by Sam Crescent
Damian hummed, the sound low and thoughtful. “Look at us. Neither of us even thirty, already moping about our lost mothers. Unwilling to talk about our daddy issues.” He huffed. “Quite a pair, aren’t we?”
The breath rushed from Layla’s lungs, and her eyes widened. “You … know about that?”
He locked her in his magnetic stare once more. “Of course I do. I did run a background check before I hired you, you know.”
She’d wondered about that. But he’d never said a word.
Damian extended his arm and brushed his fingers over her cheek, pushing aside a loose strand of hair and sending contradictorily wonderful jolts of electricity dancing across her skin. “You are not your father, Layla,” he said, his words deliberate and his voice low. “Not any more than I am mine.”
Layla sucked in an audible breath, reached up, and pulled on his wrist until his hand was flush against her face. His fingers curved over her cheek, behind her ear, and tickled her hairline. His skin was warm and taut. “No, I’m not.” Her voice was a little shaky. “And I don’t want to be.”
Chapter Five
Damian’s hand slid from her cheek, over her jaw, around her neck, to her nape, and this time Layla was sure. Sure that her boss intended to kiss her. Sure that she wasn’t going to stop him. Maybe it was the steam from the hot tub, maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the honest conversation they’d shared, or maybe it was just the fact that he was sinfully sexy and she’d been single for too long. Regardless, as Damian drew her in, her heart beat faster.
She wanted this. No matter how foolish it was, no matter what happened after, she wanted it. She wanted him.
“Stop me,” Damian whispered, his voice rough, his breath hot, as his lips ghosted over hers. “If I go too far.”
Layla nearly moaned. She flattened her palms on his sculpted chest, surrendering to her need to touch him, and breathed, “Impossible.”
Damian grunted and slammed his mouth against hers. He trailed his tongue along her lower lip, then plunged it inside even as she opened for him. His chest vibrated with a low rumble of appreciation when their tongues slid together. He settled his other hand on her outside thigh. The difference in the texture of his touch under the water only added to the thrill.
Layla curled her fingers over his pecs as he dominated her mouth. She was already breathless by the time she gave up on fondling him in favor of winding her arms around his shoulders. The adjusted angle enabled her to pull herself closer, and sink her fingers into his thick head of hair.
Damian responded with a rumbling growl and clamped both hands firmly over her ass. He hauled her up, out of the water, and set her on the ledge of the hot tub. The kiss broke, but Damian bowed his head and trailed his lips and tongue over her throat. In moments Layla’s breath-restoring gasps turned into low, pleasured moans. He licked, nibbled, and sucked intermittently along her skin. He squeezed her ass, his fingers slipping past the material of her bikini bottoms, and lifted his head enough to nip at her earlobe.
With his lips beside her ear, Damian whispered, “I’m having a hard time thinking of a good reason not to strip you naked and make you mine.” He leaned in closer, making sure she could feel his straining erection pressed against her belly. “I want you, Layla.”
Her heart fluttered, and something inside her pulsed in shameless need. She licked her lips. “I want you, too.” It was possible she meant that in more ways than one, but she refused to think too hard on that for the time being.
Damian straightened, his amber eyes burning with an intensity that matched the fire in her blood, and removed his hands from her rear. “My condoms are upstairs.” His words were matter-of-fact. They would have to gather themselves, and compose themselves, enough to cross through at least half the mansion.
There was no way she could do that. “Are you clean?” I can’t believe I’m considering this.
Damian blinked. “Of course.”
“I am, too.” She pulled her lip between her teeth for a beat. “I’m on the pill.”
A slow, wicked grin lifted Damian’s lips. “I see.” He leaned forward again, bracing his weight on his palms on the stone walkway and pressing his chest against hers. With their faces barely an inch apart, he said, “So you’re saying you want me to fuck you right here, right now. Where anyone on the staff could see if they look outside.”
A series of thrills shot through her, and it occurred to Layla, in the back of her mind, that perhaps she should be concerned for what her response said about her. But she ignored that voice and answered honestly. “Yes.”
His eyes flashed with renewed lust. “Are you going to try to be quiet?”
Layla licked her lips. Her body ached. “No.”
“Good,” Damian growled before he crushed his lips to hers once more. He threaded a hand in her hair, holding her face close, and glided his other hand over her skin. Down her spine, around her abdomen, lingering on her legs, then back up to capture one of her breasts. He played with her for only a moment before breaking the kiss and moving away. He raked her over with his gaze. “Strip.”
Her entire body thrummed with anticipation as she pushed to her feet. She wasn’t a virgin by any means, but this certainly felt like the most scandalous thing she’d ever done. It helped, though, that Damian didn’t seem as if he planned to simply stand back and watch. While she reached up for her bikini top, he moved toward the steps and snatched up her discarded towel. She was too busy peeling off the second half of her swimsuit to see what he did, exactly, when he came closer and seemed to shake it out.
Once she was nude, Layla turned enough to see what Damian was doing. He’d laid out her towel, just feet from the edge of the hot tub.
“You’re more beautiful than I pictured,” Damian murmured, his lips beside her ear, as he stepped up behind her. He grazed his lips down her neck, dropping kisses over her shoulder, and Layla shivered in anticipation. Damian reached around and cupped both of her breasts, pulling her back into his chest. His erection rubbed against her bare ass, sending a new shot of excitement coursing through her.
It was all she could do not to rock her ass into him purposefully. “You’ve pictured?”
“Repeatedly.” Damian molded her breasts and rolled her nipples expertly between his fingers.
Layla gasped, and her head fell back. Damian Harker had thought about her naked before tonight. That fact alone was enough to turn her on. Then there was the thing he was doing to her nipples, and the hot, heavy presence of his dick against her ass. The presence of him, equally naked and wrapped around her, touching her. It was a good thing she wasn’t wearing panties.
Damian let go of one breast and trailed his hand down her stomach. He sucked on the hollow of her throat before murmuring, “Are you watching?”
He knew she wasn’t, of course, but Layla obligingly lifted her head enough to watch his hand just as it dipped between her legs. She knew what he’d find—she knew how desperate she was for him—but she still wasn’t prepared for how wonderful his touch would feel. He stroked his fingers over her folds, easing them apart, before dipping first one—then two—fingers inside her. She moaned, and her hips began to move, lightly, in time to the pumping of his hand.
She groped around with her hands, needing to hold on to something, and eventually found his hair with one and the side of his thigh with the other. “Damian,” she said on a moan as the heel of his hand grazed her clit. His hand was amazing, but it wasn’t what she wanted most. “Fuck me. Please.”
Damian grabbed her chin and turned her face toward his, enough to capture her lips in a rough kiss. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her the three feet to her waiting towel. He set her down gently and eased her back, simultaneously nudging his way between her legs.
Layla eagerly complied, sliding her hands along his arms and over his shoulders as he moved. She’d known from the moment they met he was well-built, but she’d underestimated him. Every inch of him was sculpted, tantalizing
perfection. And there was no denying he was ready to go. Her body pulsed again as he climbed over her, his skin warm and damp against hers. She couldn’t believe how badly she wanted this, wanted him.
Damian ran his hands along her body, cupping her breasts and rolling his thumbs over her nipples, skimming his hands over her abdomen before trailing them down to her thighs. He curved them under, plunged his tongue into her mouth, and grabbed her ass as he rocked his hips forward. The length of his dick rubbed against her clit, and Layla moaned into the kiss as she latched onto his back.
She could probably come if he did that just one more time.
Instead he pulled from her lips, grabbed her thighs, and sat up on his knees. He stroked one thumb over her folds and looked into her eyes. “Are you ready for me, Layla?”
Unable to quite reach him, Layla gripped the edges of the towel. “God, yes.” This teasing thing he was doing was exquisite torture, but torture nonetheless.
Damian smirked, took himself in one hand, and guided himself to her aching hole. Then he caught her arms by the wrists and stretched over her, holding her arms over her head. He rocked his hips forward at a slow, steady pace, pushing his hard cock deep inside her pussy.
Layla moaned in the back of her throat as he settled inside her. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head when Damian ground his hips into hers. She responded instead by arching her back for him and testing his grip, desperate to touch him.
He lowered his head beside hers and let out a deep, reverberating groan. “Fuck, you feel good.” His hips rocked against her, drawing back and snapping forward, slowly building up momentum. He released her wrists at the same time as his lips latched onto her throat, his tongue darting out to tease her skin.
She immediately wrapped her arms around him, hanging onto his back and shoulders as their hips collided. He thrusted into her hard and fast, and she knew she wouldn’t last long with how good he made her feel. She only prayed he’d be up for a second round, because already oblivion teased the edge of her senses. He’d done too good a job of working her up before. Layla opened her mouth to tell him she was close, to say something, but he surged inside her at exactly the right angle and what came out instead was a loud cry of pleasure as her orgasm burst.
Her body trembled around his, and she held him tight, distantly aware as he grabbed hold of her hips and drove himself deep one more time. Then he shuddered against her and braced his weight on a single forearm, his other hand still holding onto her hip.
“Please tell me,” she said, panting shamelessly, “we can do that again.”
Damian rumbled something similar to a chuckle. “No.” He pushed himself up and eased out of her as the word processed in her mind. She’d just started to understand it when he hooked his hands beneath her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. “I’m taking you inside, where we can be more comfortable.” He pressed a tender kiss to her swollen lips. “Then I’m going to keep you up—” He bowed his head and trailed his tongue along the underside of her jaw. “For hours. Understand?”
Layla shivered and circled her arms around his abdomen. “Clearly.”
They gathered up their discarded swimsuits, wrapped themselves in their towels, and Damian showed her a side entrance to the mansion she hadn’t seen before. Most likely because it led straight upstairs to his private suite, one of the few rooms she didn’t technically have access to. But she didn’t have time to look around. Damian Harker was a man of his word.
****
She was still tired two days later.
So, since the aquarium was cleaned, Elsa was napping, the dogs were walked, and their water bowls were full, Layla decided it was time to go for a run. Running was her therapy—although now so was playing fetch with a pair of large, eager pups, or relaxing with a cat in her lap—and she hadn’t gotten to do much of it recently. Not in the going for a run sense, at least.
She parked her car in a public lot in the downtown area, dropped her keys into the over-the-shoulder purse she wore when she ran, and extracted her phone. No new messages, that was good. A couple taps of her thumb opened up her preferred music app while her other hand dug around for her earbuds, and she had just plugged them in when someone let themselves in on the passenger side.
Layla shrieked and jumped, nearly dropping her phone.
“Quiet down. It’s me,” Harold snapped, the slamming of her passenger door a perfect echo to his tone.
Her heart still pounding wildly, Layla lowered her phone to her lap and frowned. There was nothing quite like the arrival of her own personal devil to remind her of the problems she’d been hoping to sort out on her run.
She’d realized, after waking up in Damian’s bed, blissfully sore and surrounded by his musk, that she couldn’t possibly go through with her uncle’s scheme to ruin him. More than that, she wanted out. She’d always wanted out, but only now did she find herself in a situation that made escape seem remotely possible. To get out, though, she needed to come clean. She owed it to herself, and she owed it to the man who’d opened his home to her. The man who’d unknowingly told her exactly what she’d needed to hear.
“You are not your father, Layla.”
Damian was right. She wasn’t anything like her father, and she never wanted to be. The first critical step in making sure she achieved that goal was extricating herself from the man who’d just let himself into her car.
She took a breath, calming her heart. “What are you doing here, Uncle Harold?”
Chapter Six
“What do you think?” Harold said shortly. He fussed with his overpriced suit coat as he adjusted enough in the seat to face her. “You’ve been living in that house for over three months, Layla. I’m sure you have something useful by now.”
Typical Uncle Harold. Layla only wished she were surprised. “Damian’s a private man,” she said. “It’s not like he walks around the mansion discussing business deals, let alone whatever deep, dark secrets you expect me to find.” Frankly, she wasn’t convinced there were any. Not of the career-destroying variety her uncle was interested in, at least.
Harold snorted. “That brat’s too arrogant to be so cautious. You’re not looking hard enough.”
Layla twisted in her seat, knocking her purse into the drink console in the process. “I’ve talked to the entire staff. Short of straight-up asking ‘hey, what’s Damian’s biggest, darkest secret?’ I don’t have another angle there.” She wasn’t exactly great at sly interrogation, but she was proud of that. Even having those conversations had been beyond her comfort zone.
“He has to have a home office.”
“He keeps it locked up.” And yeah, maybe that was suspicious. It was still well within his right. Layla narrowed her eyes at her uncle. “And no, I’m not breaking into it. I don’t know the first thing about lock-picking, it’s probably alarmed, and if I physically destroyed the door I’d absolutely be arrested.” There was not a single doubt in her mind about whether or not Harold would step up to bail her out.
He hadn’t even bailed out his own brother.
Harold studied her sternly for a long, tense minute.
Layla fought the instinct to say something appeasing. That was the old her. The intimidated girl who bowed her head and did whatever her family said. She couldn’t tell her uncle to go to Hell, not yet, but she wasn’t going back to that invisible prison, either. She had to walk the line of playing the part without succumbing to the pressure.
Harold let out a breath and leaned back in the seat. He turned his gaze forward. “I was really hoping you had something,” he said. The disappointment in his voice was hard to miss. “Or that you would tell me you were close, that you just didn’t have proof of anything yet.”
A cold chill dragged down Layla’s spine. She wasn’t sure where this was going, but she didn’t like it. Not at all. “I know you don’t like him,” she said, quietly, “but surely you realize three or four months isn’t enough time to build up that kind of trust…” She was full of shit.
Except in her uncle’s case, it was probably a sound argument.
“Ordinarily I’d give you that one,” Harold said. He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “But I’m not sure you’re trying hard enough. Or maybe you’ve overestimated how patient I’m willing to be. I do hope that’s it, Layla.”
Layla swallowed heavily. “What are you talking about, Uncle Harold?” He was right, she wasn’t trying “hard enough”. She wasn’t really trying at all. Nor was she about to cop to that.
“You know I never put all my eggs in one basket.” Harold held out his phone, showing her the image he’d called up. That chill turned into a cold sweat, and her breakfast rolled over in her stomach.
She was looking at a photo of herself, naked, almost directly facing the photographer. The edge of Damian’s hot tub was, if only barely, in view on the side. Damian himself stood behind her, one of his hands on her breasts, the other between her legs, and his face beside her ear—also recognizable. Most of his body was obscured by hers, but enough of his thigh was visible that any viewer could accurately assume he was just as nude. For a nighttime picture, the clarity was startling.
“H-how—”
“Call him my backup plan,” Harold said, pulling his phone away and dismissing the image as casually as if he were dismissing a Facebook notification. “What you need to know is there are plenty more.” He shook his head a little. “Your father would be ashamed if he heard about this, Layla. Fucking your mark. Outside, no less.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I would prefer to make these disappear. I’d hate for the world to start calling my niece a common whore. But I’m getting tired of waiting.”
Layla’s eyes widened, and her heart lodged in her throat. Is he actually…