All Chapters of Revenge With My Brother’s Best Friend : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

~Cindy’s POV~I found myself standing in the hallway of the Skyview Hotel, my stomach twisted in knots. Why the hell was I here? I couldn’t even explain it to myself. All I knew was that after that disastrous breakfast with Damian and the Callahans, and then the stupidly thoughtful gesture of sending his driver, Martin, to deliver the entire buffet to my place, I couldn’t shake the guilt. He left his work, dropped everything, just to show up for me. Inconvenienced himself enough to sleep on a couch. And how did I thank him? By running my mouth and throwing every mean thing I could think of right in his face. Ungrateful brat, table for one. By noon I couldn’t take the heaviness in my chest anymore. I called Ric, told him to find Damian’s location before I lost my nerve. Ric didn’t disappoint. A few minutes later my phone buzzed with his text: Room 174, Skyview Hotel, Panel Road. Took me way too much small talk to get this out of Elis. Love, R. And that’s how I end

~Cindy’s POV~ My brain short-circuited. I jolted, sucking in a sharp breath that tasted like chlorine and trouble. My back arched, chasing his touch shamelessly, but he quickly pulled away, a taunting smirk gracing his face. My cheeks burned. I had never felt so disappointed. “See that?” His voice was low, husky, the kind of tone that seeps under your skin and curls deep in your belly. “You’re so damn eager to be fucked. You’re dripping and not just from the pool.” Heat roared through my chest and cheeks. “You’re disgusting,” I spat, though the tremor in my voice gave me away. He chuckled, slow and knowing. “No, sweetheart. I’m observant.” My dress, now plastered to my body, clung in all the wrong places—or maybe all the right ones if you were Damian fucking Thorne. The thin fabric had gone transparent, and the bright sunlight cutting across the water left nothing to the imagination. My bra-less boobs were a ghostly outline and my panties an open secret beneath the rippling

~Cindy’s POV~ His fingers toyed with the edge of my dress, dragging the soaked fabric higher in lazy increments as if time itself bent for him. My breath felt too loud in my own ears. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” I said, my voice thinner than I liked. “Correction,” Damian murmured, his eyes fixed on mine. “I’m winning a dangerous game.” The hem reached the very top of my thighs. Beneath, my panties—thin lace in a shade I now regretted— clung like they’d been painted on. The heat in his gaze told me he saw every detail. My pulse slammed against my throat. “Stop.” He tilted his head, a wolf amused by its prey. “You’re saying ‘stop,’ but you’re not moving away. You’re still here, dripping, flushed, breathing like you’re dying to be fucked.” “You’re—” “Right?” His smirk deepened, the kind that made my stomach tighten and my legs ache in ways I didn’t want to name. “Say it. Say I’m right.” I swallowed. “I hate you.” “And yet you’re still here.” His hand

~Cindy’s POV~ Lily Café & Bookstore sat on the corner of Westfield Avenue, its carved wooden sign with my grandmother’s name swaying gently above the door, the paint chipped but proud. She’d opened it decades ago, convinced a city needed two things: good coffee and good books. I pushed open the door, the bell above jingling sharply as I stepped inside. The nutty aroma of espresso and the buttery scent of fresh pastries wrapped around me like a warm shawl. One wall brimmed with shelves of novels, their spines worn from years of loving hands. The other held small tables and mismatched chairs, each glowing under soft yellow lamps that cast pools of light on the scuffed hardwood floor. A mental note sparked in my mind: the walls needed repainting, maybe a warm cream to brighten the place. Probably a full renovation soon. My eyes swept lazily across the room and landed on her—Victoria Grover, terrorizing two teenage baristas like a drill sergeant in ripped jeans. Vicky, my ri

~Damian’s POV~ Two days. Forty-eight goddamn hours of her stuck in my head like a bad song on repeat. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about that evening. How those blue eyes glazed when I had her pinned against the glass, how she moaned my name like it was a fucking prayer. “Damian, please…” Fuck, the way she begged, the way her body arched into my touch, slick and trembling. Hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty. Models in Milan, actresses in LA, but none of them left me like this, replaying every gasp, every shiver. I didn’t call, didn’t show up at her door. Figured space would cool it off. Bullshit. She’s there every time I close my eyes, every time I hit the shower, every damn minute. Obsessed? Yeah, that’s the word. And I hate it, but I crave it more. This evening, I tried, swear to God I tried, to keep my ass away from her. But two days of Cindy burning up my brain? Yeah, I caved like a cheap suit. Couldn’t fucking take it anymore. Snatched my pho