Taboo Love

Ch.3-Damien's P.O.V.-Sugar helps.

Fucker!!!

Nobody ever beat me!

Fuck, he’s good. And his smirk and smile... God, he is frustrating.

And he’s 45? What the f**k? He looks f*****g amazing, and I almost f*****g told him that, but no one can blame me because he really doesn’t look his age.

Enough about that.

He will quit in no time. I’m not a nice company to be around on a normal basis, and if I put in some effort, I can be truly unbearable. He seems calm, he is calm, and that irks me to no end, but he must have his limits.

As I do my nightly ritual, I think of ways to make him quit, then slip under my velvety covers and go to sleep.

I have a mission and I have to rest.

I wake up strangely refreshed, take a cold shower, and get dressed in a pine green tracksuit, tight enough to show my size, but loose enough to be comfortable, all while planning my moves, then, go down to drink my coffee.

And....... there he is, on the same chair as yesterday, with his back to me, wearing a similar white shirt, but this time, the suit jacket is neatly placed on the chair next to him.

“You don’t have to wear a suit. Unfortunately, you already got the job.” I growl in a very disappointed voice, and he turns around, and I expect at least a straight face, but no, the motherfucker is smirking.

“Morning, kid.” Holy f**k, I’ll die before Marko.

“Roman, I told you--”

“And I told you I'd stop calling you that when you'd stop acting like one. Now, at work, I wear a suit. All the time. I’m not a street punk.” This is not going to be easy.

At f*****g all.

I hope I won’t quit before he does.

“What are you insinuating? That I am?”

“I didn’t mention you in my equation. I was talking about myself.”

“f**k this! I need a coffee. It’s too early for this shit.” It really is, and I’m getting trigger-happy just by looking at his smug, calmer than a f*****g lake in the middle of the summer, face, and if I have to also listen to his deep, authoritative, voice, I’ll most definitely paint my mom’s kitchen with someone’s brains. Most probably his.

So, taking a deep breath, I make my way to the coffee machine and wait patiently for the damn thing to piss off a coffee, -as you could tell, I overreacted with the patient s**t-, and while I wait, I look at the reason for my headache.

His elbows are on the counter, with his left hand he’s holding his phone, -he’s a lefty.-, scrolling through it, and with his right hand he’s twirling the cup of coffee. The small movement is causing his bicep to flex, and his shirt to almost rip.

Fuck, he’s one frustrating motherfucker!

I avert my gaze when the coffee machine beeps, telling me that my coffee is ready, take the cup, and take my seat on the high chair at the kitchen counter, which so happens to be across from where he’s sitting.

I refuse to let my eyes analyze his arrogant ass further, take my phone out, and while sipping my coffee, I check my emails and texts.

“Your father told me that you need some extra men at the warehouse. I took care of it.” His annoying voice interrupts my moment of peace, and I glare at him, then look at my sport wristwatch, and see that it’s just 6 A.M.

“What? I can’t sleep long.” I want to ask why, but that would be too nice of me.

“Okay, let’s go,” I command so he knows who’s the boss, drink the last sip of my coffee, then gesture for him to follow me.

I took him everywhere. Warehouses, clubs, and casinos. I ignored him for the most part, but, of course, the fucker wasn’t affected in any way.

He instructed all his men on what their tasks were, and everyone listened to him as if he was Jesus. I can’t blame them, though. He has this calm, commanding demeanor that can send shivers down your spine. All kinds of shivers.

Okay, I have to admit that he’s hot as f**k. But that doesn’t mean he’ll stay. I mean, I’m not even gay. But what’s nice, even God appreciates it. Right?

Right.

We finish the tour, and I stop at a bakery, park the car, then open the door to get down.

“Won’t you ask me if I want something?” He asks just when I am about to shut the door, and I look at him with a genuinely puzzled expression.

“And why the f**k would I do that?”

“Respect your elders? Remember?”

“As far as I can tell, you still have a couple of years until you’ll need a servant. So, if you want something, you can move your ass and get it.” I snap and glare at him, and guess what the fucker does.

You guess it. He smiles.

“Don’t you ever get f*****g angry?!” I ask angrily, and he tilts his head and looks at me with a genuine smile that reaches his stormy eyes.

“I can’t get angry with kids. That would make me a monster.”

“f**k off!” I curse and slam the door, turning fast with my back to the car, so he wouldn’t see the smile that crept onto my lips.

Fucking i***t!

Him, not me.

The heavenly smell of baked goods enters my nostrils before I even enter the bakery, and my eyes start roaming around to decide what I’ll buy while waiting in line.

But... the heavenly smell of baked goods is soon replaced by a deadly scent that, every time I take a sniff, makes me think of things I shouldn’t. I won’t go into details, but the scent is of warm cedar wood mixed with pink pepper, adding a soft piquancy to the woody smell, and once again, I struggle not to inhale the mouth-watering scent and risk moaning out loud, -I don’t know why exactly, I just love the fragrance, don’t get any ideas-, and try to keep my head straight, so I can order when my turn comes.

I take the donuts, bagels, and the coffee I ordered, then go outside, happy that I get to breathe fresh air, -ok, not fresh because we’re living in New York, but better than that stupid scent-, and take a seat at one of the tables outside, and, of course, the frustrating motherfucker comes and sits across from me, sipping from the cup of coffee he bought for himself.

“You know it’s not healthy for a kid to eat so much sugar? They say that they become unbearable. And you… well, let’s just say that you don’t need more sugar.” I hated myself the moment I started to laugh, but I couldn’t help it.

“f**k you!” He smiles at my insults and takes one of my donuts.

“Laughing suits you.”

“I’m about to stop if you take my food.” He shrugs his shoulders, licks his lips, and takes a bite.

“Mmmmm it wouldn’t be that good if I bought it myself.” He closes his eyes and moans, chewing the... whatever he’s f*****g chewing, and my stupid broken eyes dart at his pink, firm, lips which are accentuated by the perfectly trimmed beard. A second later, his pink tongue darts out and picks the leftovers from those said pink and firm lips, that I don’t give a s**t about, and to prove that, I look away, thank God, before he opens his eyes.

I almost lose it and put a bullet in between his stupid eyes, -which sparkle way too f*****g brightly-, when he starts licking his fingers, making that stupid pop sound that--

It’s okay, Damien. You’re not, in any way whatsoever affected by this.

I need to f**k. ASAP.

Women, of course. Not men, because I’m not gay. Women with breasts and p*****s, smooth skin, without muscles and tattoos like he has, and-- not that. Women, p***y, breasts, soft lips, small hands... okay, I think I’m not hard anymore. I wasn’t hard because of him, it was the sound that reminded me of a woman blowing me.

He’s not even gay. Not that it matters because I’m not gay, so even if he were, which is impossible, but, even if, it wouldn’t matter.

“So, there is anything else left for today?” His deep, smoky voice gets my attention, and I glance at him before I answer. Briefly glance.

“No.”

“Tonight is club night, right?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to come. I can manage.” I really don’t need him there. I don’t need him anywhere. I just want to get rid of him as soon as f*****g possible.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to come. I know I’m old, but I’m not watching soap operas yet.” I involuntarily start laughing, and he tilts his head and smiles a genuine smile that reaches his eyes.

“Maybe sugar helps you.”

“Yes, it makes my bitter soul a little sweeter.” His head falls back as he starts laughing, cutting my own laughter with the rich sound. It’s just a stupid sound. I don’t even f*****g care.

I stand up, throw the stupid remains, and don’t bother to take the tray inside, instead, I leave it on the table outside.

I need to get home.

I’m f*****g pissed.

Don’t ask why.

I kept quiet the entire drive, only humming as an answer here and there, but as soon as I parked the car, I bolted out and went straight into my bedroom.

Fuck me!

I decide that being in the bedroom is not a good idea at the moment, so I go into my office to bury myself in some papers before I have to go to the club.

For once in my life, I truly prayed that there’s an entity somewhere above us and asked him/her, to cause some kind of natural disaster so Roman wouldn’t come with me.

Time passed too quickly for my liking, and now it’s time to see if there is a f*****g entity.