ONLY MINE TO SATISFY.

ANASTASIA.

He pumps them in me, and I’m clenching him—us—in a choke-like hold.

“Fuck. Do you feel how your tight pussy is strangling me?”

“Yeah…”

He groans deep in his throat, and it does things to me, things like making me tighten around him harder, swallowing him deeper.

And I can’t help moaning. I don’t have the space of mind to control it or the rest of the sounds that come out of me.

I’m a mess of chaotic emotions and sensations, and there’s no way I can mute myself anymore.

“Is it because it feels full?”

“Yeah, full and good and…and…I’m…”

“And you’re what?” He pumps harder, faster, pressing the heel of my palm against my clit.

The sureness in his movements, the pure dominance of it, drags me under in one swift movement.

“I’m coming!”

I clench around him the hardest yet as that wave crashes into me. The orgasm is neither gentle nor soft. It’s callous and demanding, just like him. My legs shake over his shoulders, and my head is a fog of mixed emotions—emotions I can’t get hold of, so I let them swirl around me like a halo.

Or maybe I’m the one in the halo, floating in a dreamless land where everything feels so good.

After what seems like forever, I’m brought back to the present, suddenly and without warning, when he removes the fingers from inside me—his and mine.

And I grab onto him, not wanting to let him or this feeling go.

What if this is a dream and I’ll never feel this way again? What if I wake up and never find my way back?

But his next words erase any misconception I had about how real this is.

“From now on, if you have any sexual urges, I’ll be the only one who satisfies them.”

DAMIEN.

A mistake.

That’s what it should be.

Every second from the moment she walked inside and I lost my fucking cool to when she detonated in my hold as if she’d waited her entire life for me to come along.

As if she’s been saving up for me, for the moment, she’d explode all around me, strangle my fingers, and refuse to let them go.

And it all started when I saw her hopping off the kid’s motorcycle. Her lips were red, and the wind blew her hair, and she was smiling. Wide.

I should’ve looked the other way and kept my distance, as usual—that’s what I’ve done ever since I moved in. I make sure she has everything she needs from afar.

Like her stock of vanilla ice cream, her milkshakes—vanilla again—and her favorite fruit, bananas, just because there isn’t a version of vanilla fruit.

Martha has specific orders to let me know when those things run out, so one of us can take care of getting more.

It’s all because of Xavier, I told myself. If it were him, he would’ve made sure she had her comfort food if she was feeling down.

In my head, I used that excuse again when I stood there in the middle of the fucking darkness and watched her knee-length skirt barely covering her ass because she was on a not-some-normal bike, clinging to the kid.

The safe, boring kid that she said she didn’t fucking want, but was with him anyway.

Then he had his hands on her, touching her hair, pulling her to him, and hugging her. And I was about to go out there, using Xavier as an excuse again, since I know for a fact that he hates it when she rides on a motorcycle. He was bent on removing anything dangerous from her life.

But fuck that, it wasn’t because of Xavier.

It was because of me.

A grown man thought about beating up a kid. It was as bad as that, and I had to take a moment to not act out on the thought.

And that’s when she came inside. Everything after that was a chain of events. As illogical as they were, they just came together naturally.

I’ve never liked anything as illogical as when she was moaning the house down because her tight pussy could barely take in my fingers. The thought of my dick inside that narrow opening has been plaguing me since I left her room as she watched me with those droopy chameleon eyes that were mostly green.

That’s how they look when she’s aroused. When she’s talking about fingers and being full and fucking urges.

Sexual. Plural.

And now I’m having urges myself, but they’re not sexual. They’re violent, like when I saw her climbing off the bastard’s bike.

Because she’s with him right now.

The reason she left early this morning, without having breakfast, is that she was eager to get to the firm and meet with him.

He somehow got an internship. Somehow, as in, I didn’t even know he was applying at L&K. Though I should’ve seen it coming and offered him from the beginning.

Ezekiel is his name. And no, I don’t make it my mission to know the name of every intern, but I needed to get Ezekiel’s file.

And yes, I might’ve wanted to find a loophole to kick him out of the program.

I study the files HR sent me while I stare at the intern area from my position around the corner.

Anastasia and the not-so-normal bike kid are sitting together, bumping shoulders and laughing with one another.

I glare at the associate attorney who’s supposed to scold them for slacking off. Or Christian—who took Ezekiel in, no surprise there—to tell his intern to get back to work.

Neither of those happened, obviously.

I stare back at Ezekiel’s file, and my jaw tightens with each piece of information I read. Grades, interview questions, and attendance are ticked high. Extremely promising is the note HR left about him.

Maybe I can send him to another branch and get rid of him, once and for all.

My conspiracies are put on a halt when my phone vibrates with a call, blocking my view of the email, and Mrs. Luca flashes on the screen.

That’s how Liam and I refer to Mom behind her back. She’s the last person I want to talk to right now.

Or ever.

As soon as I hit Ignore, she sends a text.

Mrs. Luca: Did you just ignore me, Damien?

Obviously.

Mrs. Luca: You can play hard to get all you want, but I heard something alarming, and I need confirmation before I break all hell loose. Call me back immediately.”