Princess

Chapter 8: 5 AM

Damon

Untamed.

That was the word I would use to describe Ariadne Ryder.

The fact that I could, in fact, kill people–or facilitate it–and was the rising king of New York underworld was nothing to her. She wasn't afraid and she couldn't care less about me. She had made it extraordinarily clear.

In return, I liked to think that I never thought of her, but that would be the most heinous lie I'd ever told.

Setting aside our intertwined childhoods, more and more, I found her in the same places I was—which, I supposed, was to be expected what with me taking over and with our best friends getting married. I had seen her all my life, since our families were connected and our fathers were best friends, but for the most part, I stayed away from interacting directly with her and preferred to watch her from a distance. Not only did she confuse me and throw me off my game, but she was always ready for a fight with a sharp tongue on her.

Clearly, some things never changed.

Robyn's unmistakable shrieking about Dean resounded through the house while I was at the bar, having returned from the bachelor party. When Bella and her crew showed up, it was loud and handsy. The women of this party were not ashamed, falling directly onto my lap, unbuttoning my shirt, and rubbing on my dick with such ease as if they'd known me for years. A tempting invitation, certainly, but business earlier had left me in a sour mood. I had left, knowing Francis would be more than happy with Bella around.

It was borderline embarrassing how long I watched Ariadne take care of my sister in the darkness before stepping up to the bathroom door. She carefully removed each accessory, smiling and hushing my upset sister as she lamented about the man she couldn't have.

She brushed through her hair gently, letting it fall into a loose braid and never stopped comforting my sister in every moment. She'd always had a way with words, knew just what to say at the right moment, and wasn't shy about telling people how she felt. On the other hand, I hated talking and tried to do as less of it as humanly possible. She was gentle and compassionate, even as my sister mumbled unintelligibly about my lawyer.

Dean Jacobs was a good-looking man. At 6'5, he towered over everyone, his personality easy going enough to make everyone like him. But I knew him more as a ruthless lawyer who never admitted defeat and was hungry for power. My sister was a sweet, docile artist and excellence burst from her fingertips. She was focused, dedicated, and wildly talented.

It drove me up a fucking wall that when Ariadne dealt with anyone who was not me, there was so much care, so much affection, and so much love in every bone in her body. Even as a kid, she was feisty toward me.

As we draped my sister's limp arms on both our shoulders and lead her to her bed, Ariadne refused to make eye contact with me, tending exclusively to Robyn. I headed back down to the kitchen for some water and painkillers for my sister and by the time I came back, Robyn was in thick pajamas and tucked away in her bed. Ariadne sat by her side, brushing her hair out of her face.

If there was one person who owned legs, it was Ariadne. Tan legs crossed, smooth and long, traveling all the way to the floor. The short black dress hiked even higher on her thighs as she sat and the deep cut of the dress was distracting to say the fucking least. Not to mention her ass. I had a fucking obsession with it. Deeply.

5 AM and I was hard.

That Cabo trip was an enormous mistake. I couldn't stop thinking about her body. And fuck, that voice.

"You have the voice of an angel," I had whispered into her ear, my arm fluttering around the small of her back. She turned around and looked up into my eyes, her guard down for a brief moment–probably induced by alcohol–and smiled warmly in appreciation before putting her hand on my chest and walking away.