Uncle Damon's Little Voyeur 03

A knock sounds on my office door. I lift my eyes from the contract and look at Lydia. She just shrugs and raises a brow, already wondering who would dare knock without being called.

I rarely deal with staff directly. Executives know better than to walk in unannounced unless the building is on fire.

“Come in,” I call out, keeping my voice low and praying to the good Lord that it wasn’t my wife.

Milly’s blonde hair appears first. Her face is already flushed. She only pokes her head in. “Uncle Damon?”

“Yes, Millicent.” I lean back against the leather chair.

She doesn’t step inside. She just stands there with half her body still in the hallway, mouth opening and closing like she can’t decide whether to speak. Her eyes flick to Lydia, then back to me.

I glance at my assistant. “That’s enough for now.”

Lydia nods, gathers her things, and slowly walks out, allowing Milly to step inside before closing the door behind her.

“Is there a problem?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

I haven’t seen her since last night. She was already gone by the time I got up and got ready for work. She somehow managed to make breakfast before running away from me. I wasn’t stupid. I knew she was running because she always waited for Yelena before.

“I just—” she pauses and clears her throat. “Wanted to apologize.”

I raise an eyebrow, knowing very well what she was apologizing for but wanting her to say it anyway. “What for?”

My gaze sweeps over her standing there in that fitted blouse and the skirt that hugs every curve. That shy-girl persona isn’t doing her any favors.

She points a finger over her shoulder like last night is still hovering somewhere behind her. I almost smile.

“Last night.”

“Yeah?” I tilt my head. “What happened last night?”

Her face reddens even more, and she catches her lip between her teeth.

“If you don’t say it,” I tell her, voice low, “how will I know you mean it?”

She stays quiet for a long moment, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“I shouldn’t have been watching,” she finally whispers.

I stand up slowly. The chair rolls back. I walk around the desk without taking my eyes off her. Each step makes her breathe a little faster. By the time I stop in front of her she has to tip her head back to keep looking at me.

I reach past her and lock the door.

Her eyes go wide.

I don’t touch her. I just stand close enough that she can feel the heat of me. The candy-sweet scent of her perfume hits me straight in the chest.

I crowd her until her back hits the door. “Did you touch yourself when you got to your room?”

Her lips part. For a second I think she won’t answer. Then she gives the smallest nod.

“Did you finish?”

Another nod, tinier this time.

I lean down until my mouth is near her ear. “Do you want me to touch you right now?”

She nods again. Fast. Almost desperate.

I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Then why the hell were you apologizing?”

She doesn’t answer. Her breathing is already uneven.

I bury my face in the side of her neck and breathe her in. My mouth brushes the soft skin just under her ear. A tiny sound escapes her throat.

I’m hard, pressing against her stomach through my pants. I don’t try to hide it. I roll my hips once so she feels exactly what she’s doing to me.

I keep my mouth on her neck, slow and deliberate, never going near her lipstick. Every time I move she makes another quiet, tortured noise. Her hands fist the front of my shirt like she needs something to hold onto.

I stay right there, body pressed against hers, until the sounds she’s trying to hold back start getting harder to control. Until she’s trembling against the door.

I lift my head just enough to look at her face. Her eyes are glassy. Her lips are parted.

My hand moves to her hip. I rest it there, heavy, feeling the soft curve under my palm. I don’t go any further. I just hold her like that, thumb stroking once over the fabric of her skirt.

“You’re going to be the end of me,” I murmur against her skin.

She makes a small broken sound.

I start to slide my hand lower—

A knock hits the door right behind her head.

“Damon?” Yelena’s voice comes through the wood. “Are you busy? Lydia said you were free.”