here," She comments, slyly, eyes narrowing just to poke her fucking nose in my business. Rayna's a good lay, but that's as far as it goes. High maintenance in every other aspect. It appears I tend to attract that the most.

She uses this opportunity to unclasp her dress and let it fall lazily to the floor. Her pussy covered by a small gold thong. Her tits are bare, bouncing slightly as she steps closer, pressing herself into the side of my arm.

It isn't uncommon for women to undress anywhere in this place. It's encouraged actually. I glance around the room. Intrigued eyes linger on Rayna. I know if I don't fuck her, someone will tonight.

Don't get me wrong, her body is impeccable, round tits, elongated nipples, and thick ass. I just can't bring myself to accept her request. I bite my lip, staring down at my glass.

"Damien," She says, reaching her hand out and gripping my chin, turning my face to take her in. She mistakes my hard gaze for interest and smirks. God, she's relentless.

I raise my glass, and shrug.

"I'm good."

She frowns, and steps back, placing her hands on her hips. She's offended. Not my problem. I finish the contents, and rise from my seat, stepping sideways, and casting her a glacier stare. She freezes, body tense as I brush past her.

I don't notice who's entering until she's fucking running into me.

Her name's on my lips before I blink.

"Mila."

Her wide eyes are startled, and her cheeks turn a hue of pink as she steady's herself with my arms and steps back.

"Damien," She mutters embarrassed.

I'm winded by her appearance.

A tight black dress hugs her curves, outlining her hardened nipples. She's wrapped in fine packaging, just teasing me to peel her dress away. Breath hitches in my throat, and the familiar jump of my cock captures my attention. She gasps, noticing the strain of my erection in my pants, and casts her gaze down to the ground while fiddling with her fingers.

"What are you doing here?"

My surprise is evident by my expression.

She raises her gaze so our eyes meet, and I notice the way hers widen when I step closer. My eyes lazily travel along her body, devouring every deliciously outlined inch of her.

"Nothing," She replies quickly. I tilt my head, and quirk a brow.

"Nothing," I repeat, no conviction behind the word because I know she's lying. She nods, and rubs her arm.

Was she looking for me? I open my mouth to entertain the idea, but she speaks, interrupting me.

"I- I came here for a job."

My blood boils. She really intended for someone else to fuck her for money? Seriously? The thought of someone else running their hands over her fucking infuriates me.

I lean towards her, breath fanning the smooth skin of her neck, empowered by my anger.

"You have one," I say, voice trembling with fury. I lace my fingers around her arm, and move back with a deadpan expression.

She shakes her head, and glares at me.

"I quit, Damien." She moves to yank her arm out of my grasp. "You fucking overstepped."

"Overstepped? Your pussy has been on my fucking face. I'd say things have gotten pretty personal."

She scoffs, and her brows furrow.

"Well, that's not gonna happen again."

"Yet here you are?" I state matter-of-factly.

"Yes, so?"

"And here I am..." I slide my hand down to her wrist and yank her to me, watching her gasp as her chest is pressed against mine. The heat from her body is mesmerizing. "You want someone to fuck you, Mila? I'll fuck you so good your pussy will cream endlessly around my cock. My name will be the only name you fucking know by the end of the night," I growl, and pull her along with me.

"You don't just get every woman you want," she grumbles.

I halt when we enter the hallway, and turn. She presses her back against the wall, and I smack a hand right next to her head on the wall, my breath coming out erratic and choppy. My blood boils as I gaze at her. No one's gonna fuck her but me.

"Oh, I beg to differ." I glance at her lips, watching as she runs her tongue along her bottom lip. "I'm going to have you begging for my cock when I'm done with you."