MasukThe next few days became a really slow kind of torture, because Mr. Blackwood always kept finding reasons to keep me close to him. He asked me to bring him tea in his study, and even to help him choose which tie to wear for meetings, even to organize his wardrobe while he watched from the doorway; every single interaction felt filled with unspoken tension. His eyes would linger on my body a little longer than necessary, and his hand would brush against mine when I handed him something. Once, when I was dusting the shelves in his bedroom, he stood so close behind me that I could feel the heat radiating from his body against my back. I was constantly wet, and I couldn't just stop the slickness between my thighs whenever I saw him. Almost every night I would lie in my small bed touching myself, imagining it was his hands instead of mine. I always felt guilty and ashamed⦠but I couldnāt stop. The more he teased me with his presence every day, the more I craved him. Presently, I was tu
The next few days passed in a strange kind of haze, and I rarely saw Damien. But anytime I saw him I couldn't ignore the ache I felt in between my legs. I tried my best to focus on my work. I cleaned the marble floors until they shone, I even dusted every single surface in the grand library, I also polished the silverware until I could see my reflection in the spoons, and made sure Mr. Blackwoodās study was always perfect. But no matter how hard I tried to keep my mind focused on my duties, my thoughts kept drifting back to himāDamien Blackwood. Every time he walked into a room, the air seemed to be filled with not just his cologne but his presence. He always moved with such alluring confidence, and his tall frame and broad frame were always filling the space in the room, and his deep voice was always giving short, precise instructions. He barely looked at me most of the time, but when he did, his gray eyes would linger just a second longer than necessary, and it made my stomach f
I stood nervously at the grand entrance of Blackwood Manor, clutching my small suitcase tightly with both hands. The mansion was even more intimidating in person than it had looked in the photos. It had tall stone walls, perfectly manicured gardens, and floor to ceiling windows, which could give a perfect view of the city. At nineteen, I had never worked in a place like this before. I had spent most of my life in our small village, helping my mother with chores and learning how to be a proper, modest girl. But now I was here as the new live-in maid.Mr. Damien Blackwood, was the owner of the estate, he was a very wealthy and powerful man. Everyone in the village spoke about him with a mixture of respect and fear. They said he was cold, demanding, and extremely handsome. When the agency told me I had been selected for the position, my mother had been both proud and worried.āBe a good girl, Elara,ā she had warned me before I left. āKeep your head down, do your work, and stay pure. Men
Weeks later, 9:00 PM. I stepped out of the cab, my body aching in a way that had nothing to do with emotionsājust work. Client after client, satisfying them. I stretched my neck slightly, exhaling as I walked toward my apartment. āGod⦠Iām exhausted,ā I muttered, digging into my bag for my keys. Still⦠I wasnāt complaining, because it pays well. Thatās what mattered. I was just about to unlock my door when I heard someone call me. āHey, Aria.ā I froze for a second, then I turned. It was Charles, standing a few steps behind me. I blinked, surprised. āHeyā¦ā He rubbed the back of his neck slightly, like he wasnāt sure how to say what he wanted. āUm⦠I was thinkingā¦ā he started, then paused. āWould you maybe want to have dinner with me? I cooked. And⦠Iād like someone to taste it.ā I raised a brow slightly. Someone? Like Iām the only neighbor here. I almost laughed, but instead, I smiled. āOh, really?ā āYeah.ā There was something almost⦠genuine in the way he said it. āAlright,ā
I stood by my window, watching him again. It was becoming a habit. My new neighbor. Tall, calm, and effortlessly attractive in a way that didnāt even seem fair. He was the kind of man who didnāt try, because he didnāt need to. āOh my Godā¦ā I muttered under my breath, resting my forehead lightly against the glass. āHe is so damn hot.ā My fingers traced absent patterns along my arm, my gaze locked on him like I didnāt have the ability to look away. āI canāt wait to have him,ā I whispered, almost to myself. The thought alone sent a slow, dangerous warmth through me. Then my phone rang. I exhaled sharply, annoyed at the interruption, before picking it up. āHello?ā āHello, beautiful,ā a deep voice answered immediately. I rolled my eyes slightly. āHi⦠whoās this?ā āWow. You forgot me already?ā I paused, trying to place it. āRemember the guy you took to paradise last night?ā That didnāt narrow it down. There were⦠a few. āUmā¦ā I hesitated. āFrederick?ā āNope. Duncan.ā āOh⦠Dunca
Three days passed after that morning with Lucian, and I thought I was losing my mind.I kept waiting for him to appear out of nowhere again, like last time, but he didnāt. The silence from him only made the ache I felt for him worse, till the point I began touching myself. Every night I lay in bed touching myself, whispering his name, hoping he would hear me. But he stayed away, as if he wanted me to feel exactly how empty I was without him.Then yesterday my mother came home from visiting relatives. She was in a good mood, humming while she cooked and asking me endless questions about how I had been while she was gone. I smiled and answered as normally as I could, but every time she turned her back, my mind drifted to Lucian and to the way he had felt moving inside me, and the way he had whispered filthy things in my ear.It was night and I was still waiting for him. My mother had gone to bed early. Meanwhile I was lying in my room, staring at the ceiling, when the air suddenly grew







