𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐦

[12] ʜᴜʀᴛ

"Fuck"

I can still smell the traces of his scent in the bed sheets and on me.

I'm so caught up in my mistakes that I almost trip down over my dress, even with the slit down the side, whilst heading over to the penthouse's elevator.

Damien told me he was going downstairs after he showered and changed in the other room. The way he looked at me as if we hadn't done anything actually baffles me.

The doors close and the only thing for me to do is to stare back at my reflection in the glass.

It has only been a couple minutes in the elevator so far, with the next floor being the last stop.

My phone vibrates and I bring it out, peeking at the top of the screen. I read Damien's name with a ring emoji next to it.

What?

I don't know since when he had his number in my phone but a tugging at my gut tells me not to answer it.

Three rings later, I pick up the call to a grumpy Damien.

"Where the fuck are you?"

His voice manages to penetrate through my skin even with all the borders I've put up. The doors open and I see him as he stands near the receptionist's counter.

His black suit tightly hugs his body, two buttons open, exposing a fragment of his tattooed skin but not exposed enough for me to see what it is. One of his hands lay comfortably in his trouser pockets, a Rolex sitting on his wrist. The other has his phone pressed against his ear.

"Lilah."

Even though it's a completely different name, it still does the job of snapping me out of my trance.

"Turn around," I let out.

I have no idea how I'm out of breath but a familiar warmth between my legs appears when he does what I tell him.

I put on my best facade and walk out, avoiding eye contact and staring straight ahead of me which causes his brow to furrow but he quickly hides it.

"Where are we going?"

"To the family house."

"So, home?"

He turns to scold me and I huff as he opens the door for me to pass through, following closely behind.

Now that I'm married to one of the most dangerous mafias in the world, I don't know what to expect. Anything could happen, from being killed to seeing someone being killed.

The car out front has the driver and passenger doors open waiting for us to enter. Damien puts his large hand at the small of my back and I arch as he guides me down the path, slowly easing into his warmth.
This isn't what I was expecting and I'm not sure if I can handle his touch on mine again.

Damien gets into the car and I swiftly follow, grabbing two fistfuls of my dress and taking it with me as I enter, the chauffeur closing the door for me with a nod.

"We're going to pick up my sister,"

I would say something if it weren't for the facade I'm trying to put on. I sit facing the window whilst biting my lip.

"Fix your attitude. I don't take it well,"

"Fuck you." I grit out, still facing the window, "Is that better?"

"I'm going to warn you again, watch how you speak to me."

I bite down hard on my lip to stop any words from falling out, feeling the metallic taste of blood drool down my lip. I don't dare to move though, afraid of holding anymore conversations with Damien.