Chapter 1: Our First Meeting
SOFIA
The SUV smelled like leather and grief. I sat in the back with my knees pressed so tight together I could feel my own pulse throbbing between my thighs.
Mom kept her hand on my leg the whole drive, like she thought physical touch could stop me from exploding. It couldn’t. Nothing could. Dad was dead. My house was ash. My boyfriend of two years had his d**k inside my best friend forty-eight hours ago. And now we were pulling up to the Voss estate so Mom could marry the man everyone called a demon just to keep us alive.
I hated every second of it.
I hated the iron gates sliding open like jaws.
I hated the marble steps gleaming under floodlights.
I hated how my black dress was too short, too tight, felt like the only weapon I had left.
The driver opened my door. Cold air rushed up my bare legs and made my n*****s tighten instantly against the thin fabric.
I stepped out, heels clicking, chin high, ready to glare at anything that moved.
Then the front doors opened.
And he walked out.
Damien Voss.
Six-foot-four of pure, carved sin in a charcoal suit that looked like it had been sewn directly onto his body while he was f*****g someone against a wall.
Broad shoulders that blocked half the doorway. Narrow hips. Long, powerful legs that ate distance like it owed him money.
Dark hair swept back, jaw so sharp it could draw blood, and eyes….God, those eyes—black and bottomless, sweeping the scene like he was deciding who to kill first.
They landed on me.
Everything stopped.
My breath caught so hard my chest hurt. Heat exploded low in my belly, sudden and violent, like someone had flipped a switch inside my core.
My c**t pulsed once hard then kept throbbing in time with my heartbeat. Slick rushed out of me so fast I felt it coat my thong, warm and slippery against my folds. I clenched my thighs together instinctively, but that only made it worse. A tiny, involuntary whimper tried to slip past my lips. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.
He was staring at me like I was already spread open on his desk.
Like he could smell how wet I was from ten feet away.
Like he knew exactly how my virgin p***y would feel clenching around his c**k.
I couldn’t look away. My n*****s were so hard they ached. My skin felt too tight. Every nerve ending screamed at me to step closer, to bare my throat, to drop to my knees and beg him to ruin me right there on the steps in front of the staff, in front of my mother, in front of the whole damn world.
Mom stepped forward first, voice soft and trembling just a little. “Damien, this is my daughter, Sofia.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t nod politely. He just said my name.
“Sofia.”
One word. Low. Rough. Velvet dragged over broken glass.
My name in his mouth felt obscene. It felt like foreplay. My p***y fluttered hard enough that I had to lock my knees so I didn’t stumble. More slick dripped down my inner thigh, I could feel the slow, humiliating trail of it. I was soaked. Drenched. Ready. And he hadn’t even touched me.
I forced my chin up, even though my voice came out breathier than I wanted. “Mr. Voss.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. Then lower. Slow. Deliberate. He catalogued every inch, the way the dress hugged my t**s, the dip of my waist, how the hem barely skimmed the tops of my thighs.
When his eyes flicked back to mine, something dangerous flashed behind the ice. Hunger. Ownership. Promise.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said.
The words were polite. The tone was a growl wrapped in silk. It said: You’re mine now. You just don’t know it yet.
I wanted to hate him. I did hate him. But my body didn’t care. My c**t was swollen, throbbing, begging. My n*****s scraped against the fabric with every shallow breath. If he’d crooked one finger, I think I would’ve crawled to him.
Instead he turned on his heel and walked back inside, every step controlled, every muscle in his back flexing under that suit like he was holding himself back from something violent.
Mom touched my arm. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get settled.”
I couldn’t move for a second. My legs felt liquid. My p***y was still clenching around nothing, aching for the thick stretch I’d never had but suddenly craved more than air.
I followed her inside anyway.
Thighs slick.
Heart hammering.
Mind already replaying the way he’d said my name.
I knew, even then, that I was f****d.
Not just in the metaphorical sense.
In every single, filthy, literal way.
Because Damien Voss had looked at me once and my body had already decided I belonged to him.
