New Brother

Ruin You

Hailey

I observed Damien as he moved gracefully across the dance floor, his presence captivating every woman he encountered. It seemed as though they were all vying for his attention, their focus fixated on a mystery concealed within his black pants—they wanted his dick and I doubted if any of them would have it tonight or not because he had a task pending—to drop me back home.

They pressed against him, their bodies swaying in rhythm, while he reciprocated, indulging in their proximity by burying his face into their necks or exploring their curves with his hands. He left no spot untouched—ass, hips, and boobs—he groped them all just like they wanted him to.

This was the third woman he had danced with, her blue dress clinging to her figure as she appeared entirely captivated by him, grinding against him.

In this setting, Damien appeared as the quintessential ladies' man—radiant, carefree, reveling in the moment. Yet, it struck me as somewhat paradoxical. Every previous encounter I'd had with him involved him being submerged in work. This was the first instance I'd witnessed him truly enjoying himself, albeit in the company of other women. Perhaps, this was his version of happiness.

I didn't know why but despite his apparent euphoria and the swarm of women encircling him like eager penguins awaiting their turn, a lingering sense of detachment persisted—a familiar chill that I had always sensed in him. It wasn't a condemnation of his character or an assertion of his coldness, but rather an observation that he seemed to feign emotions, masking a profound emptiness within.

It was as though he allowed himself to pretend to feel everything, while in reality, he permitted himself to feel nothing at all.

He remained impervious, unwilling to let anyone or anything breach the fortress he had supposedly erected around himself. Yet, perhaps it was presumptuous and stupid of me to form such conclusions about a man whom I scarcely knew. I didn't know him and I didn't want to know him.

But....

Was there another side of him, one I hadn't seen yet? Perhaps a warmer, more genuine one, where his smiles were sincere rather than smug grins?

Regardless, I had no desire to explore that other side, let alone entertain the notion that there was anything redeemable in someone who epitomized every warning sign imaginable—he was a red flag. It was safer for me to keep my distance from Damien—to confine him to the realm of my dreams where he could do no harm but only give pleasure.

Lost in my own thoughts, swirling the drink in my hand, I failed to notice when Damien extricated himself from the throng of women and approached the bar, standing beside me.

"Bored already?" I blurted out, caught off guard.

Sweat glistened on his forehead, his discarded jacket resting on my lap, while his t-shirt clung to his skin, accentuating his well-defined muscles. To say he was well-built would be an understatement—he was practically sculpted.

He chuckled, brushing off my comment as he plucked the drink from my hand.

"Hey!" I protested half-heartedly.

Taking a sip, he grimaced, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "Too sweet."

He returned the glass to my hand before signaling his order to the bartender, still leaning casually against the bar. His gaze remained fixed on me, a habit that never failed to unsettle me for reasons I couldn't quite fathom. And yet, despite my best efforts to resist, my heart quickened its pace in response.

"So... you had quite the following out there," I remarked, breaking the tense silence. "Was it enjoyable? All those women vying for your attention?"

"Fun, you could say. I got to touch their arses and boobs that felt like a handful," he replied boldly, almost causing my eyes to widen in disbelief. "But still, it wasn't quite exciting enough."

Normally, I would have recoiled, choosing silence over further interrogation after such a brazen response. Yet, emboldened by the three drinks I had consumed, I felt an unexpected surge of courage. Somehow brave and secure.

"What does excite you then?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady. His smirk slowly curled into a knowing smile, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, igniting a fire within me.

Leaning in closer, he maintained his smile, and the glint in his eyes remained unwavering and promised something wild, something hot and primal, something full of fire and sparks. With deliberate slowness, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch sending shivers down my spine and awakening a primal desire within me.

And then, he spoke, his words sending shockwaves through my senses because he said something...I hadn't expected even in the wildest of my imagination.

"When I fuck a woman, preferably from the back and she screams my name," he began, his voice low and husky, his fingers tracing a path from my chin to the sensitive juncture of my throat and shoulder—Fuck! "When they look at me with tear-filled eyes begging for a release," his touch moved to my shoulder, tracing down my arm, and sending a jolt of electricity coursing through me—OH. MY. GOD, "When their breathing picks up an erratic pace and their hearts start racing. When they cry for a release, beg me to fuck them harder and not stop. That is what excites me—to know I have a power over them that they never will have over me. And no matter what they will always have their legs spread, ready to fucking surrender whenever I'd want to fuck them."

As he slowly withdrew, I finally exhaled, releasing the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. My bottom was wet, a proof of the wildfire that had coursed through me.

God...

Damien knew no bounds.

I forced myself to breathe, to steady my racing thoughts. "Well... I-I didn't need that much information."

"You asked, Bunny," he chuckled huskily, taking a sip of the drink the bartender had just handed him. "That's why they say it's better to think before you ask for something."

"My bad, I guess," I shrugged, feeling my throat tighten. I raised my glass and took a sip, hoping to quench the dryness.

"So tell me, why aren't you dancing despite having at least fourteen men approach you in the past thirty minutes?" he asked, surprising me with his observation. I had thought he was preoccupied with those women. I had even thought that he totally forgot about me.

After he introduced me to a few of his friends and headed to the dance floor, several men approached me, including some of his friends offering a dance, all of which I politely declined. Truthfully, I had no desire to feel any other man's hands on me—it didn't excite me, not even the thought of it.

"You said it yourself before we got here," I replied. "This isn't exactly a party of gentlemen."

"That's the thing, Hailey," he murmured, his gaze piercing as he leaned closer to my ear. "A gentleman can't make you feel what men like us can. They might offer you security, but the thrill that drives you to the edge, the sensation that crawls beneath your skin tearing it apart, and the fire that burns you, only we have the power to ignite all of that."

"Why would I want to be ruined?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. His lips curled into a smirk.

"There's a strange kind of peace in being ruined, Hailey. One that you can't understand until you're actually ruined," he said, casting one last glance before placing his half-empty glass on the bar and disappearing into the crowd. I found myself lifting his glass and downing the remaining liquor, relishing the bitter taste that spread across my tongue and the burn in my throat—a subtle pain that surged through my veins. Unknowingly, I let out a sigh—it felt oddly satisfying.

So, that was Damien's taste—something bitter, something that burned, something that caused pain, yet it became an addiction, a compulsion to keep going for some weird fucking reason.

"Give me the same drink he ordered," I told the bartender.