Claimed by my Father's Friend

One Night Stand

Sienna's POV

The bar was dimly lit, the kind of warm, amber glow that made everyone look a little better than they did in daylight. Soft jazz played in the background, drowned out by murmured conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. My fingers circled the rim of my whiskey glass as I stared at my phone.

Me: Come out. Just one drink.

Athena: I can’t. Xavier would flip.

Me: Exactly why you should.

Athena: No, Sienna. Please.

I sighed and dropped the phone face down. Typical. Xavier had her caged again. He barely let her breathe these days. It wasn't my place to push, but damn, she deserved better.

“Rough night?” a smooth voice asked beside me.

I turned.

He was tall, dressed in a dark, tailored suit, the tie loosened just enough to suggest he didn’t take himself too seriously. His jaw was sharp, like something carved from stone. Hazel eyes with flecks of green studied me, and the slight smirk on his lips made it clear—he was used to being looked at.

“Something like that,” I replied, reaching for my glass.

He gestured to the seat beside me. “Mind if I join you?”

I hesitated for half a second. “Sure. Why not?”

He sat, his cologne faint but expensive—woodsy, masculine. Everything about him screamed confidence, but not in an arrogant way. More like... dangerous comfort.

“I’m Damien,” he offered, raising two fingers for the bartender.

“Sienna.”

“Beautiful name.” He looked me dead in the eyes. “Matches the woman.”

I laughed, letting the warmth of the alcohol pool in my stomach. “That line always work?”

“Only when the woman smiles like you do.”

“Careful,” I teased, “I might believe you.”

“Believe me,” he said, leaning in slightly. “You should.”

We talked for a while—surface-level things. Jobs, the weather, favorite drinks. He didn’t ask about a boyfriend, and I didn’t mention Athena or her possessive fiancé. There was something electric in the air between us. A quiet pull. His knee brushed mine once, then again. I didn’t move.

He looked at me like he already knew how I tasted.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

I knew what that meant. Every woman knows. There was no mistaking that look, that tone. And for once, I didn’t hesitate.

“Lead the way.”

—

His hotel room was only a few blocks away. We didn’t talk much during the walk, but I felt his hand on the small of my back, guiding me, anchoring me.

The moment the door closed behind us, I was pressed against it.

His mouth found mine, and everything else blurred.

His lips were soft but demanding, and he kissed like a man starved. One hand cradled the back of my head, the other gripped my waist, dragging me closer as if the space between us offended him. I moaned into his mouth as his tongue slid against mine, deep and slow.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Clothes came off in quick succession. My dress hit the floor, his shirt followed, then his belt clinked open. His body was lean but powerful, like he knew exactly how to use every inch of it.

When he laid me on the bed, I expected him to take me fast—but he didn’t.

He took his time.

His lips trailed from my throat down to my breasts, tongue circling my n****e slowly before sucking it into his mouth. My back arched instinctively, hands gripping his shoulders as heat exploded low in my belly.

“f**k—” I whispered, as he moved lower, kissing his way down my stomach.

He spread my thighs without a word and settled between them like he belonged there.

“Oh my god…” I gasped as his tongue met my center.

He licked me slowly, teasingly, then deeper—his mouth working in maddening circles that had me panting. His hands gripped my hips to keep me still, but I was writhing beneath him.

“I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled into me. “You will.”

And I did. I came hard, gasping his name as my body shook beneath him. He didn’t stop until I was begging him to, my thighs trembling around his face.

He kissed back up my body, his mouth tasting like me, and I kissed him deeply.

“I want you inside me,” I said, breathless.

He didn’t speak—he just aligned himself with me and pushed in slowly, watching my face the whole time.

God, he felt good. Thick. Deep. Perfect.

I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him closer, urging him deeper, harder. He obliged, his hips rolling in slow, relentless thrusts that had me clenching around him.

“Sienna,” he groaned into my neck. “You feel like f*****g heaven.”

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning punishing, and I took it all, meeting him stroke for stroke.

The headboard slammed against the wall, but neither of us cared. Sweat slicked our bodies as he drove into me over and over until we were both falling apart.

When I came again, I cried out, and he followed a few seconds later, spilling into the condom with a deep, satisfied growl.

We stayed like that for a moment—entangled, breathless, silent.

Then he rolled off and pulled me into his arms.

“Was that a mistake?” he asked softly, almost teasing.

“No,” I murmured into his chest. “Exactly what I needed.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I want to see you again.”

I looked up at him. “That so?”

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “I don’t usually do this. But there’s something about you.”

I smiled, feeling the unfamiliar flutter of something that wasn’t just desire.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was loneliness. Or maybe—just maybe—I was tired of pretending I didn’t want something real.

For now, I didn’t want to think.

I just wanted to feel.

And he was good at that.