Faking It With Damian Black Novel Novels & Stories

Damian followed soon after, burying his face in my neck as he came inside me. Afterward, he didn’t pull out right away. He stayed on top of me, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. “I’m not letting you go,” he whispered against my skin. “Not because I’m controlling. Because I care about you. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.” I closed my eyes and held him tighter. For the first time since this started, I stopped fighting the truth. I was falling for Damian Blackwood. And I was no longer sure I wanted to stop.

“Yes, I know you remember that day. The black wolf that severed the head of your beloved, elder brother Richard while you hid like a coward.” Damian leaned closer, voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “I was that black wolf. I took the one you loved… and history is about to repeat itself.” Tears slipped from Tristan’s eyes—angry, broken tears—and my heart clenched painfully. I had never seen Tristan look so shattered, so stripped of everything he believed he was. And still, Damian smiled. “Please… don’t hurt her,” Tristan struggled to force out, his voice barely more than a broken rasp. Damian only laughed—a cruel, echoing sound—before shoving him down. Tristan hit the ground hard, collapsi

he murmured, “we’ll show her what it really means to lose everything.” In the Blackwood mansion, Damian stirred in his sleep, fragments of memories breaking through the drug-induced haze. A girl’s laugh. A secret meeting. A hidden letter from his father. And somewhere in his confused mind, a truth began to take shape – one that could destroy everything Serena had built.

Inside was a dream; tall walls, open space, windows so big you could see everything yet nothing at all. The isolation of the property both excited and scared me, and the longer I walked around holding Armani’s hand, the more I began to feel a little hopeful again. My concerns over the last day felt silly — presumptuous. Though a part of my brain was still very aware that this could turn sour very quickly, I allowed myself to enjoy this simple few minutes with my fake husband and even smile, just a little bit.

Doman’s POV Dami froze beside me the instant we saw Axel and another woman. The argument between them stopped immediately. Axel’s face turned crimson, like a man caught redhanded. “What the hell is happening here?” Dami’s voice was sharp. I quietly handed her bag to her sneaky assistant, Sophia, and folded my arms. Axel didn’t answer. The woman crossed her arms with defiance. “And what does it look like? Mind your business, bitch.” Damn. She had guts. I loved a good scene, but this was Dami’s moment not mine.

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t have the strength to banter with you.” Ken shot him daggers as he walked away. Damien smiled. Even if his first love started out as a contracted wife, he still ended up making her stay and that was all that mattered. Author Note: This is the end of this beautiful book. I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it too. Thank you for the support. I am always grateful, do leave comments and reviews. Thank you, again. THE END!

It was like I keep getting to junction where I unravel a new personality of Damian at each step. More like a ghh game. I kept taking the layers off but it never seemed to end. “What do you they say happened?” “He got on the bad side of one of his victims and they targeted his brother for revenge.” “It happened back in Italy. Now that I thought of it, maybe that's why he permanently relocated here.” Was this true? How much authencity was in those papers and blog posts.. But in the a small part of my mind, a voice warned me to trust it.

Damien believed he was that way, and now, seeing Lucian doing the same to him, he understood how wrong he had been. Before Damien arrived at the Black Night Pack house territory, he had been sure his plan was foolproof and he was going to rescue Emberlynn without any form of drama. But he was surprised he had been ambushed. With all that Lucian had said, he seemed to know he was coming to his pack house. Someone was a spy in his and had told Lucian he would be arriving. Damien snarled. Both Lucian, Selene and the spy he was going to kill all three of them as soon as he stepped out of the dratted prison.

But before she could react further, a sudden voice at the door made her heart seize. “You were always too curious for your own good.” Lydia spun around—and there he stood. Damian. Backlit, his shirt undone, his expression unreadable. “I told myself you could handle this. But you couldn’t stay out of my darkness, could you?” Lydia didn’t back down. “Why did you fake her death? Who is she to you, Damian? Your first wife? A mistress? A victim?” He stepped into the room slowly, closing the door behind him.

The command is burned into me: eyes down. Polished leather shoes enter my field of vision. Black. Impeccably shined. A hand,large, steady,reaches down, tilts my chin up with two fingers. I raise my eyes. Damian Blackwood stands over me. Tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled to mid-forearm. No tie. Top two buttons open. On the other hand: my phone. Screen lit. Our chat thread is visible. My world tilts. He looks down at me,lace-clad, plugged, kneeling,and his mouth curves into the smallest, most dangerous smile I’ve ever seen.