Devious: A Dark Mafia Romance (Deviant Series Book 1)

by Angela Snyder

  But instead, he simply steps back and says, “I should probably get you home.”

  Confused and still trying to get my bearings, I slowly climb in the car and watch him shut my door before rounding the front of the SUV and getting in on the driver’s side.

  The ride back to my place is quiet, and my self-doubt begins rearing its ugly head time and time again as I try to think back to something, anything I did wrong.

  By the time he pulls back in front of my building, I’m a jumbled mess of nerves. “Damon,” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish.

  He leans over the console, his lips merely inches from mine, and I desperately ache to close the gap between us. But instead, he kisses my cheek, sweetly, innocently. “Victoria, I had a really nice time with you tonight.” Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, he tells me, “I’d love to take you out again.”

  “You would?” I ask, internally flinching after I hear the words being said out loud. I sound desperate and needy, but I can’t help myself. I had an amazing time tonight with Damon, and I don’t want this to end anytime soon.

  “Of course,” he says with that sexy signature smirk of his.

  He leans back in his seat and climbs out. After opening the door for me, I slip out, put on my coat, and he walks me to the front door. Once inside, Damon takes my hand, kisses the back of it before saying goodnight.

  I watch him like a lovestruck teenager go back to his vehicle and pull away from the curb.

  Letting out a sigh, I touch the locket under my dress. I never thought I’d give my heart to another after Arlo died, but I feel like I’m already on a slippery slope towards falling for Damon after just one date.

  CHAPTER 12

  DAMON

  ON THE DRIVE home, I can’t help but feel a twang of guilt for deceiving Victoria. She thinks she’s dating Prince Charming when, in all reality, I’m actually a dark knight.

  I’m not the hero in her fairytale.

  I’m the fucking villain.

  Surprisingly enough, I had a good time on our date. I thought it would be tedious and I would be constantly checking my watch to see when it could be over and I could drive her home.

  But it was the exact opposite.

  I lost track of time just like I got lost in her eyes.

  When I’m around her, it’s like I’m transported back in time to when I was a little boy falling in love with the girl next door.

  I always dreamed of what it would be like to grow up and go out on a date with Victoria. And tonight sort of felt like a dream…

  Gripping the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grasp, I shake my head to rid myself of those thoughts. I need to remember why I’m doing all of this. Victoria’s father ruined my life, murdered my father and sold my mother and sister into slavery.

  He needs to pay for what he did to me…to them.

  Victoria is simply a casualty in the grand scheme of things, and I can’t get too attached.

  I have to lie to her.

  I have to deceive her.

  And I absolutely cannot under any fucking circumstance allow myself to fall for her.

  It will ruin everything.

  I had a temporary moment of weakness in the parking garage, but she just looked so damn delicious in that short dress. I couldn’t resist touching her, making her come hard against my hand.

  Fuck.

  Once I arrive home to my empty and lonely apartment, I find myself actually missing Victoria. I miss the smell of her skin — cherry blossom and peaches. I miss her dark blue eyes that look violet depending on the light. I miss the melodic sound of her soft laugh.

  I allow myself exactly one minute to mope like a fucking teenage boy who just got his dick wet for the first time.

  And then I push everything down where it belongs and move the fuck on.

  I text Baz to let him know that the date went well. He’s the one man I trust. The only person I trust. And I know he’ll be my confidante who will get me through this fucking mess I created for myself.

  The next several weeks are going to be the hardest.

  I have to lie, cheat and deceive her into falling for me. Not the real me, but the version that I portray to her.

  I’m going to hurt her. That is fucking inevitable. So, I need to keep myself at a distance all while wooing the one girl who is pivotal to getting my ultimate revenge.

  It’s going to be a struggle, but I know I can do it. I have been planning this for so long now that nothing will get in my way.

  I sit down at my desk and flip through the months in the calendar. I mark exactly three months from now. I give myself that long to make Victoria fall for me. That long for her to say yes to my marriage proposal. That long for her to introduce me to her father.

  And that long for me to kill him.

  CHAPTER 13

  VICTORIA

  AFTER MY MORNING run in Central Park, I stop at Helen’s Books and Brews. I really needed that run to clear my head. Damon and I have been on a few dates over the past three weeks, but they haven’t been as mind-blowing as our first date night.

  It’s like he’s keeping his distance, and I don’t know why. Hell, he hasn’t even kissed me on the lips yet.

  Sophie looks up at me expectantly, and I know what she’s going to ask even before she says anything.

  Shaking my head, her shoulders slump dramatically.

  “No kiss yet? What is his deal?” she whines.

  I shrug. “No idea,” I say before sitting down at a table.

  Sophie has dated a lot in her lifetime, so she knows when things are out of the ordinary…or just plain weird.

  And even I, the twenty-three-year-old virgin who never dated before Damon, know that something is off.

  “I’m making him dinner tonight at my place,” I tell her.

  “Ooh,” Sophie crows as she brings over our usual drinks and cookies. “With the bedroom within walking distance, he might just skip dinner altogether and waltz your ass right in there,” she says while taking a seat across from me.

  “I hope so,” I say with a sigh. “I’m getting tired of wondering if he likes me or not.”

  “He wouldn’t be taking you out if he didn’t like you. He’s just…” Sophie hesitates, trying to find the right word before finally settling on, “Shy.”

  “I don’t think shy is the right word to describe a man like Damon,” I tell her with a shake of my head.

  “Maybe he’s just so blinded by your beauty that he doesn’t know how to act.”

  I snort at that. “I doubt that’s the reason.”

  “Well, there has to be a reason. You said he grew up on the streets, right?”

  I give her a nod.

  “Well, maybe he was never taught how to love. Maybe kissing is too personal for him or something…” She puts up her finger like she just got a great idea. “Oh, just like in Pretty Woman! Julia Roberts never kissed any of those fools on the mouth.”

  “But Damon isn’t a hooker,” I point out sarcastically.

  “Thank god for that, because women would be lining up to get a piece of that,” she blurts out, and I can’t help but bust up laughing.

  “You would be first in line,” I say.

  “You bet your ass I would,” Sophie says with a sly grin. “Just give the man time. Maybe he just wants to take it slow like he told you. I think that’s actually pretty sweet.” She sits back in her seat. “Most guys want to hit it and quit it on the first date. At least he’s not like that.”

  I give her words some consideration, and I decide that Sophie’s right. She’s totally right. Damon isn’t using me for sex, and he isn’t trying to get in my pants before I’m ready. So what if he hasn’t kissed me yet? Maybe he’s just waiting for the right time.

  A smile forms on my lips as I reach over and hug her across the table. “Thanks, Soph. You always know the right thing to say.”

  After I let her go, she tilts her head to the side and grins. “I’m just awesome like that.” Then, she takes a s
ip of her coffee before asking me, “So, what are you making him for dinner?”

  “Something very special.” I’ll be using a recipe that I hold very near and dear to my heart. “I just hope he likes it.”

  “I’m sure he’ll love it,” she tells me confidently. “And for god’s sake, woman, don’t let him leave without a kiss!”

  Chuckling, I shake my head at her. “Okay. I’ll try my best.”

  -------

  I READ OVER the worn recipe card for the ten-thousandth time before I stick the lasagna into the oven. Julianna Rossi, Arlo’s mother, gave me the recipe when I was a little girl. I always loved helping her bake anything and everything.

  She made me promise that one day I would make it for Arlo.

  Too bad I’ll never get the chance to do that since they all perished away in the fire long ago.

  But making her recipe tonight for Damon feels right. It feels like I’m honoring Julianna’s memory by making one of her most coveted recipes.

  After setting the timer on the oven, I hurry to hop into the shower and get ready. Damon wanted to take me out to dinner tonight, but I insisted that I make us a meal at my place instead. It took some convincing, but he finally relented.

  I want to tell him he doesn’t need to spend so much money on me, but I don’t know how to voice that opinion.

  While I’m getting dressed, I glance around my opulent bedroom. He probably thinks a girl like me is used to the finer things in life. If he only knew I spent most of my childhood and adult life on the bottom bunk in crowded dorm rooms with only a few possessions to my name.

  My father spared no expense when it came to my arrival back to New York City, but I’m not used to this type of life, by any means.

  Checking my reflection in the mirror, I adjust my sweater, which exposes my left shoulder, and do a little twirl to make sure my skinny jeans look good. I’m dressed down compared to my normal date night attire with Damon, but I want to be comfortable since we’re staying in tonight.

  I forgo any jewelry as well, instead leaving my locket tucked away safely in a small, velvet box on my dresser.

  A knock at my front door has me hurrying to answer it. Damon is standing on the other side in a black button-up and dark jeans.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he tells me before slipping a kiss to my cheek. “Something smells delicious.”

  A big smile is on my face as I step aside to let him in before I close the door. “It’s lasagna. I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I’ll love it,” he tells me.

  The timer on the oven goes off, and I pull out the dish of bubbling lasagna. I hope it tastes as good as it looks.

  “What can I do to help?” Damon asks.

  “If you want to pour the wine, I’ll get the food,” I tell him.

  “Sure.”

  I dish out generous portions and give the salad a final toss to make sure it’s well coated with my homemade Italian dressing before scooping that onto the plates as well. Then I carry them to the table where Damon is already seated.

  Digging in, I put the first bite of lasagna in my mouth and close my eyes. It takes me back to my childhood when Julianna Rossi would invite me over for dinner. While mine could never be an exact replica, it’s pretty damn close, and I’m glad I could do her recipe justice.

  “I hope you like it,” I tell Damon. “It’s an old family recipe. Well, not my own family, per se,” I say, correcting myself. “The family who lived next to door to me when I was a child.”

  The clattering of Damon’s fork against his plate has my eyes snapping up to meet his. I see a myriad of emotions running through him, but the look of disgust on his face as he glares down at the lasagna has me clenching my silverware in my hand. I watch his throat flex as he takes a hard swallow.

  “Do you…not like it?” I ask hesitantly, feeling my spirits crashing and burning on the ground around me.

  “No,” he says quickly, picking his fork back up. “I like it.” I watch as he takes another bite, closing his eyes as if to savor it. “It tastes just like my mom used to make,” he comments after he chews.

  I know he doesn’t like to talk about his family, so it makes sense he got upset for a moment. Taking a long sip of my wine, I stare over my glass at Damon. He looks hot and brooding, like always. There’s something so mysterious about him, like he’s guarding a lot of secrets.

  We eat the rest of our dinner in companionable silence. And when we’re finished, I tell him, “I made dessert,” while standing to clear the dishes off the table. When I reach for Damon’s plate, however, he grabs my wrist, halting me.

  His thick fingers caress my skin under the sleeve of my sweater. And then his green eyes meet mine. “I don’t want dessert,” he says in a rough voice.

  “What do you want?” I ask him breathlessly, taken aback by the feral look in his eyes.

  “You, Victoria. I want you.”

  CHAPTER 14

  DAMON

  ANGER COURSES THROUGH my veins.

  How dare she use my mother’s recipe.

  The memories that hit my tongue at the first bite were almost more than I could bear. I thought she had somehow conjured up the ingredients in her head to make a precise imitation of the favorite meal my mother used to make me when I was a child.

  But no, she has the actual recipe card sitting on the counter. I eyed it when I went to refill our glasses with wine. And seeing my dead mother’s handwriting did something to me. It’s as if something snapped deep inside of me, and I can’t seem to turn the switch back off.

  As I lead Victoria back to her bedroom, I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I should leave right now and call her tomorrow once I’ve calmed down.

  But the raging hard-on pressing up against my jeans is doing all the thinking for me at the moment.

  I want to fuck her. Punish her. I want to hate-fuck her until she feels vulnerable, completely helpless and confused — all the emotions I’ve felt throughout the years without her. Emotions she never had to go through or process on her own.

  Stepping into the bedroom, I can practically taste the fear rolling off of her in waves. If I was a good man, I would tell her we don’t have to do this. I would turn and walk out of the room without even glancing back.

  But I’m not a good man.

  Perhaps she can sense the anger coursing through my veins, my need for vengeance. Because as she turns to me, I see the trepidation written all over her face. She’s about to tell me she can’t do this. She’s about to tell me no.

  But I don’t give her the chance to stop this.

  I’m not going to give her a choice, because she deserves everything I’m going to fucking give her tonight.

  “Damon, I…” Her voice trails off as she stares up at me with her big, blue eyes.

  “Strip,” I demand of her. “I want to see you. All of you,” I tell her before unbuttoning my shirt and tossing it on the floor.

  Every movement she makes is preceded by hesitation, but she does as I ask. She yanks her sweater up over her head, revealing a light blue, lacy bra. She takes off the bra then, and I suck in a sharp breath at the sight of her perfect, rounded breasts with tiny, dark rose nipples.

  Fuck.

  My belt is next. And as I pull the hard leather through the loops, I think about using it on Victoria tonight. I can’t help but wonder what her silky, tan skin would look like with my marks and bruises covering her thighs and ass for weeks.

  Gripping the leather tightly, I force myself to drop it to the floor. Tonight is not the night to exorcise my demons. If I’m cruel with her, I’ll drive her away much too fast. And I can’t have that.

  Her hands tremble as she makes several attempts to unbutton her jeans, and I feed off of her nervousness and fear like a drug. My tongue runs over my bottom lip as I watch her pants disappear to reveal matching blue, lacy panties. When they’re gone too, I boldly peruse her naked form. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Tight and toned with flawless olive skin. Fucking perfect.
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  “Get on the bed,” I tell her, my voice husky and rough.

  The large, four-poster bed is in the middle of the spacious room over a cream-colored shag rug. Dark wooden floors, a walk-in closet and antique furniture make up the rest of the room. The curtains on the windows are sheer, allowing the city lights to illuminate the room and letting me see her beautiful body.

  I watch Victoria lie back on the bed, and she’s practically shaking like a leaf when I climb over top of her. Supporting my weight on my elbow, I hover over her and stare at her bee-stung lips. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Victoria, but I don’t plan on finding out.

  That would be a first for me and a hard limit.

  Instead, I kiss my way down the column of her neck and chest before drawing her pebbled nipple into my mouth. She cries out and then hisses in pain as I suck and bite at the stiff peak. I lavish the other breast in equal attention before making my way down her lithe, toned body.

  I lick and suck my way to her pussy, breathing in her soft, flowery scent before claiming her as mine. The first sweep of my tongue on her clit has her hips arching off the bed, pushing her harder against my mouth. The second has her crying out my name. And the third elicits the sweetest moan I’ve ever heard.

  Her face is twisted in ecstasy already even though I’ve just started. Grinning, I begin to lick, suck and bite gently, feasting on her like a desperate, starving man. And I feel like I've been starving for her ever since I first laid eyes on her in the coffee shop.

  Fuck, I want to eat her sweet pussy until she comes all over my face.

  Licking the soft lips of her sex, she squirms and trembles under me. Her hips buck as if she’s trying to get away from me. Wrapping my hands around her thighs, I hold her in place as I focus my efforts on her clit. I want to make her feel everything I give her without being able to move away, and it drives her crazy with lust. She shakes her head back and forth in silent protest, but it's too late to back out of this now. I'm too far gone.