9. Damian #2
I let a skinny blonde with a KISS tattoo and a black lace thong peeking above the edge of her shorts grind on me at the last bar, dancing to some Top 100 hit that I don’t know, and I consider trying.
After all, I’m just a man. If I took her back to the bathroom and let her put my cock in her mouth, I’d get hard.
I’d probably even come. But it’d just make me feel even more like shit than I already do, I realize, the moment before I also realize I can’t stop thinking about whether or not Sienna would be upset to see this girl grinding on me.
What the fuck? Why the hell would she care?
It’s not like the marriage is real, except on paper.
I didn’t so much as kiss her at the altar.
Neither of us are wearing rings. She’s not going to change her goddamned name.
I’m protecting her so that she doesn’t end up collateral damage in the ongoing problems between Konstantin and Giovanni Russo, and nothing more.
I have no intention of touching her, no intention of making her my wife in reality.
The marriage will be over as soon as the danger is.
So why does the thought of being with someone else feel like cheating?
By the time I peel myself away from the drunk blonde and head back out to the car to drive home, it’s past one in the morning, and my mood is darker than the parking lot around me.
The estate is quiet when I pull through the gates, the mansion windows dark, and I can imagine that Sienna is asleep right now, tucked into her bed safely.
That’s all I should want. For her to feel safe, and secure, and not to feel hounded by her new husband, who can’t stop thinking about a woman who would only give herself to him out of a need to keep his protection.
I should be disgusted with myself at the thought of anything more—I am —but that doesn’t stop me from instantly growing aroused at the mental image of Sienna in bed.
The Russo threat won’t last for long, I tell myself as I park, gripping the steering wheel tightly as I let out a long exhale.
And neither will this marriage. I didn’t expect her, didn’t see this coming, but once the marriage is dissolved and she’s gone, she’ll cease to be a problem for me.
I’ll forget about her, and I’ll go back to cheap fucks in rundown bars, enjoying the pleasure of a meaningless orgasm without having to think about the fact that I’m technically married.
Without this misplaced guilt that doesn’t make any fucking sense .
I can handle a few weeks of celibacy. Hell, I’ve gone longer than a few weeks before, just because I’ve been too fucking busy to get laid. I’ll keep my hands off of my new bride, and once she’s gone, everything will go back to normal.
That resolve lasts just long enough for me to walk into the foyer and see Sienna quietly padding toward the staircase in the low light, a thin ‘silk’ robe that’s probably actually polyester wrapped around her slender body.
I have no idea what she’s wearing underneath it, but it can’t be much—it barely falls to the tops of her thighs, leaving the rest of her legs entirely bare, and I can see the shape of her small breasts beneath it.
I’m instantly rock-hard, my cock swelling with a speed that’s nearly painful as it jerks and strains against my fly, making me dizzy.
I want to cross the room and grab her, flip her around against the banister and find that slick heat between her thighs, rut into her like an animal right here in the foyer.
I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my entire fucking life, and some primal, bestial part of my mind growls in the darkness that she’s mine .
I found her. I saved her. Mine .
“Damian?” Sienna pauses, and I see that she’s barefoot, her toes curling against the cold marble. “You’re home late.”
“That’s none of your business.” I stay where I am, forcing myself not to move. If I do, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself. “This isn’t that kind of marriage.”
Who the fuck am I reminding? Certainly not her.
I’ve never seen such relief on a woman’s face as when I told her I wasn’t going to fuck her.
She doesn’t want me. And why would she? She’s beautiful, young, innocent, fresh, and sweet.
I’m a beast, a cold, cruel Bratva enforcer whose entire life is blood and violence.
“I—” She swallows hard. “Sorry. I just—whatever you were doing, I’m glad you’re okay.”
My jaw tightens. What would it be like, to have someone waiting for me who worried?
Who wondered if I was alright? Who cared if I died?
Konstantin would give a shit if he lost me to an enemy bullet, but it’s not the same thing, brotherly as we are.
What would it be like to have a woman who waited up for me at night?
Sienna licks her lips nervously, and my cock jerks again, hard to the point of pain, my balls tight and aching.
My gaze falls down to the ridiculously thin robe that she’s wearing, and my body seems to move of its own accord, taking me across the space between us until I’m standing in front of her.
I reach out, touching the collar of her robe, and I can see how her eyes widen even though I’m touching the fabric and not her skin, how difficult it is for her to not flinch back.
“What is this?” I ask, my voice tight and harsher than I mean for it to be, and her eyes go even wider in her delicate face.
“A robe?” Her voice rises with the question. “I don’t know what you?—”
“You can’t go around the mansion in something like this.
” I flick the edge of it sideways, and immediately regret it.
It exposes a sliver of her collarbone, a slice of those goddamned freckles, and I want to fall to my knees and press my mouth against her skin.
“There’s security all over the goddamned place, Sienna.
I can see your fucking nipples. You can’t go around wearing this little, this late at night. ”
She licks her lips again, and my cock throbs. “I was just getting some water?—”
“You need to put something else on, if you’re going to be walking around in the middle of the night.”
I see her chin tip up, a spark of anger in her eyes.
“I don’t have anything else,” she says, taking a step back and reaching for the front of her robe, pulling it closer around her.
“I only have a few things to sleep in. It got hot in my apartment, so I never wore much. The air conditioner was old, and?—”
She trails off, and the hint of shame that I can see in her eyes makes me feel worse than ever.
I can’t touch her, but I can’t stand the thought of anyone else so much as fucking looking at her, and my jealousy ran away with me.
Now I’ve made her feel like shit about things she has no control over, and the worst part of it is that I still don’t want her walking around the mansion like this.
None of Konstantin’s men would dare touch her, but I don’t want a single one of them to look at her and feel the way I do.
Just the thought makes me want to cut their fucking eyeballs out.
I step back abruptly, painfully aware of my pulsing arousal, of how my body is screaming at me to reach for her, to twist my fingers in her hair, drag her mouth to mine, find out what her small breasts feel like in my hands.
“You need more clothes, then,” I manage finally, clearing my throat.
“I’ll send you shopping tomorrow. I’m sure Konstantin can spare a few men for security.
Don’t worry about money,” I add, before she can bring it up.
“I’ll give you a credit card. Get your hair and nails done too, if you want.
I don’t want you to feel out of place here. Get…get whatever you need.”
It’s a poor attempt to salve my conscience, and a hypocritical one at that, because it’s at least partially in the hopes that I won’t have to see her like this again, in a robe so thin that I could tear it apart with my hands in an instant.
But I can also imagine that she must feel out of place around someone like Valentina, and if I can make her feel more comfortable, I want to do that for her.
“You don’t need to—” she starts to protest, but I cut her off.
“You’re my wife. You’re mine to take care of, Sienna. That’s all there is to it.”
Whatever she was going to say dies on her lips. I take advantage of the moment to escape, turning sharply on my heel and striding toward the stairs, desperate to get up to my room and into the shower so that I can ease the ache in my straining dick.
I think I hear her say my name, calling after me. But I keep going, until I’m in my bedroom, the door closed behind me as I reach down and fumble with my belt, unable to wait a second longer.
She’s the only thing that fills my mind from the moment my hand wraps around my throbbing flesh. And when I come, it’s her name on my lips.
She’s all I want now… and it makes me feel like a fucking monster.