Chapter 12
Damon
I didn't know what she would do after I shared my little secret with her. Finding out her reaction was part of the thrill.
And she was perfect.
I could see the lust in her eyes. Her face was glowing with heat, and I bet that's not the only part of her body that reacted this way to my words. She was drawn to me, but scared at the same time. She didn't know what to make of my words, because they came as a surprise to her.
I don't blame her.
I don't blame her for sighing with relief when I let go of her. I don't blame her for retreating. And I don't blame her for walking away from me.
Because I saw it, too. I saw the madam walking by and giving us looks. I touched her. I leaned in to her, and for more than a moment, it looked as if we were about to kiss. That cannot happen with an angel. Conversations have to be treated like a normal date, but in the end, the limitations are even stricter than that.
I get why she had to walk away from me. I get that, and I respect it. For me, it only increases the excitement. It prolongs the hunt and makes the reward taste that much sweeter.
What I don't get is what she is doing now.
She's sitting across the room, talking to another client, laughing and smiling, more than she did when she was with me. Her entire attention is absorbed by a man who could easily be her father. He's sitting on one of the button-tufted love seats in the lounge area, and she's sitting on the cushions right next to him, so close that their legs are touching, so close that she's practically leaning against him. It looks almost intimate, comfortable.
But I know it's all an act.
I know it, because I'm doing the same thing.
A devil came my way as soon as she had disappeared. Another blonde, not as tall, not as porcelain-complexioned, but with curves that she lacks. The girl is dressed in a dark lingerie set that left little to the imagination. Her dark eyes and red lips clash with the blonde locks framing her oval face, but she’s a beautiful girl, for sure.
I engaged in a superficial conversation with her, giving into a kind of small talk that I despise but have mastered.
Again and again, my eyes wander over to Elene, watching her perform her job, playing to the desires of a loaded man who's visibly mesmerized by her company. He doesn't touch her, but you can tell what's going through his head. He wants to fuck her, just like I do. And she knows that.
An ugly sting of jealousy pierces through me every time I look over there, even though I know there should be no reason for it. She's only doing her job. She's acting.
I know, because she keeps glancing over at me, too. Our eyes connect across the room more than once, and every time they do, a somber darkness creates a shadow across her face. It's just a split second every time before she collects herself, defiantly raising her chin and turning back to the man at her side. She's doing her job, but I made it so much harder for her.
That's good. Very good.
But only if she didn't lie to me the same way she's lying to him right now. Did she play a role with me, too? Did she lie about her apparent secret of not knowing what a normal date looks like? Was all of that just an act? The shyness, the insecurity, the coy looks she kept casting my way as she spoke to me. Her interest in me and the origins of my wealth, the questions about my investments, about my life’s path up until now—was all of that part of her fake persona?
I know a lot of girls at the agency have a persona like that, the shy and calm girl who wants to make you feel powerful, who bends her little body for you, who asks to be broken, eyelashes fluttering nervously and soft moans escaping their tiny bodies while you spank the living hell out of them. I know that, because I've had them. This is exactly my type. And I've tried to convince myself that all of it was real, but deep within, I knew it often wasn't the case. They're actresses, and good ones at that. They know what you want, and they perform to perfection to please.
Is that what she's been doing with me? If so, she's damn good. I've never believed a girl as much as I believed her.
The way she's acting around him now, around that other man—it makes me furious to watch.
"Ouch!"
The shriek calls me back to reality, tearing my eyes and my thoughts away from her and back to the black devil straddling me on my lap. She has one arm wrapped around my neck, trailing along my chest with her other hand. Fake moans have been whispered into my ear as I massaged her thigh, moving closer to her center without actual intent.
"That hurt," she complains, but she's smiling at me. "You naughty man."
I throw her an angry look and shake my head. "Call me that again and I'll take you up to the red room."
She raises an eyebrow and purses her thick lips. "Oh, who says I would mind that, naughty m—"
"Shut up," I cut her off.
She pouts, giving me a disappointed look, before reaching for her drink on a table next to the sofa we're sitting on.
"Let's just watch the performance."
I point toward the stage, hoping to divert her attention. Spotlights are illuminating a scene with a dark-haired devil, restrained at the wrists as she kneels in front of a masked Dominant. He's fully clothed in black, his face shielded behind equally dark fabric, and he’s using a flogger to keep her in place. She's a cunning little devil, overstepping the rules in a playful manner, seeking punishment for our entertainment. All heads are turned toward the stage, all guests with their gazes glued to what's unfolding in front of our eyes.
All but one.
She doesn't shy away this time, but keeps her eyes locked on mine when I turn to look at her. I can't read her face, but I want to see pain. I want her to feel the same way I felt when I watched her talking to the man next to her, when I saw her flirting with him as she did with me. No. More than she did with me.
But she's giving me nothing. Her face is blank, unreadable. At least her cheeks are no longer flushed, as I'm sure they were when she was with me.
She doesn't let me read her, but still she insists on staring at me. Why does she do that? Is this part of her game? Why toy with me like that? I won't let her jerk me around.
Hot fury spreads through my core and I turn away brusquely, robbing her of my attention for the rest of the night.