Dirty Damage: Chapter 14

At first, I think I’m in the wrong apartment.

That’s the only explanation I can come up with for why bubblegum, pop princess nightmare music would be blasting through my in-home speaker setup.

I had the speakers installed when I moved in five years ago, but I’ve never actually used them.

There’s also a sweet, spicy tang in the air coming from the kitchen. The smell is going to linger just as long as this tension headache.

When I asked Uri to tell Sutton to make herself at home, this isn’t what I had in mind.

I knew she’d snoop. I wasn’t even that surprised when I saw her exploring the apartment on the cameras. Artem and I are the only two people with access, purely for security purposes.

Then I saw her pushing her way into my bedroom… into my closet.

I watched her open the private cabinet in the back, and in an instant, I was hard as steel and Artem was banned from accessing the footage ever again.

She was still fully dressed, but I’d wanted to wring Artem’s neck just on the off chance he’d seen her holding that satin rope.

Then I wanted to rush home in the middle of the day—another first for me.

But I forced myself to finish the work day.

To control myself.

Now, I’m following the poppy siren song to the kitchen, wondering if I shouldn’t deviate to the bathroom first.

Even my legendary self-control has limits. A quick release could help me keep my shit together.

But all those dangerous thoughts of Sutton in my space that I’d shoved down are now in the driver’s seat. I’ve lived alone for years.

I want to see what it looks like to come home to someone.

I round the corner and discover that coming home to someone looks like Sutton Palmer shaking her ass in the middle of my kitchen.

She’s standing with her back to me, chopping something at the counter, swaying to the music. Even with the loose jeans and sweatshirt she’s wearing, I know exactly what the curves of her body look like, thanks to her viral boudoir photoshoot.

Add that to the list of things I wish I could keep just for myself.

I’m contracting her out for a very specific purpose, but that doesn’t mean I want anyone but me seeing the rest of her.

Fake or not, she’ll be my wife.

That makes her for my eyes only.

She rolls her body to the beat, and my cock wouldn’t mind staking its own claim.

I have a sudden vision of ripping those terrible clothes off her, spreading her on the kitchen island and having my way with her.

If she squirms, all the better.

If she protests—well, that’s what my cuffs and silk gags are for.

I close my eyes, count to three. Self-control and discipline are the bedrocks I’ve built my reputation on. People call me the Beast, but nothing I do is without purpose.

And dragging Sutton to my bedroom to act out my darkest fantasies would only serve to undermine our contract and complicate an already precarious situation.

There’s a time and place for everything.

If blue balls are the price I have to pay to maintain control of this situation, so be it.

She throws her hands over her head, swaying her body like she’s purposefully trying to make my life hell.

“Sutton.” I call her name, trying to get her attention and end my torment.

But she can’t hear a thing over the woman screeching her lungs out on my speakers. The entire building must be able to hear this.

Sutton shimmies sideways toward the sink, pretending to sing into a dirty ladle before dropping it into soapy water with a splash.

Her dancing is atrocious, but I’m getting harder with every move of her body—turned on despite her complete lack of rhythm.

Finally, mercifully, she turns in what might be an attempt at a pirouette. Instead, she stumbles to a stop with a screech.

Her wide eyes meet mine.

I bite back a laugh as she trips over herself to silence the stereo. The sudden silence is deafening.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she gasps, hand to her heart.

“I tried to announce myself, but you were busy.”

She bites her full bottom lip. “How long were you watching?”

Longer than you know. But I decide to keep the security cameras covering every inch of this penthouse to myself. For now.

“Long enough to know why you chose childcare over a career in music.”

“God, this is mortifying,” she groans.

“The singing was rough, but the dancing? That was embarrassing. Bonus points for enthusiasm, though.”

She shoots a glare at me, but it softens with a smile she can’t stop. Her eyes crinkle.

They’re my favorite shade of blue—the Atlantic after a storm. The view of the water is why I bought this penthouse in the first place.

The view of her is infinitely better.

Our eyes lock and hold long enough that I’m back to thoughts of her in my closet, her hands bound in satin, her body beneath mine.

Like she can read my mind, Sutton looks away. “Sorry about the mess. I didn’t think— I thought I’d be alone.”

“You will be most days,” I admit. “Only three people have access to this condo, aside from you. Me, Uri, and Artem.”

“Artem? Who’s that?”

I drag a hand through my hair. “Artem is⁠—”

My best friend. Head of security. And my right-hand man.

The man who has been there with me through everything, as good as family. Better than, actually, when I compare him to my actual blood.

I just don’t know how to distill any of that into one single title.

“Actually, don’t answer that.” She spins around to turn off the stove. “Dinner is almost ready, and I don’t want to learn about your entourage of muscled men until after I’ve had some sustenance.”

I watch her move around my kitchen like she owns the place, fetching plates and silverware.

One second, she’s burning with embarrassment.

The next, she’s ordering me around like she’s the one in charge.

She isn’t, but I like the confidence.

Hell, maybe I’d let her use the handcuffs and blindfold on me.

With that thought, I beeline for an ice-cold shower, keeping my hands far from the throbbing between my legs. I dress in dark slacks and a white t-shirt that shows off what the gym has given me.

I head down the hall to find the dining room…

Empty.

Where the hell did she get to now?

“Hey!”

I turn and find her waving to me from the balcony. The stone table behind her is dressed with a white tablecloth I didn’t know I owned and a candelabra.

Music in the house, meals on the balcony.

What next? Moonlit sex while we gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes?

Yeah. Fucking. Right.

“You want some wine?” she asks as I join her outside. “The recipe said rosé pairs well with this pasta.”

I hold out a glass to her. “What kind of pasta?”

“It’s a red bell pepper sauce. The grocery store around the corner was running a special, but they were still twice as expensive as any pepper I’ve ever seen. Uri loaded my phone with a credit card, so I tapped to pay. Is that okay?”

I nod as she dishes pasta onto my plate, and I think I could get used to this.

Maybe having a wife won’t be so bad after all.

“So—” She starts, sitting down to her own, smaller plate of pasta. “—you were going to tell me about this Artem dude who apparently has access to this condo.”

Her eyes pass over my exposed arms. I don’t point out that it’s rude of her to sit there, drowning in cotton when I’ve brought out the big guns for this dinner.

“Artem is my right-hand man. We’ve known each other since we were sixteen years old. He knows me better than I know myself sometimes.”

“He’s your bestie?”

“I’m a grown man,” I growl. “I don’t have a bestie.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sorry. I’m sure the Beast only has sidekicks and lackeys.”

“And enemies.”

She laughs, but I was only half-joking. “You haven’t tried your pasta.”

I oblige her by taking a big bite. The flavor is subtle at first. Then it explodes on my tongue.

“That’s good.” I take another bite. “Really fucking good.”

How long has it been since I’ve had pasta? Too long, obviously.

“Really?” She breathes a sigh of relief. “I thought maybe I oversalted it.”

I shake my head and take another bite.

And another.

Sutton just watches me, like seeing me enjoy it is as good as eating it herself. I’m used to a homecooked meal, but my dinners consist of medium-rare protein with a heaping side of greens.

But this plate of pasta in front of me—it’s as humble as they come.

And I can’t stop eating it.

“More?” she asks, when it’s clear the giant helping she gave me is not gonna be enough.

I may not be able to act on my horniness, but at least I can take care of the hunger. “Please.”

She serves me another generous helping and replenishes my wine glass while she’s at it. Then she checks her phone, which is lying on the table beside her.

“I gave you a new phone.”

She quickly flips her phone facedown. “I still have stuff on this I need to move to the new one.”

“You expecting a call from someone?”

Again, her bottom lip disappears between her teeth.

And something inside of me writhes.

She signed the contract, but I never asked if there was another man in the picture. I’d like to say she wouldn’t have agreed to this deal if she was in a relationship, but people have done a lot worse for a lot less than a million.

Is there someone else she’s missing right now?

I clench my fist until the fork begins to bend in my palm.

“No, it’s not— Well, yes.” She sighs. “It’s my sister.”

The burning itch subsides just a little.

“Is she okay?”

Fuck if I know why I care. The contract doesn’t say a thing about pretending to give a shit about her personal life.

“Rarely.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Her boyfriend is… There’s no polite term for it—he’s an asshole. A grade-A asshole who thinks he owns her. Mostly because he does.”

She looks towards the balcony railing, sad blue eyes settling on some distant point.

Some part of me wants to wipe that look off her face. I want to hunt down the bastard upsetting her and crumple him like the trash he clearly is.

But again… that’s not in the contract.

She’s here for a purpose, and it doesn’t include distracting me from the task at hand.

“Speaking of, maybe we should talk about our arrangement.”

Sutton snaps her attention back to me. Her face is pale, eyes narrowed. “You trying to say you own me, too?”

Only if you let me say it while you’re bound and blindfolded beneath me.

My cock strains against my pants, and I leash down the beast in my chest. “I’m saying we should both remember why we’re here.”

“Happily,” she snaps. “For starters, I may have signed your damn contract, but you do not own me.”

Our eyes hold again—the same heat from the kitchen flaring between us.

“That depends on how you look at it.”

“No matter how you look at it, you don’t own me.” She squares her shoulders, fire flashing in her blue eyes. “I have my reasons for accepting your offer. And I’m sure you have yours for offering in the first place. But I’m not willing to be your possession or your plaything. I expect respect. And freedom.”

“You’ll be respected. But freedom comes with conditions.”

“Then it isn’t freedom.”

“For as long as our contract holds, you will be loyal to me.”

“Is this about the NDA? Because I signed that.”

“That’s part of it.”

She studies my face for a few seconds. “You mean, like, sexually?”

The word sets off a blushing firework display. Color paints her cheeks and her neck, and I want to know how far it goes. I want to trace the heat across her skin, feel the way she responds to me.

Fuck me, I’ve never been harder in my life.

I drop my napkin in my lap as if that is going to do anything to help the throbbing.

“Yes. Sexually.”

“Agreed.” She leans closer, her scent hitting me like a drug. “But I expect the same in return.”

“You want me to be faithful to you?”

She shrugs. “I don’t like double standards, Oleg. If you think you can fuck me while also screwing other women, we can tear up that contract right now.”

I almost laugh. Like the thought of having her—only her—for months would be some kind of hardship.

“No need for that. I agree, princess.”

Her eyes go wide. I can really appreciate that aquatic blue. So calm, so serene.

And yet, I can sense the storm lurking beneath the surface.

I almost wish it would break, just so that I have an excuse to tame it.

“I prefer ‘Sutton.’”

“‘Princess’ suits you better.”

She rises to her feet, taking her plate with her.

When I do the same, she breaks off from whatever snarky comment she was about to make at my expense. “What are you doing?”

I want to seal our contract. Take her here, now.

Ink on a page isn’t enough.

“What does it look like?”

I shift into her space, close enough to test my own resolve.

Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath.

To see the way her chest strains against her shirt.

She stares up at me, and I know that look. It’s the same one she gave me in the locker room.

If I lifted her onto the table right now, she’d let me.

She’d thank me for it.

My cock twitches as I grab the plate from her hands. “I’m helping clear the dishes.”

I turn away from her, smirking when she follows me inside a full five seconds later. We clean up together in silence, the simmering tension just starting to abate.

When I turn around, she’s looking at me, her eyebrows pulled together.

“So… what now?”

My phone buzzes. Artem. For once, I’m grateful for the interruption.

Because the answer to her question involves bending her over this counter, and that’s not what we agreed to.

Not yet.

“I have to take this.” I retreat to my office before I do something I can’t take back. “We’ll talk later.”