Mistress to a Monster

“You brought me out here, I’m guessing to have some fun. Let us have some fun.” She gathered up another snowball but cried out as Damon was already there, snowball in hand, and he threw it at her.

She quickly turned, and it hit her back. Smiling, she moved fast, throwing her new ball toward him. This one hit him in the stomach.

It didn’t stop Damon as he threw his, and Milah cried out as it hit the base of her neck. Again, not hard, but the cold leaked beneath the collar of her jacket and sweater.

She didn’t have time to pick up another one before he was throwing another her way. Milah attempted to make a mad dash for it, trying to run away, but with how thick the snow was, there was no chance of escaping.

Damon also wasn’t about to let her go free so easily. He charged toward her. She tried to pick up snowballs, most of them missing their target, and when she thought she might be able to evade him. Damon wrapped his arms around her waist. Before she knew what was happening, they were on the ground. The snow buffeted her back as she landed with Damon on top of her.

Her legs were open, and he was between them. The hard ridge of his cock pressed against her core. His jeans were a little thick, but she felt him. The thickness of him as he was right next to her.

Damon was aroused. She had done that to him.

“I’ve got you,” he said.

She felt it. Licking her lips, she tried to think, but no words came. She stared up at him, hating that she could admit he was handsome. Scary as fuck. Even with him wearing a high neck sweater, she saw the ink just peeking from beneath the band.

Damon was heavily tattooed. She’d seen him in the shower. His arms, chest, back, even some on his legs. All of him was covered in some form of ink.

Biting her lip, she stared up at him. Many women would not mind being trapped between the snow and his body. They were not her.

This man was her enemy, but she refused to spoil the day by saying something rotten. “You may have me right now, but you don’t own me,” she said, showing him a smile to let him know her words were not bitter.

Damon chuckled. For a change, the sound wasn’t ugly. He closed the distance between them so that his lips were against her ear. “Are you sure about that?”

****

“Come in,” Damon said, calling toward the knock on his office door.

Ever since Milah had been in his house, he’d noticed an increase in knocking on his door. He missed the times of complete silence and peace where he could catch up with work.

Glory entered his office. Her gaze was on the floor, not daring to look up.

He’d looked into her background and learned she’d been brought from the streets. A runaway with no will to live. She hadn’t been addicted to drugs, but he’d also sensed an air of innocence around her. She might have fetched a pretty price, but sending her to the brothels had been out of the question.

“What do you have to report to me?” he asked.

For the most part, Glory’s job hadn’t been enlightening. Milah didn’t give anything away. She talked about the day. The weather. Sometimes cooking. Since he’d given her permission to use the kitchen, she rarely used it.

At the thought of the kitchen, he had a sudden desire to eat, and he glanced toward the time to see it was getting close to dinner. He was starving. Walking out in the snow was hungry work. Especially when he had such an energetic guest occupying his thoughts.

“Milah wants me to attempt to get a message to her father,” Glory said.

This was news. “What kind of message, and look at me when you’re talking. I have no desire to see your fucking head.”

She jerked her head up and he saw the fear, but he didn’t care. People were meant to fear him.

“She wants to know how long she is meant to stay here. She … wants to know the full details, and also what exactly he agreed to.”

Damon nodded. “Okay.”

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Find out why she wants to know.”