Chapter 5: Dangerous Distractions
1560 Words
Chapter Five
Damon’s POV
I barely sleep.
Which is impressive considering I own a penthouse with a mattress specifically designed by some Swedish luxury company that claims it “optimizes executive recovery.”
Bullshit.
No mattress on earth can fix the fact that Gwen Peters tasted like temptation and now I can’t stop thinking about her.
Each time my eyes close, I see her red cheeks.
Her shaky breath.
The way she sinked into me while I kissed her.
Fuck.
Groans leaving me while I get upright to palm my face.
Same reason I don't like office mischief.
They become distractions.
And turn to weaknesses.
It's raining again, the trickles of rain fall on the floor to ceiling windows and the view looks magnificent.
Usually, mornings like this calm me.
Reminds me Gwen took that horrendous motorcycle home.
Irritating.
I grab my phone before I return to my senses.
Damon:
You home safe?
I peep the message.
Then immediately regret sending it.
Too personal.
Too soft.
Too—
My phone vibrates almost instantly.
Gwen:
Are you by chance my dad?
I laugh before I can stop myself.
Dangerous girl.
Damon:
Answer the question, little one.
Three dots appear immediately.
Disappear.
Then appear again.
Interesting.
She’s hesitant too
Gwen:
I survived, oh guardian.
Damon:
Smart mouth.
Gwen:
Say you don't like it
Christ.
I stare at the screen.
Because yes.
I really f*****g do.
—
By seven-thirty the next morning, I’m already at Belmont Fashion House.
Coffee in hand.
Suit pressed.
Expression neutral.
Nobody would guess I spent half the night thinking about an employee bent backward against a desk while I kissed her senseless.
The elevator doors open onto the executive floor and Marcus immediately notices my mood.
“You look less homicidal today.”
“I wasn’t homicidal yesterday.”
“You threatened legal action because the coffee machine broke.”
“It failed me personally.”
Marcus snorts.
Then his eyes narrow slightly.
“You texted her.”
I pause mid-step.
“You’re getting too observant.”
“You’re getting too predictable.”
Annoying man.
I head toward my office while flipping through today’s reports.
Sales projections.
Investor meetings.
Winter showcase deadlines.
Usually this level of responsibility excites me.
I built Belmont into what it is now.
Every branch.
Every runway.
Every campaign.
All of it came from obsession.
People love the glamorous billionaire success story.
They don’t love the ugly parts beneath it.
The exhaustion.
The pressure.
The loneliness.
My father built Belmont Fashion Industries from nothing. Was already worth billions before my twenty- first birthday.
And by twenty-four?
I became CEO after he collapsed during Paris Fashion Week.
Heart attack.
Stress-induced.
I still remember standing in that hospital room while board members whispered outside the door about whether I was “experienced enough” to lead the company.
Experienced enough.
As if I hadn’t spent my entire life preparing for it.
My father didn’t believe in soft childhoods.
At fourteen I attended investor meetings.
At sixteen I negotiated fabric contracts.
At eighteen I managed an entire Milan campaign alone while studying business.
Belmont wasn’t just a company.
It was inheritance.
Burden.
Identity.
And when my father got sick, I took over everything before I was truly ready.
I worked like a machine for years afterward.
No distractions.
No attachments.
No weaknesses.
And it worked.
The company exploded globally under my leadership.
People called me brilliant.
Ruthless.
Visionary.
But nobody noticed the isolation.
Nobody except Olivia.
That’s partly why she’s protective now.
Years ago, before Belmont became monstrous in size, Olivia and I almost crossed lines we shouldn’t have.
Almost.
But ambition won.
It always did.
Until Gwen.
Because Gwen doesn’t feel like ambition.
She feels like chaos.
The dangerous kind.
—
Around eight-fifteen, I step onto the main office floor and immediately spot her.
And f**k.
She’s wearing another skirt.
This one black.
Tight enough to make me reconsider professionalism entirely.
She left her hair loose today…strands caressing her face while laughed with Zara…I guess it was that funny.
The sound hits me straight in the chest.
Then Gwen notices me watching.
Her smile disappears instantly.
Not in fear.
In awareness.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“Morning, Mr Belmont,” Zara says far too innocently when I approach.
She knows.
Obviously she knows.
People like Zara always know everything.
“Morning.”
My eyes remain on Gwen.
“Little one.”
Her cheeks pink immediately.
“Morning.”
I lower my voice slightly.
“You ignored my last message.”
Zara’s eyes widen dramatically.
Gwen nearly chokes.
“You text?” Zara blurts out.
I glance at her calmly.
“Constantly.”
Gwen looks seconds away from spontaneous combustion.
Cute.
Very cute.
“I was sleeping,” she mutters quietly.
“You should’ve said goodnight first.”
That earns me a sharp look from her.
One that says behave yourself.
Naturally, I ignore it completely.
Marcus appears beside me holding several folders.
“Conference room in ten.”
I nod once.
Then before walking away, I lean closer to Gwen just enough for only her to hear me.
“You taste better than I imagined.”
Her eyes widen violently.
And I leave before she can recover.
—
The meeting drags endlessly.
Investors talking.
Executives arguing.
Numbers.
Deadlines.
None of it holds my attention for long because every few minutes my brain replays Gwen’s face from last night.
Pathetic.
I’ve negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking.
Yet one girl with soft lips has me distracted during financial reports.
Marcus notices, unfortunately.
“You’re staring into space again.”
“I’m listening.”
“You just approved shipping costs from the wrong quarter.”
I pause.
“…Did I?”
“Yes.”
I lean back with a sigh.
Marcus smirks slightly.
“She’s really affecting you.”
“I’m aware.”
“Do you plan on stopping?”
I think about it honestly.
I should.
Absolutely.
But then I remember Gwen gripping my shirt while I kissed her.
Remember the tiny sounds she made against my mouth.
Remember how perfectly she fit against me.
“No,” I admit quietly.
Marcus looks unsurprised.
“Exactly what I thought.”
—
By lunchtime, the tension between Gwen and me has become almost unbearable.
Every glance lasts too long.
Every interaction feels loaded.
And she’s avoiding being alone with me now.
Which honestly only makes me want her more.
I find her eventually in one of the design archives organizing fabric books.
Tiny liar.
She’s hiding.
The room is silent asides the fact there was soft music playing in the background.
Gwen startles when I close the door behind me.
“You need to stop doing that.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep appearing like a hot serial killer.”
I laugh quietly.
Then I lock the door.
Her eyes widen immediately.
“Damon.”
“That sounded nervous.”
“You locked the door.”
“Yes.”
“You really can't keep doing that!”
I step closer slowly.
“Why not?”
“Because…” She backs up slightly until her hips touch the table behind her. “Because you already kissed me yesterday.”
“That sounds like encouragement, not rejection.”
Her breath catches.
God.
I love watching her lose composure around me.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you're very much still here.”
Silence stretches between us.
Heavy.
Charged.
Then Gwen surprises me completely by stepping forward first this time.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Her fingers grip the front of my tie gently before she looks up at me through her lashes.
“You’re very cocky for someone breaking company rules.”
Every rational thought disappears instantly.
I grab her waist and pull her close.
Hard.
She gasps softly and I could feel my c**k tingle to the sound.
“You keep provoking me,” I murmur against her mouth.
“You like being provoked.”
True.
Painfully true.
I kiss her again.
Slower this time.
Deep enough to feel her melt against me almost instantly.
Fuck.
Her hands glide up my chest while I back her to the table.
The edge presses against the backs of her thighs.
My hand makes it's way through her blouse and teases her skin
Gwen shivers hard.
“You’re trouble,” I whisper against her lips.
“You’ve said that already.”
“I’m reminding myself.”
She laughs but my lips on her jaw leaves her gasping again.
I suck on her neck while my fingers trail her beautiful thighs.
Still teasing.
Still restrained.
Barely.
“Damon…” she breathes shakily.
That sound.
Christ.
I lift my head to catch a glance of her.
“It was hard sitting through all those meetings and pretending you weren't in my mind all through..”
Her lips part softly.
“What were you thinking?”
Dangerous question.
I step closer until there’s almost no space left between us.
“You really want honesty?”
She nods slowly.
My fingers slide slightly higher along her thigh.
“I was thinking about bending you over my desk.”
The sound she makes is small.
Breathless.
Perfect.
“And?” she whispers.
Fuck.
I brush my mouth against hers once.
Twice.
Then murmur softly against her lips—
“And how pretty you’d look begging.”
- Writer
