Damien Pip Novels & Stories

“That’s the codename they gave you?” “It’s not a codename,” he grumbles sheepishly. “That’s what I am.” “You’re not making any sense.” He shakes his head. “I’ve already said too much.” “Just tell me your name. I can’t very well call out for the Bastard every time I need something. That’s just plain rude.” The man regards me carefully. He doesn’t have the same ferocity as the rest of them. He isn’t as abrasive as the Boss, as cold as One-Eye, as hot-headed as Fists, or as sly as the Closer. The best chance I have of surviving this situation is building a rapport with one of my captors, and I’m pretty sure the Bastard is my best bet. “Damien,” he answers finally. “My name is Damien.”

Me: (sent him all the pictures and videos of me on his clothes). Damien: I need sunglasses! You are glowing too much, my eyes might hurt. Me: You like them? Damien: Babe😍 you are hot🔥. Is that you shaking my butt? Me: 😂,I was playing around. Damien: I will like to see you shake them tonight. Me: I will think about it. Damien: I will help you think fast. Is that my Nike? Me: It is mine now! Damien: Silly! You look great in it.

“No, Celeste. You’ve barely scratched the surface and you think you can handle it ? He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he wanted to scream but he was too tired to do it. Then his eyes met hers again. Her heart pounded. He didn’t say a word, but something passed between them which was a silent battle—his instinct to protect her and her need to know the truth. He looked at the diary in her hands, then at the page with the circled name. “V.” She pointed. “Who is that?” Damien didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked to the window. The moonlight lit up his profile. He looked… haunted. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “V isn’t a person. Not anymore.” Her breath c

Most of it I ignored. Until I reached cell 47. He was already standing at the bars waiting for me. Damien Voss. Thirty-two. Six-foot-four, built like a fucking tank — thick muscle, arms covered in prison tattoos, chest broad enough to block the whole cell door. Shaved head, cold gray eyes, and a scar running from his left eyebrow down to his jaw. He had been inside for life on multiple murders. Everyone called him “The Beast.” He smiled slow when I stopped in front of his cell. It was not a friendly smile.

Definitely not true. Leo leaned toward me, whispering loudly, “We just need Papa now… I hope he comes.” I gave him a small smile, secretly hoping he wouldn’t. And then— The entire room stilled. The air shifted before I even heard footsteps. I turned and froze. Damien entered like a shadow swallowing light. Tall. Broad-shouldered. The black turtleneck clung to him, accentuating the hard lines of his chest and shoulders. His dark hair was swept back cleanly, revealing the sharp cut of his jaw. And his eyes—cold, dark, unreadable—skimmed the room with quiet dominance.

Reiner stepped back and bowed respectfully. "Boss." Crain strained his neck to look at the newcomer. Despite his battered state, he could tell from the way the guards treated him that this man was incredibly powerful. Damien walked over and squatted down in front of Crain, looking him dead in the eye with a calm, dangerous gaze. "And who the hell are you?" Crain demanded, his voice shaking. Damien looked right back at him with an icy stare. "I'm not a public figure, so you probably haven't heard of me. I'm Damien Blackwood. But some people call me the Living Yama."

That same calm confidence, God, it was unnerving. Ryan stepped forward again, closing the space between us. “I asked you a question,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. He moved slightly in front of me, a clear Alpha gesture. “Who are you?” People had started whispering. I could feel eyes on us from every direction. Great. Just fucking great. The last thing I needed was a scene. But Damien didn’t even flinch. His gaze finally shifted to Ryan, slow and steady. “My name is Damien,” he said casually. “I’m a friend of Mikaela’s… from Silvermoon.”

* But the universe had other plans. During the morning strategy meeting, a new face sat across the table. **Damien Black** — the sharp, ridiculously handsome VP from their London branch who’d just transferred over. Tall, lean-muscled, with tousled dark hair, piercing green eyes, and a charming smile that screamed “trouble.” He was younger than Rhys, maybe thirty-two, and carried himself with effortless confidence. His eyes kept drifting to Lila throughout the meeting. When it ended, he approached her desk with a smooth grin.

My asshole still burned from the brutal pounding he’d given it, my throat raw from choking on his cock, and my cunt throbbed with the constant reminder that he had used me like a worthless set of fuckholes all night. Damien loomed over me, his powerful 6'4" frame glistening with sweat, silver-streaked hair messy, dark bourbon eyes blazing with unquenched obsession. His heavy cock—still semi-hard and slick with our filth—rested against my swollen pussy lips as he read Sophia’s latest text aloud in a mocking tone.

Piper explained. Upon realizing that her relationship with Damien had not been exposed, Jane breathed a sigh of relief. "And then?" she prompted. "Who wouldn't listen to Damien? Those fans of Ciara don't even dare to let out a peep now. I may not be a fan of anyone else, but I definitely idolize Damien," Piper gushed. Jane chuckled, "I bet Damien won't be too happy to hear that." "What's the big deal? A handsome and rich guy like Damien Wolfe is every woman's dream man, right? Frankly speaking, don't you feel enticed when you lay your eyes on him?"