Princess

Chapter 12: Like A Drug

Damon

Ariadne was like a drug.

She invaded my thoughts, persisted, and continued to poke around often, entirely uninvited. The memory of her singing was plastered on a big screen in my mind with the power button permanently on. Now it was a double feature of us dancing together.

I couldn't get her out of my fucking head.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that mass of brown hair, or those deep brown eyes, or the constantly challenging expression on her face.

Every time she visited my house, my heightened senses recognize her light laughter resonating through the halls, her soft footsteps moving around outside and down the staircases.

Every time she was fucking anywhere, I knew about it because when she was around, she was the only fucking thing I saw.

Like right now. She was somewhere—her laugh making its way to my ears.

Heroically, I curbed the impulse to go see where she was in my house and stayed in my office, trying to figure out what the fuck Matteo Giovanni was setting on fire these days and how I could get rid of him without having it come back on me. Regretfully, the answer was nothing because everyone knew, if Matteo dropped dead, I had something to do with it.

Bitterly, I wondered what the fuck was the point of having a Police Commissioner in my pocket if I couldn't kill whoever the fuck I wanted and headed to the home gym to pummel into a punching bag I had lovingly named Matteo.

Strolling into the library after my workout, I made my way straight to my room for a shower but slowed down when I heard faint music playing through the room. Amusement filled me as I recognized Sleep Walk by Santo & Johnny playing on the record player. This was not my sister's taste in music at all–she was all J. Cole and Drake. She never really came into this room to begin with.

This room had always been one of my favorites, a secluded retreat from reality. The ceilings were around 20 feet tall, books piled on one another and lining shelves each corner. If that chick from Beauty and the Beast were here, she'd probably drool all over my Turkish carpet.

A pair of sneakers I recognized all too well sat next to the legs of a couch. Their owner hung upside down, her long hair sprawled on the floor. Feet crossed at her ankles, she held a book in her hands and flipped through the pages while biting her lip furiously. It also did not escape my notice that her breasts were pushed up against her and I thanked gravity for the first time in my life. It took me a minute to find my words.

Suddenly conscious of my outfit–gray sweatpants and a muscle shirt that exposed my chest with sweat clinging to my skin–I ran my hand through my hair, hoping it looked somewhat presentable before promptly wondering why I gave a flying fuck.

"That's a twelve-thousand-dollar couch," I announced stupidly.

She gasped and dropped the book on her chest, squirming around and swung her feet over the edge of the couch before she fell on the floor with a loud thud. I bit my lip to hold back a smile.

"You scared me," she frowned, clutching her heart.

"I can see that," I mused. She took my extended hand gingerly as I pulled her up to her feet, steadying her with my hands on her waist. Probably unnecessary. Definitely didn't regret it.

"Hello," I murmured.

This was the first time I'd ever seen her flustered around me and it was fucking adorable. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were glazed, and she bit her lip hard. I'd have to catch her off guard more because I could really get used to this.