Page 9 of Mine to Tease

Reaching the door to Damon’s office, I push it open with so much force I nearly fall. I find him leaning back, comfortably, in his desk chair, arms crossed over his chest, not surprised to see me. Nothing but a hunk of muscle and tattoos, he wears that same devilish smirk he always does. Seeing him so calm just infuriates me more. How does he sit here like this? How has he not lost his hearing? Maybe he has and that’s why he has to play it so loud. Or, he’s just intent on driving me insane. Well, Damon, I think you just succeeded.

Noticing the large sound system anchored to the wall to my left, I grab the scissors off his desk and, in one swift motion, cut the cord. Thankfully, he’s old-school and has a wired system instead of one that runs on Bluetooth or Wi-Fi. And, with that, I take a deep breath, replace the scissors, and rejoice in the silence. Even the mental soundtrack that plagues me quietens as relief floods me.

I feel my lips draw into the biggest smile, and I break out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. I really am losing it. I bring my hand to my face to cover my mouth as I cackle. Damon’s calm expression falters for only a moment as he realizes what I’ve done. Surprise parts his lips before they lift into a tiny grin. But that one moment is everything. I’ll replay it over and over again for weeks until it ceases to be satisfying. Even as Damon stands and walks toward me, I can’t stop laughing. That is, until he bends down, wraps his arms around my legs, and throws me over his shoulder.

10

She really did that shit, didn’t she? Well, I guess I’m finally starting to see the side of her that her brother warned me about. Not going to lie, I’m a little impressed. She’s earned herself a few days of music-free mayhem until I can get the stereo fixed. The question is, how will I get her back? Perhaps if I wasn’t so innately aware of her body against mine, it would be easier to plan my revenge. But the way she moves against me as she struggles to escape, letting out screams, gasps, and groans with each attempt, only adds to the distraction that is Anastasia Cross.

As I hold her in place with one arm, her pelvis presses into my shoulder, her ass sitting just to the side of my face. Gripping her thigh with my fingers, I make a mental note to keep them stiff and in position. No caresses and no wandering. Though thoughts of what I’d like to do to her, if given the chance, don’t miss their opportunity to run wild.

After weeks of back and forth, fighting, and bickering, I know she needs a release and I’d love to give her one. I’d stroke and tease her most sensitive parts, building her orgasm and then ripping it away over and over again. I’ll have her begging me to make her cum, but I’ll only allow it if she submits to me. It’s a game, really, of fighting, teasing, begging until one of us breaks, just like the one we’ve been playing with each other for weeks now. Oh, she’d love it and hate it at the same time, too stubborn to submit to anyone. And yet, maybe I’m enjoying it a little too much, especially considering, as my charge, she’s off-limits to me. But she doesn’t know that.

As thoughts of her consume me and her natural, womanly scent floods me, I dig my fingers deeper into her thigh out of instinct. Fuck! I stifle a moan as she continues her efforts to escape me.

“Damon, put me down!” Her pussy grinds against my shoulder as she kicks and screams, trying to wriggle free. It’s no use. Her legs are so short and tiny they’re practically powerless against my grasp. Realizing this, she switches up her tactics. As we reach the stairs, she begins slamming her fists into my ass. Her touch draws my lips into a wicked grin. I know I’m not supposed to want to, but fuck, I guess arguing really is the best foreplay.

“Careful, princess. Two can play that game,” I say.

“What does that even mean?” The innocence in her voice pulls on something inside me. It’s an innocence I want to protect and destroy at the same time. But, in this moment, the Devil in me wins. I bring my free hand to her soft bottom, eliciting a sharp gasp from her.

“That’s what it means, Anastasia.” With each step I take, she gets one lick. The sound of my hand against her ass is intoxicating—a perfect snap. But the recoil, that’s another thing entirely. My hand sinks into her skin, well, her skin clothed in leggings. The only thing more perfect for her to wear today would’ve been one of those skirts I love—I mean hate. As I withdraw my touch, her ass bounces and chases after me as if begging for more. Although, perhaps that’s my own wicked desire.

“Damon, stop!” Anastasia yells, drawing me from my thoughts, and I do. I stop, both my chosen form of punishment, my lustful thoughts, and my movements, leaving her dangling over my shoulder at the top of the stairs. A sharp pang in my chest makes me question if I’ve gone too far. I normally would never touch a woman in such a way without her consent. As my mind runs wild with new thoughts, I allow my grip on her to slip as an effort to lighten the mood, both for her comfort and my sanity. She slides farther down my back, screaming. “No, no! Damon!”

“I thought you wanted me to stop?” I can practically feel the annoyance pulsating through her. She takes a deep breath, and I let out a soft chuckle. “Do you like the smell of my ass, Anastasia?”

“I said, stop, not drop me. Just…take me to my shop.” Finally, as she gives up, I do as she says.

Inside her shop, I quickly get her on her feet, doing my best to ignore the way her T-shirt rides up as she slides down my chest. I’m afraid I may have already crossed a line and not just as her protector but as her landlord who she hates and who shouldn’t feel comfortable touching her in the way I just did. I guess watching someone day in and day out can make you feel things you shouldn’t, want to do things you shouldn’t. This assignment makes me have an even greater understanding of how dangerous stalkers are.

I stifle the few crude remarks threatening to escape, waiting for her to speak first. I anticipate a verbal assault worthy of the Guinness Book of World Records. Instead, she looks me up and down and wraps her arms around herself. It’s as if she wants to hide from me, as if she’s afraid of me. She’s been a little uneasy around me ever since we met, and it doesn’t take much to notice my strength, to know what I’m capable of. But maybe now she’s afraid I’ll actually use it against her. Oh no, I really did fuck up.

“Anastasia, I’m?—”

“I’m not sorry I destroyed your sound system. You deserved it,” she says. I’m not sure how to respond, so I don’t. I can’t help but notice the unusual softness in her voice. It’s unnerving given the fiery, high-pitched squeal I’m used to. Slowly, she lowers her arms to her sides. The nervousness tightening her features seems to fade. “But, I guess, maybe I deserved that too.”

I force my lips together and shove my hands in my pockets. Still speechless, I look away from her toward the open set of French doors nearest us. I don’t want to fight with her on this. If she doesn’t feel uncomfortable or, at least, doesn’t want to admit it, then I don’t want to push her there. But she didn’t deserve it. The fact that she would think she did is concerning. The silence between us is short-lived as sounds of the city make their way in, including the one I avoid most. As a trumpet plays in the distance, I turn back to her, desperate to escape that dreaded sound and this moment. “You didn’t deserve it. I was inappropriate and I’m sorry,” I say, turning quickly to return downstairs. “It won’t happen again.”

* * *

Doing my best not to focus entirely on watching Anastasia through the security monitors in my office, I spent most of the day doing actual work for my tattoo parlor and B&B. I don’t have much time to do any tattooing while looking after Anastasia. Hell, I don’t have much time to do anything for myself. Gio even had to take Ru with him because I wasn’t home enough to give her proper care. I guess I could’ve brought her here like Anastasia brings Brinkley, but I thought that would be more problematic than anything. Nevertheless, today was a little more productive than most.

I took the liberty of manning calls and booking several appointments for my artists. B&B has also been up and running for over a month now, and in that time, we’ve actually had some interest from potential clients. I finally sorted through the basic information they provided through our website and may have one or two in mind for some of the other men of the company. But I’m not willing to do to them what Gio did to me. They’ll make their own decisions on which assignments they take. The interest is good though.

Just as I finish up my work, my phone vibrates on my desk, letting me know my friend—well, former friend—Angelo is here. We used to be close, but then he pledged allegiance to Aidan, and I haven’t spoken to him since. Though I did finally respond to his texts and asked him to come by this evening. He’s got an inside track into Aidan’s operations, and though I doubt he’ll reveal much to me, on the off chance he has information that could be helpful to my keeping Anastasia safe, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Truthfully, I just needed an excuse to not stare at her all day. Watching her is like watching a reality TV show. It’s addictive, clearly. Maybe it would be easier if she knew the truth. Then the boundaries between us would be clearer. Although, I’d have to abandon my mission of driving her away. I shake my head. No, I can’t do that. Right?

I stand, shove my phone in the pocket of my black jeans, throw on my black leather jacket, and walk from my office to the back exit. I open the door to the courtyard and spot Angelo leaning against the side of his car. We meet halfway, my black boots crunching against the gravel with each step I take. As I reach the grassy area in the center of the courtyard, a pink poop bag blows through the soft breeze. It’s empty, thankfully. But the sight of it makes me think of Anastasia and the little beast she brings down here three times a day. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to meet Angelo. Even though she doesn’t have Brinkley with her today, I still need to keep this quick in case she makes an appearance. I doubt Angelo would recognize her, but it’s best I don’t give him the chance to.

“Damon.” He greets me by extending his hand.

“Angelo.” I shake his, and then we are left in silence.

This is the first time I’ve seen Angelo in months. He looks different. Or perhaps it’s just my impression of him that’s different. His lips press into a flat line as his eyes shift to the ground between us. I remain standing tall, though I know my face wears a similar grim expression.

“It was nice to hear from you,” he says then. “I don’t really hear from anyone anymore, at least from those who didn’t?—”

“Well, what did you expect?” I ask, cutting him off. He nods.

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