Maid for my Brothers, Ex with her Husband.

Vivian POV. I shouldn't have let it get this far. Damien's thick c**k moved slowly inside me, stretching me open inch by inch. I grabbed the silk sheet with one hand, twisting it tight as I tried to steady my breathing. The burn was intense, the fullness overwhelming. "You're tense," he murmured against my neck, his voice low and rough. "I'm fine, sir." "You're not." He curled his fingers against my hip, adjusting the angle, and I gasped sharply. His mouth curved into a small smile against my skin. "There it is." "Dam... aa..h...don't rush it" He kept that same maddening pace—slow, deliberate, like he had all night. Like his wife wasn't asleep down the hall. His grey eyes stayed locked on my face even in the dark. "Look at me," he said quietly. I turned my head. Those eyes held me steady, intense and unblinking. "There you are." He pushed the rest of the way in with one smooth thrust. My breath broke completely. He watched every second of it—the way my lips parted, the flutter of my eyelids, the way my body arched up to take him. "I've got you," he whispered, forehead resting against mine. "Just stay with me." I came hard with his eyes on my face, his voice low in my ear, and my hand gripping his forearm like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Waves of pleasure crashed through me as I clenched around him, trembling. He gave me a moment to catch my breath, stroking my side gently. "Still okay?" he asked. "Yes," I managed, voice shaky. "Good." He pressed soft kisses to my temple, then my jaw, then my mouth—slow and tender. "Because I'm not done." I couldn't make myself say stop. I didn't want to. ______________________________________________ It had started an hour earlier in the kitchen. He'd walked in while I was wiping down the already-clean stovetop, that top button of his shirt was open like always. He moved through the house like he owned every inch of it—which he did—but tonight felt different. He didn't speak at first. Just sat on the counter across from me with a glass of whiskey, eyes heavy on my back. I kept working, pretending I didn't feel the weight of his stare. "You don't have to finish tonight," he said eventually. "I know, sir." The silence stretched between us. Then he said my name. "Vivian." He called my name in a way It sent a shiver down my spine. I turned around. The way he was looking at me... God, I liked it. Too much. He set the glass down and crossed the kitchen in four strides. I didn't move. Couldn't. He stopped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Slowly, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my cheek. My heart hammered wildly. "Tell me you want me to walk away," Damien said. His voice was quiet, almost gentle, but his eyes burned with something darker. I looked at his mouth instead. He made a low sound in his throat and kissed me—hard. Not soft or hesitant. Like he'd been holding back for weeks and the dam had finally broken. His hand fisted in my hair as I gripped the front of his shirt. The cloth I'd been holding dropped to the floor, forgotten. When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard. He took my hand and led me upstairs to his bedroom. Now his hand was between my thighs again, his face buried in my neck. He'd taken his time undressing me, kissing every inch—my throat, collarbone, the curve of my shoulder. He slid my underwear aside and groaned softly against my skin. "Already so wet for me." His fingers pushed in—two thick ones, deep and steady, curling just right. My back arched off the sheets. He watched my face the entire time, grey eyes tracking every gasp, every twitch. "Don't hide it," he said when I tried to muffle a moan. "Let me hear you." His thumb circled my c**t perfectly and I cried out, grabbing his forearm tight. He smiled against my throat—that rare, devastating little smile—and kept going at that same slow pace until I shattered again. "Damien..." "I know," he murmured. By the time he finally positioned himself between my thighs, I was desperate, boneless, and aching for more. He pushed inside slowly at first. I winced at the stretch, gripping his hands tightly as I took his full length with soft, needy sounds. "Ahhhnn... Damien..." He thrust completely into me, burying himself to the hilt. I gasped in dirty pleasure, and he noticed every bit of it—how my walls clenched around him, how my nails dug into his skin. "f**k, Vivian," he growled, voice wrecked. He started moving—slow at first, then deeper, harder. His hand gripped my hip as he drove into me, hitting that perfect spot over and over. I locked my legs around his waist, nails raking down his back. He groaned against my neck, raw and unguarded. It went on for what felt like hours. I came again with my face tipped back, his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet because Catherine was just down the hall. He followed soon after, burying himself deep as his body tensed, my name spilling from his lips like a curse. Afterward, we lay in silence. His hand rested on my stomach, warm and absentminded. I stared at the ceiling, the expensive sheets tangled around us, the city glittering far below the floor-to-ceiling windows. This was exactly what I came here for. Four months ago. I found my brother Ethan on the kitchen floor at 3 a.m., broken and empty-eyed. "She left me," he'd said. Catherine Arden had chewed him up and spit him out after three years. I hated her for it. When the housekeeping job at the Vale mansion came up, I saw my chance. Revenge. I'd take her husband and destroy her perfect little world from the inside. Damien had hired me after a short, bored interview. Catherine hadn't even been there that day. Now here I was—in her husband's bed, his c*m still leaking between my thighs, his hand on my skin like it belonged there. I was going to break her. And I was going to enjoy every second of it. But as Damien's fingers traced lazy circles on my stomach, something uneasy stirred in my chest. This felt too good. Too real. He wasn't supposed to look at me like that afterward. He wasn't supposed to be gentle. I turned my head slightly to look at him. His eyes were already on me, grey and blinking in the dark. Neither of us spoke. For the first time since I started this game, I wondered if I was the one who might end up broken. The sound of footsteps in the hallway made us both freeze. Catherine's voice, soft and sleepy, called out from somewhere down the corridor. "Damien? Are you still awake?" My heart stopped.Chapter One — What I Came Here For Vivian POV. I shouldn't have let it get this far. Damien's thick c**k moved slowly inside me, stretching me open inch by inch. I grabbed the silk sheet with one hand, twisting it tight as I tried to steady my breathing. The burn was intense, the fullness overwhelming. "You're tense," he murmured against my neck, his voice low and rough. "I'm fine, sir." "You're not." He curled his fingers against my hip, adjusting the angle, and I gasped sharply. His mouth curved into a small smile against my skin. "There it is." "Dam... aa..h...don't rush it" He kept that same maddening pace—slow, deliberate, like he had all night. Like his wife wasn't asleep down the hall. His grey eyes stayed locked on my face even in the dark. "Look at me," he said quietly. I turned my head. Those eyes held me steady, intense and unblinking. "There you are." He pushed the rest of the way in with one smooth thrust. My breath broke completely. He watched every second of it—the way my lips parted, the flutter of my eyelids, the way my body arched up to take him. "I've got you," he whispered, forehead resting against mine. "Just stay with me." I came hard with his eyes on my face, his voice low in my ear, and my hand gripping his forearm like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Waves of pleasure crashed through me as I clenched around him, trembling. He gave me a moment to catch my breath, stroking my side gently. "Still okay?" he asked. "Yes," I managed, voice shaky. "Good." He pressed soft kisses to my temple, then my jaw, then my mouth—slow and tender. "Because I'm not done." I couldn't make myself say stop. I didn't want to. ______________________________________________ It had started an hour earlier in the kitchen. He'd walked in while I was wiping down the already-clean stovetop, that top button of his shirt was open like always. He moved through the house like he owned every inch of it—which he did—but tonight felt different. He didn't speak at first. Just sat on the counter across from me with a glass of whiskey, eyes heavy on my back. I kept working, pretending I didn't feel the weight of his stare. "You don't have to finish tonight," he said eventually. "I know, sir." The silence stretched between us. Then he said my name. "Vivian." He called my name in a way It sent a shiver down my spine. I turned around. The way he was looking at me... God, I liked it. Too much. He set the glass down and crossed the kitchen in four strides. I didn't move. Couldn't. He stopped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Slowly, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my cheek. My heart hammered wildly. "Tell me you want me to walk away," Damien said. His voice was quiet, almost gentle, but his eyes burned with something darker. I looked at his mouth instead. He made a low sound in his throat and kissed me—hard. Not soft or hesitant. Like he'd been holding back for weeks and the dam had finally broken. His hand fisted in my hair as I gripped the front of his shirt. The cloth I'd been holding dropped to the floor, forgotten. When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard. He took my hand and led me upstairs to his bedroom. Now his hand was between my thighs again, his face buried in my neck. He'd taken his time undressing me, kissing every inch—my throat, collarbone, the curve of my shoulder. He slid my underwear aside and groaned softly against my skin. "Already so wet for me." His fingers pushed in—two thick ones, deep and steady, curling just right. My back arched off the sheets. He watched my face the entire time, grey eyes tracking every gasp, every twitch. "Don't hide it," he said when I tried to muffle a moan. "Let me hear you." His thumb circled my c**t perfectly and I cried out, grabbing his forearm tight. He smiled against my throat—that rare, devastating little smile—and kept going at that same slow pace until I shattered again. "Damien..." "I know," he murmured. By the time he finally positioned himself between my thighs, I was desperate, boneless, and aching for more. He pushed inside slowly at first. I winced at the stretch, gripping his hands tightly as I took his full length with soft, needy sounds. "Ahhhnn... Damien..." He thrust completely into me, burying himself to the hilt. I gasped in dirty pleasure, and he noticed every bit of it—how my walls clenched around him, how my nails dug into his skin. "f**k, Vivian," he growled, voice wrecked. He started moving—slow at first, then deeper, harder. His hand gripped my hip as he drove into me, hitting that perfect spot over and over. I locked my legs around his waist, nails raking down his back. He groaned against my neck, raw and unguarded. It went on for what felt like hours. I came again with my face tipped back, his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet because Catherine was just down the hall. He followed soon after, burying himself deep as his body tensed, my name spilling from his lips like a curse. Afterward, we lay in silence. His hand rested on my stomach, warm and absentminded. I stared at the ceiling, the expensive sheets tangled around us, the city glittering far below the floor-to-ceiling windows. This was exactly what I came here for. Four months ago. I found my brother Ethan on the kitchen floor at 3 a.m., broken and empty-eyed. "She left me," he'd said. Catherine Arden had chewed him up and spit him out after three years. I hated her for it. When the housekeeping job at the Vale mansion came up, I saw my chance. Revenge. I'd take her husband and destroy her perfect little world from the inside. Damien had hired me after a short, bored interview. Catherine hadn't even been there that day. Now here I was—in her husband's bed, his c*m still leaking between my thighs, his hand on my skin like it belonged there. I was going to break her. And I was going to enjoy every second of it. But as Damien's fingers traced lazy circles on my stomach, something uneasy stirred in my chest. This felt too good. Too real. He wasn't supposed to look at me like that afterward. He wasn't supposed to be gentle. I turned my head slightly to look at him. His eyes were already on me, grey and blinking in the dark. Neither of us spoke. For the first time since I started this game, I wondered if I was the one who might end up broken. The sound of footsteps in the hallway made us both freeze. Catherine's voice, soft and sleepy, called out from somewhere down the corridor. "Damien? Are you still awake?" My heart stopped.