Damon Prison World Pancakes Novels & Stories

I couldn’t remember the last time I had pancakes as good as the ones I was eating. “Hey, stranger. I’m curious. Where did you get these from?” I asked. He didn’t answer and I raised my head, only to see him staring past me, his eyes wide with fear. I didn’t know what or who he saw, so I turned. My heart nearly stopped at the sight of Daemon. I tried to tell myself that there was nothing I needed to worry about, but my heart was still beating so incredibly fast. “Oh, look everyone. The whore is finally here.” Daemon said at the top of his voice.

BEVERLY The remaining bite of my pancake suddenly tasted a lot like victory. I chewed slowly, my eyes locked on Damian as he finished the last of his coffee. The man drank it black, obviously. No sugar, no cream, just pure, bitter energy to fuel whatever dark empire he ran when he wasn’t busy lurking in the shadows of this mansion. He set the porcelain cup down with a soft, authoritative click that seemed to punctuate the end of our conversation. The rigid, unyielding armor he wore so effortlessly was back in place. The tiny, almost-invisible twitch of his lips from a few moments ago was gone, buried beneath a layer of ice so thick you’d need a blowtorch to get through it.

"I've built this perfect life—success, independence, stability. And it's completely empty. I go through my days like I'm watching myself from outside my body. And then I saw you and suddenly I was back inside myself, feeling everything, and it was terrifying and awful and I didn't want it to stop." "That's not healthy," Damien observes, but there's no judgment in it. "I know. Dr. Chen would have a field day with this entire situation." "Dr. Morrison too." He pours batter onto a hot griddle. "We're probably both making a terrible mistake right now." "Probably." "But you're still here." "Still here." The pancakes are perfect—fluffy and golden, served with real maple syrup he says he gets shipp

Although I know that Dorian loves my sister more than himself, I still hated him a little bit for taking her away from me. I shake off the memories and hurriedly get to work. Even though only a few pack members reside here they are mostly male warriors and have very large appetites. I carefully make a variety of eggs, from scrambled with cheese to poached. Ham, bacon and sausage are also prepared, and then I start on the pancakes.

When she emerged from her room fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed in comfortable jeans and one of the soft cashmere sweaters Jennifer had insisted she needed, she followed the smell of coffee and something burning to the penthouse's massive kitchen. Damian stood at the stove, hair adorably disheveled, wearing jeans and a t-shirt she'd never seen him in before. He looked nothing like the intimidating CEO - just a man trying and failing to make breakfast. "Fair warning," he said without turning around, "I may have severely overestimated my cooking abilities." Claire moved to his side and peered at the pan. The pancakes were... unique. Lumpy, unevenly cooked, vaguely pancake-shaped at

I gasps at the sight of a man appearing from the balcony, “Jesus—“ My eyes widen at the figure, seeing Damon standing in front of me feels surreal. I was kidnapped and I was molested but somehow I survived. I immediately push my body away from him, increasing the space between us as I grip hard onto the sheets of his California king bed. “Alice . . . it’s okay.” “No, get the fuck away from me. You—you, lying bastard.” “Wait, this is a misunderstanding.” He replies, bringing his hands up as a white flag.

"The plan is simple. You’ll be following one of us out each day. We’ll rotate your... supervision... until we find a legal loophole large enough to drag you through and get rid of you." "Okay," I said, walking toward the kitchen island. I wasn't going to fight them on an empty stomach. The smell of freshly made pancakes was the only thing keeping me upright. "Luce, there is no way in hell she’s going with me today," Damon interjected. I looked over at him. He was standing by the espresso machine, completely shirtless. The morning light caught every ripple of muscle and every inch of the dark, intricate ink that spiraled down his arms. He was making coffee with a bored expression, ignoring th

Raven sat at the end of the table, she looked at the head of the table and there he was the man from last night. That's when Raven realized that all the staff had put on make-up and perfume to impress him and their hair was nicely done. Yet she Raven on the other hand was dirty from the ingredients and cooking. She was sweating and her hair was in a messy ponytail. She snapped out of it and waited for the dinner to begin, she was proud of the food that she had made. "Evening, as some of you know and some of you don't, my name is Damien. I'm twenty-seven years old and I am the owner of this place."

The sizzle of the batter hitting the hot pan was a comforting sound, a temporary distraction from the chaos swirling outside our little haven. As I flipped the pancakes, a knock on the door startled me. Cautiously, I approached the door, peering through the peephole. Relief flooded me as I saw the familiar face of Damien, the head of my security detail.

Damien pushed open the heavy door to the prison’s VIP waiting room. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale coffee. His sharp suit looked almost out of place against the dull gray walls. “Hi, brother,” Damien said, forcing a calm smile as he walked in. “How have you been faring?” Daniel looked up from where he sat, his wrists chained together, the cuffs rattling slightly. “Could’ve been better. But tell me, why didn’t we just use the regular call booth like the others?”