Damien Soft Mga Nobela at Kwento

Damien is sitting in his room with a book open on his lap. He’s not reading it but rather gazing at a picture of two people in their teens, smiling for a selfie. The boy is Damien himself as a sixteen year old. The other one is a girl who’s slightly younger than him. She has curly dark hair and a sweet smile. Her black eyes are almost sparkling and the two teens seem to be very close. The picture was taken in a hospital and both of them were in their patient garbs.

Sh⁠e had washed her fac⁠e‌ in t‌he bras⁠s sink, scrubbing until the s​ki​n around her c⁠heek‍bo​n⁠es was pink and r‌aw, but her mind still fe⁠lt l⁠ik⁠e it w‌as tracking the⁠ red water​falls of t‍h‌e tra​ding monitors. A heavy han⁠d​ settl⁠ed on the back⁠ of her nec‌k. Damien‍ had co‌me up behind her without making a sound‍, his bare feet b‍uried in the deep‌ wool of the ru‌g‍. He h​ad cha⁠nged‌ int⁠o‌ a pair of w‌orn, bla​ck c​ot​to‍n lounge pan​ts, his ch‍est bare and marked with‌ the silver li‍nes of old knife scars from his years on t⁠he Rotterdam docks. His s⁠kin was w‌a​rm⁠—hot, e‍ven—a⁠gainst the chill o‍f her should⁠er‌s⁠. He pul​led her back a⁠gain⁠st h‌is chest, his large arms w‍ra

His voice was low, rough, like gravel under boots. I closed the greenhouse door behind me and locked it. “Shut up.” Damien set down his tools and straightened to his full height. God, he was big. Broad shoulders, powerful chest dusted with dark hair, abs glistening with sweat that trailed down into the waistband of his low-slung work jeans. Dirt streaked his forearms and chest. He looked like sin itself. I crossed the space between us in three strides and shoved him back against the wooden workbench. “You think you can just fuck me behind a shed and walk away like nothing happened?”

“It’s alright. I’ll grow on her. You’ll see when you get back from your honeymoon.” “Please be a rose and not a fungus among us.” “Okay, you’re sleeping on the sofa. No, the floor. Yes, the floor. Fungus among us. Neil! What are you, twelve?” “Okay, I’ll let you deal with that Fun Gal issue. I appear to have my own.” Damien said to Neil. He half joked with his friend and realized for the first time; he meant it. Damien had similar issues. He must dress to see if April is safe. Or if she needs saving right now.

someone muttered, just loud enough to be heard. Mr Chris, clearly more shaken than his boss, hurried over the moment he spotted him. “It’s everywhere, sir,” he whispered nervously. "Yes," Damien nodded, walking past him, clearly unbothered. “Should I call the tech guys to take everything down, wipe it off the net?” Chris asked, trailing after him, nearly jogging to keep up. “No,” Damien said coolly. “Don’t worry about it. Let it stay everywhere. I’m not ashamed of it.” He pushed open the door to his office.

Damien cleared his throat, scanning the room with a grin that was equal parts charming and terrifying. “Good evening, everyone. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Damien. The younger, better-looking, significantly more fun Grayson brother.” More laughter. I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t stop him. “I’ve known Alexander my whole life,” Damien continued, pacing the stage. “And for most of that life, I assumed he was a robot built by our father to destroy the stock market. He didn’t smile. He didn’t sleep. He once fired me from an internship because I brought him the wrong kind of sparkling water. It was ‘too effervescent,’ apparently.”

This is your fault. Me: Good. Suffer. Damien: Come to my office during lunch. I need to see you. Me: We just spent 16 hours straight together. Damien: And? I said I need to SEE you. I know what "see" means in Damien-speak. It means touch. Taste. Fuck. Me: I can't keep sneaking away for office sex. People will notice. Damien: Let them notice. Let them know you're mine. Me: Damien...

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