Mistress to a Monster

“After I took that cherry, Milah, and felt your precious innocence break on my cock, I would’ve fucked you, hard, and show you how a real man took what he wanted to. I would have you screaming for the rooftops. Not a moment would go by when you weren’t begging for my dick.”

She wanted to refute him, but the truth was that she’d wanted that too. What had happened to her?

De Luca was her enemy.

She needed to start chanting it, but as he held her closer, one of his hands moved from her ass to settle between them. His palm was flat against her stomach. She tried to jerk out of his hold, but he wouldn’t let her.

Then, right on the dance floor—she didn’t know if he discreetly did it, or he simply didn’t care because this was her father’s nightclub—his hand was between her thighs. The dress she’d worn had been like a second skin, but she refused to forgo the panties. Damon simply nudged them to one side as if they were nothing more than a pest. Then his palm was flat against her pussy. The tips of his fingers teased around her entrance, making her tense and gasp at the same time.

Damon moved the hand at her ass to the back of her neck once again, and this time, he slammed his lips down on hers, kissing her as he rubbed at her clit with his palm. Those fingers were so close to her entrance, but he didn’t once penetrate her.

Milah didn’t know if she could survive his touches, not on the dance floor. Not anywhere, but as he fingered her pussy, she didn’t know if she was ever going to be able to survive. Then, without her even suspecting it, he shoved her right over the edge, the pleasure instantaneous.

He swallowed her pleasured moans and accepted her sinking fingers in his hair. There was nothing more he could do.

They were surrounded by people, and once again, Milah realized that her body, at that very moment, was not her own. She belonged to Damon. No one else.

He held her still, drawing every single last pleasure out of her body before withdrawing. Damon kept a firm grip on her though. If he hadn’t, she’d have fallen easily. Her legs felt like jelly.

“I think it’s time to take you back to the hotel room.” He pressed another quick kiss to her neck, and she gasped, arching up, wanting his touch.

Damon moved her in front of him, walking her across the dance floor, toward the exit, but she came to a stop when she caught sight of her father. He stood at the edge, looking at her with disgust.

How dare he look at her like that?

What the fuck did he want?

She’d never loved her father. Milah realized it at that very moment. He had sent men to kill innocent people in Damon’s territory. He was a snake. A filthy, slimy snake, and now she knew why her mother made her train so damn hard. It wasn’t because of the potential men she’d encounter, it was because of her father.

This man, he was her enemy.

Then what did that make De Luca?

****

Damon hadn’t intended to make Milah orgasm on the dancefloor of her father’s nightclub. That hadn’t been part of his plan.

Rubbing it in Russo’s face that he owned Milah, that had been part of the plan. Showing the old bastard that he didn’t have any real power over them, that was what he wanted to show him. Milah, in that tight dress, and looking so … angry at him, he couldn’t resist.

The woman back at the house had been so ready for his cock. He had no doubt if they hadn’t been disturbed, he’d already be the proud owner of bloodied sheets and the captain of her virginity.

Milah was so innocent.

She could be the perfect woman for him. Begging for his love and attention. Only granting it when he felt she deserved it.

Milah Russo could be at his beck and call. Even as the temptation was strong, he refused to give in to it. This was not the time to give in to petty fantasies. He already had an important job for Milah, and he wasn’t going to stray from that path, not for anyone.

Seeing her father waiting for them on the edge of the dance floor had helped to bring him back into focus.

No one was going to take the true pleasure away from him. Wiping out Russo, raising a son to one day fight by his side.

“Russo,” he said, as they were shown toward the main office.

Damon had already figured out the best exits and clocked all of Russo’s men. To his surprise, there were not that many. Only three men were close to Russo, which must mean his sources were, in fact, correct.

He was losing the fight to keep his soldiers intact. Some of them had tried to come to his side, but he’d pushed them away. No way in hell was he going to accept them.

Milah sat in her father’s office, her hands clasped together, not even looking at the man she called a parent. Antonio didn’t look at her, which seemed to piss Damon off.

He didn’t understand the family dynamic between the two of them. Even though his own father had been the head of the house, Damon still missed him and would have traded anything to have more time with the old bastard. He loved him that much. The same went for his mother as well.

The Russos were nothing but strangers.

“Don’t you think your daughter looks beautiful?” Damon asked.

“She looks like a slut,” Antonio said.

Those hands clenched. He saw the distinctive whitening of her knuckles.

“Be careful, Russo,” Damon said, standing up. “Do you want a repeat of last time? I don’t believe you have anything else to bargain with. I already own your daughter.”

“And you’re not going to marry her?” Russo asked.

Damon chuckled. “That wasn’t part of the deal, remember?” This was a good time to let Milah see exactly what her father was made of.

He rounded the chairs and put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed up at his touch but still didn’t look at her father.

“Should I tell her exactly what you bargained for? What you were willing to allow your daughter to become, just so you could live your sorry excuse for a life?” He leaned in close to Milah’s ear. His breath fanned across her flesh.

Milah was aroused by him. He had some semblance of power over her. It was only minimal, but it was there, and he intended to exploit it from every possible angle he could.

Even if it meant her nipples showed her attraction to him, or the subtle way she tried to press her thighs together.

When he wasn’t in Milah’s company, he spent a great deal of time watching her. The art of winning was to know what his opponent’s next move was and to read them. He’d been reading Milah, and she was a fascinating book. One he enjoyed immensely.

“I don’t think you know exactly what your father was willing to have you do, Milah.”

“Enough,” Russo said.