6. BLOOD ≠ FAMILY.
"God yes."
He felt the tug in her stomach the moment he placed his hands against it. Her moans formed a rhythm into his eyes and Damien thudded his head back against the glass.
"Don't stop. Never stop"
The thought of her in his head had entirely changed as she grappled his shoulders tightly in her hands. Looking directly into his icy eyes, Liv parted her lips. "Keep going, Mr Archer"
Her legs flexed against his back, urging him closer—urging him deeper. And first it were his two fingers that found her, sliding gently between her folds. Liv tilted he head back, finding his moist lips with her hands as he went down. And Damien's eyes sparkled with urge and intention. With desire.
"Never stop" Her shrill voice echoed in his ears as motivation. He did it again, gathering her wetness from his subtle strokes. He parted her with those two fingers, finding her clit. She was tight, obvious she had never been known. And these strange overwhelming feelings pulsates through her veins with the adrenaline and Olivia moaned deeply, her throat going sore soon.
This was what she'd only read in books.
He rubbed her in small circles, one hand groping her thighs. And Liv began to shiver, her timbers vibrating like the one time she had messed around with a vibrator in college. He didn't stop, no matter how high her pitch got to. He just kept on thrusting, deeper and deeper with each stroke. Heaven was real—
—and Olivia knew in that moment that she saw it. He was fucking hard, like a rock and it was unlike anything he had ever felt. Unlike anyone he had ever been with. Looking down on her, she was different. He lived to please her.
She cried loudly against him, wetting his hands. "Fuck. Damien"
They jolted closer to each other as one hand found her neck, wedging her firmly to him. She shriveled, finally opening her moist eyes to him. Sweat fell from the side of his face as he smirked, bringing those fingers to his lips. The taste of her, the smell of her, it was maddening. The feel of her, skin to skin. But then it was if she began to slip from his hands the moment he bit into his lips. And it was Olivia who let out a soft chuckle.
"I'll never be yours, Mr Archer"
He backed away, as though slipping against the floor and falling back into consciousness. And just like that, he jolted up—awake. Perspiring with halting breathes, Damien looked across his room with his maid rushing towards him. His arms supported him against the sheets as beads of sweat dripped down his face to his hairy chest. He was in awe, blatant shock and perhaps immense disgust that he had dreamt about the one person that he hated.
The one person that didn't want him.
"Are you okay, Mr Archer?" He eyed Marisol, tossing his sheets to the unknown lady in his bed. She stepped back as he walked to his closet in nothing but his dark blue briefs. He grabbed his morning dose of caffeine, sipping into his glass. And then turning back to the woman in his bed, that wasn't Liv, he snorted.
"Get her out of here."
-
The sun rose by the windows, just beside Abdul—Alli’s father. And while he struggled with the eggs he made for breakfast, his little brother ran across the room in preparation for school.
His mother lifting him in her hands, in nothing but a white singlet that was already stained with hot chocolate. Abdul stepped away, concluding his prayers and folding up his met.
Packing Sahid’s lunch, Alli was reminded of much everyday was a routine and looking around him, with his parents around the most loved child—obviously. Don’t get him wrong, he loved his little brother with his entire heart—it was more of the abandonment complex of a first born child, where he felt he had to nothing less than perfect. His mother walked up to him, holding up his chin.
She looked into the pancakes Alli had made, and he pushed a lump down his throat. “Perfect” She still had a stint of Nigerian accent in her voice as she smiled. And Alli forced one on his lips as well. “Your future wife would be so lucky” She said so seamlessly that Alli felt his heart drop in anxiety.
Of course, he hadn’t come clean about his sexuality to his deeply religious parents. And instead of doing so in that very moment, he just pulled away from her grasp with nothing but a scoff. She tilted her head over her shoulders, watching his door close. And then an arc invaded her brows. Once Alli was behind the door, a sigh escaped his lips as his eyes fell on the coffee in front of him.
He loved his family.
But sometimes he just wished they were different, or rather—he was different. Perhaps he’d have it so much easier. For now, he just looked forward to the rest of his day, away from here. And that only meant meeting his mysterious co-partner, Omar.
And he wasn’t the only one looking forward to someone.
Alyssa was already out of her house, running down the pavements in sinful red stilettos to match her hair that had just been freshly dyed over the weekend. She had been through alot of colors but this red had stayed the longest. There was something about it that just complimented her personality, not that she was most outgoing—but rather a wild yet introverted side to her.
The door from the bus pulled open, and she stepped one foot in, wrapping her scarf around her shoulders. “Hi Ham” She greeted ritually, making her way to her usual seat. She’d settled into the time frame so she wasn’t as late this morning. It was also the weekend after the funeral so that meant she’d had a couple hours of rest the day before. And as much as she hated Mondays—
—she wasn’t quite in the awfulest of moods that one. She pulled out her phone, expecting a call from her aunt or rather an all caps message from Damien ranting about whatever new thing he’d found rantable.
She unlocked her phone to see his unsaved number across her screen. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of saving his name on her phone or giving him an inch of space in her life. She was so much different than she was years ago when she was head over hills for him. And now, she began to question what was it she even saw in him. Alas, it is that disinterest that’ll only lure him closer. Both of them.
She shut her eyes, turning off her phone to his picture.
-
Damien ran on caffeine.
And intense one night stands.
Looking into his alarm, it was a Monday—yet another week but so much different. Hank was gone, six feet under and he'd assumed complete control of the Archer Empire. And not only did he have to sit through all the finance meetings with the board, he had sit through them with Olivia Sanders—
—the one person that wanted nothing to do with him. He had to sit through her blatant sarcasm and endure her spite for whatever reason. And he knew he couldn't let her go because she knew more than he did about this entire company. He was to endure, even if she represented all the things he hated.
Damien Archer had a type.
Short summer dresses, blonde. Smooth, skinny legs that he'd imagine across his shoulders. He liked moist skin, and bold shades of lipstick. He also admired a confrontational girl—one that seemed to know what she wanted.
Thick brows, and less of his drinker than he was. He also liked mystery, having just a bit to his imaginations. He loved fresh tan and the scent of an expensive cologne. Dark sunglasses and the taste of piña coladas. He loved bold fashion choices but it was beyond that, it was the confidence.
He fell for the confidence. Not in love, because i personally don't think Damien has ever fallen for anyone that wasn't himself. He knew he had this obsessive desire to control everything that was around him—so much that he'd lose his shit if anything ever went the slightest bit south. It was why he also loved a submissive woman, one that would give in to his every desire, to his every want and imaginations.
These were the criteria he set for a wife, if ever he was to settle down but these days, he thrived on the casualness of a one night stand, and the mystery of not knowing the girl he'd wake up next to. He lived for the thrill, and the unattachment afterwards.
Watching the girl walk through his crystal doors, Damien paced down the stairs, battling with his jacket cufflink. He barely had anything except coffee in his stomach. That was enough, he had his ego to fill him with—now that was something only Liv could say. He shook his head to get her out of his mind.
And the disturbing dream he'd awoken from.
Liv was loud, highly unfashionable in her repetitive clothes and her bland makeup. Her messy red hair, and her unseasoned quirkiness. She was sarcastic, the stinging kind and he only pitied the man that would dare fall in love with her. As for him, he didn't all of that shit.
He didn't feel he had enough love in him to give solely to another person, it was why he hated the thought of love. And marriage, although it was inevitable with a family like his.
He knew how badly his mother was for his father. How bad they were for each other. He swore he'd never have that, to fall madly in love for someone and to fall so easily out of it right after. In all of those qualities he went for—
—they were the direct opposite of her.
He nodded to Marisol, taking his briefcase from her hands.
Sticking a finger in his hair, he turned around to the door. And she stared, she always admired him since he was a little boy. And watching him grow in his father's footsteps made her the most proud. If he had anything close to a mother, it was the woman before him, the only woman Damien respected.
The only one he'd lay his life down to protect. Damien grazed against the top of her hands, letting a smile cripple his lips. But the moment he turned around, she flashed before his eyes.
Olivia.
"Fuck" He cussed, rubbing against his temples. Why the fuck was she everywhere. "You okay?" Marisol asked, heading towards the door. And he turned to her, assuring her with a barely convincing nod. "I am" Her frail hands held unto the knob of the door before she pulled it apart from its hinges. He stood there as the winds breezed into his face and his jaw fell apart. It was as if he'd seen a ghost, as if he'd seen her.
And no, it wasn't Liv. It was someone worse, it was— "Mum?" His tone was shielded in disbelief as Marisol looked to the familiar woman standing on the front porch. "Alexander" She pressed her suitcase against the wooden boards, flashing a smile back at him. "What are you doing here?" He asked, keeping his distance and all she did was sigh—unsurprisingly.
"You thought you got rid of me huh?" She pushed a lump down her throat as they gazed at each other. "Alexander" She called, his name finding home on her chapped lips. And he pushed the door of his way, gesturing her to come in.
She brushed past his shoulders, and a sigh escaped his lips. His eyes went down to Marisol's hands that reached for him. And he closed the door with his feet, leaving him in the dark.
To be continued...