Chapter 5
1197 Words
It wasn’t difficult to capture the waitress’s attention. A lingering glance, a smirk, the smooth cadence of his voice—she was already leaning closer, already laughing at things he barely registered. She wanted his attention. Needed it.
So he gave it to her. Just enough to make her pliant.
But he wasn’t interested. His mind was elsewhere.
Even as she poured his drink, and he murmured low enough for only her to hear, his voice sliding into her mind like silk.
“Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes.”
She stilled for half a second, then flushed, her fingers tightening on the bottle before she quickly nodded, biting her lip.
Amelia noticed none of it.
By the time he excused himself and found the waitress waiting, anticipation glimmering in her eyes, it took nothing to pull her under his thrall completely. A single word. A brush of his fingers against her wrist.
And then—he fed.
It was swift, discreet. A compulsion so deep she wouldn’t remember a thing when she left.
He straightened his cuffs, wiped the faintest trace of red from the corner of his lips, and exhaled slowly.
But even as he walked back to the table, his hunger hadn’t waned.
Because the taste of the waitress was nothing compared to the craving tearing through him for someone else entirely.
For her.
His mind was all on her.
Damien didn’t know when it happened, but Amelia Steele had slipped under his skin in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. Every inhale of the air around her made his throat dry, his hunger coil in ways it shouldn’t. He could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat even before he returned to the table, the way it spiked the second she sensed him approaching.
She looked out of place, like she wanted to be anywhere else but here.
"Amelia?" His voice was smooth, questioning, but there was something darker laced within. Her pulse quickened immediately. “We came here for lunch,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he watched her closely. "Why aren’t you eating?"
“I... I shouldn’t be eating here with you, Sir,” she admitted, biting her lower lip.
His gaze darkened as his eyes traced the movement. That lip—rosy, plush, already slightly swollen from how often she worried it between her teeth. He forced his mind back on track.
“Yet, I’m asking you to,” he said simply, his voice a low command.
She swallowed, visibly composing herself, before hesitantly picking up her cutlery. He leaned back, watching the slight tremor in her fingers, the way her lashes flickered downward as if avoiding his stare.
"Tell me about yourself, Amelia," he said, his voice softer now. She confused in a way that made his body itch and he ached to know everything there was about her.
She hesitated. "I shouldn’t..." she murmured, offering a small, uncertain smile.
"You should," he pressed. "Besides, you work in my company. It’s only fair.”
The waiter poured him a glass of champagne before swiftly retreating, sensing the atmosphere at the table.
Amelia took a deep breath and finally relented, speaking about her life, her background, the little things that made her who she was. Damien listened, truly listened, something he rarely did when people spoke. She wasn’t just filling the air with words—she was drawing him in.
The way her lips moved, the subtle gestures of her hands as she talked, the way she smiled—it was doing something to him, something dangerous. His blood pumped faster, his hunger shifting into something far more primal, far more consuming.
Fuck.
Who was this woman?
And what the hell was she doing to him?
Why did she affect him this way?
"You’re officially hired," he said abruptly, cutting her off.
Her eyes widened before her face broke into a bright, genuine smile. “Thank you so much,” she breathed, and for a brief second, their gazes locked.
Damien’s grip on his glass tightened.
This is a mistake.
He wasn't thinking
Yet, it didn’t stop him from prolonging their time together.
When they returned to the car, he leaned back against the seat, exhaling slowly. Control. He needed control.
“I’ll have Andy take you home,” he said.
“But my car is at the company,” she protested, her voice soft but firm. “You can just drop me there.”
He turned his head toward her. “I want to see your eyes,” he murmured, surprising even himself with the request.
She was like a drug, clouding his judgements.
She hesitated before finally lifting her gaze to his.
Good girl.
A smirk tugged at his lips. “Do you believe in fate, Amelia?”
She blinked, visibly thrown off by the question. “I’d like to believe in it,” she admitted slowly.
He watched the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the way her fingers subtly curled into her lap. Her uncertainty was delicious.
“Do you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Something flickered in her expression—nervousness, maybe? Intrigue? He wasn’t sure, but her pulse had spiked again.
He wanted to touch her.
It wasn’t about hunger, not really. It was about something deeper, something raw and dangerous.
His eyes dropped to her lips. Mine.
The thought came out of nowhere, jolting him.
She’s yours.
He shouldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
“Close your eyes, Amelia,” he whispered.
She obeyed before she could think twice, her long lashes fluttering shut.
And then his lips brushed over hers, a ghost of a touch, a whisper of heat.
She sucked in a soft breath, her body going still as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. He could hear the sudden erratic beats of her heart, feel the warmth of her breath against his skin.
His teeth grazed her lower lip before he pulled back.
Just like that, the kiss was over.
But the taste of her lingered.
Amelia’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling as she slowly opened her eyes.
"Why?" she whispered.
Damien held her gaze, his voice calm, unwavering.
"Because fate binds us," he said simply, "and I’ve wanted to know how you taste all damn day."
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.
He saw the battle raging in her eyes—the disbelief, the confusion, the undeniable want she was trying so hard to suppress.
The car came to a slow stop.
She took a breath, turned to him with forced composure. “Have a good day, Sir,” she said, her voice betraying the tremor of emotions beneath.
Then she slipped out of the car.
Damien watched her walk away, his fingers flexing against his knee.
He had made a mistake.
A terrible, intoxicating mistake.
“Where to now, Mr. Monroe?” Andy asked.
Damien exhaled, forcing his gaze away from the woman who was quickly becoming a problem.
“Take me home,” he said darkly.
And deep down, he hoped she would look back.
Because if she did…
He knew he was already damned.
But she didn't.
- Writer
