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All The Curves
Last Updated:
2025-08-26 01:58:59
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Damien's Willing Captive The Storm
Before Damien could respond, the power flickered.The overhead lights dimmed, then surged brighter, casting long, exaggerated shadows over their faces. Thunder cracked across the sky, loud enough to rattle the windows.Damien’s gaze lifted toward the floor-to-ceiling glass, brows narrowing. “Storm’s getting worse.”Ellie glanced at her phone. “It’s supposed to pass by midnight. But you know how this city gets when it rains… Everything shuts down.”“Except him,” Isabella muttered under her breath.Damien’s eyes snapped to hers, amused. “What was that?”“Nothing,” she said, picking up her fork.He leaned forward, voice dropping an octave. “You’re not afraid of storms, are you, little dove?”Isabella bristled. “Of course not.”“Good,” Ellie chimed in, pouring herself a glass of red wine. “Because this one might keep us indoors for a while.”There was something loaded in the way she said it. Something knowing.Isabella’s appetite faltered. Trapped in a mansion with Damien Voss, his siste
Damien's Willing Captive soft Hands
Damien’s POVI tossed my jacket on the marble counter and turned to her, my expression unreadable.“Come,” I said simply, motioning for her to follow me.She hesitated.“Dinner,” I added. “But first…”I didn’t wait for her answer. I turned and walked toward the room we now shared—My room. Her prison.She followed slowly, every step dragged by resistance. But she followed.Inside, the room was dimly lit, warm shadows dancing on the cream walls. I shrugged off my jacket, let it fall to the floor, then turned to her with a lazy kind of authority.“Help me change.”Her mouth fell open, eyes rounding. “Excuse me?”I didn’t blink. “Get me out of these wet clothes. I need something more comfortable.”She stifled a hiccup. A sound halfway between shock and disgust. “I’m not your maid, Mr Voss. I’m not your anything. Do I need to remind you that I was kidnapped?”That struck deeper than she probably realized.Not your anything.Not your fiancée.Not your woman.Not willing.I clenched my jaw,
Damien's Willing Captive Only Her Matters
Damien’s POV A sultry voice, dipped in pouting charm, filled the line. “Damieeeen,” Cleo crooned. “Come pick me up? It’s raining and I don’t want to get wet. Let’s go home together, hmm?” Her voice dripped with suggestion. With possession. I stared out the window at the black clouds and let the silence stretch. Then, with one slow movement, I ended the call and shoved the phone deep into my jacket pocket. She was the least of my fucking problems. All I wanted—craved—was Isabella. I wanted her curled into my side. I wanted her sleepy smile when I brought her everything she'd asked for and more. I wanted her trust. I wanted her to love me. Even if I left the doors wide open. Even if she could walk away. I wanted her to stay. We turned the corner onto my private drive. The gates opened with a slow groan, welcoming me back into my world of silence, control, and shadows. But the moment the car stopped, I saw it. A figure at the front of my door. Drenched. Lean
Damien's Willing Captive All The Curves
Damien’s POV I returned to the meeting with a blank expression, smoothing the mask back over my face like slipping into a finely tailored coat. The mayor was droning on about zoning conflicts and the new investor gala. I nodded, leaned back, and let my mind concentrate. I said all the right things. Gave a compelling breakdown of the new offshore fund, disarmed the governor’s opposition with a single raised brow, and promised the mayor the zoning permits for his “legacy project” would be delivered before the next election cycle. And yet—I wasn’t really there. A few more minutes passed before something new cut through the meeting. Perfume. Too repulsive. Too familiar. I felt her before I saw her. She sashayed in without shame, hips swaying in a rhythm only desperation could birth, platinum blonde hair cascading over bare shoulders. One of the call girls I used to keep around in my darker, lonelier hours—Sienna, I think. Or was it Star? Simone? They all blended. "Mr Vos
Damien's Willing Captive Not Missing…Taken
Damien’s POV I didn’t move. Not an inch. I stood there—shoulders stiff, hands in my pockets, every muscle strung tight beneath my tailored suit—watching the man cross the street. The flyer in his hand trembled in the breeze, but his grip didn’t waver. He was young. Too clean-cut to be anything but trouble. Eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled like he’d slept in them—and probably had. But the most dangerous thing about him wasn’t the way he looked. It was the look in his eyes. Hope. Raw. Stubborn. Stupid. “Hey!” the man called, picking up speed. “Hey—hey you!” My mouth twitched, but not into a smile. I turned—just slightly—letting the man reach me. “Hey—hey, excuse me!” the man called again, holding the flyer like a lifeline. His chest heaved with the effort of running, desperation scrawled across his face. “Have you… have you seen her?” My eyes flicked once to the photo. My pulse didn’t change, but something in my gaze darkened. The man shove
Damien's Willing Captive The Shadow Beside Him
Cleo moved fast—heels clicking against the marble floor as she raced into the elevator and slid in beside Damien before the doors could shut. “Morning, Damie,” she cooed, batting her lashes like a deranged Disney villain. “Hope you don’t mind me tagging along.” Damien didn’t answer. Not even a twitch. The silence was his rejection, his armor. But of course, Cleo was persistent. She trailed after him like a shadow to his car, slipping into the passenger seat without being invited. Buckling her seatbelt with a sharp click, she turned toward him with a saccharine smile that barely masked her irritation. “So…” she began, crossing her legs slowly. “Who is she really? That girl back there. Ariana or… whatever name she goes by. Is she someone you hired to get my attention?” Her voice was mocking, but behind it lurked something wounded. Damien didn’t glance at her. His eyes stayed locked on the road, jaw tight. “I’m not doing this with you, Cleo,” he muttered, flat and cold.
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