Mafia Daddies Between My Thighs

Chapter 35: Chapter THIRTY FIVE

ANGEL

I thought an eternity might have passed while my life fell into the same routine.

Sleep. Wake. Bathroom. Eat. Fuck.

So much of the last part that I was fully convinced Damien wasn’t human. No normal man could want it this much.

I’d lost count of how many times we’d done it, the same way I’d lost track of time.

He made me swallow his cum every time I sucked him off, and wouldn’t let me spit. The first time I’d done that, he’d made me scrub the floor with my tongue and lick every last slimy drop from the floor.

And I had had to repeat the act after that, because according to him, men didn’t like whores who spat. They prefer their sluts with a warm belly full of their goo.

Since then, I’d learned my lesson, keep his load inside me. Even when he’d paint my face with his cum and make me sleep like that, I didn’t dare wipe it off. Or he would make me pay.

There was no mercy in him, no gentleness, or moments where the beast pretended to be human.

And the worst part? My body had learned to crave him.

He always woke me up with his cock already buried inside me—he did that every morning now. Sometimes I wondered if he even slept or if he just spent the night watching me, waiting for dawn so he could take me again.

Yesterday I’d gotten wet before he even entered the room, like my body was already learning to prepare itself for him.

One thing about Damien was that he always pleasured me, ensuring to make me cum, like it was some sick point of pride. And when I did he would smile against my neck and whisper, ”There she is. My good girl. Keep cumming for Daddy, you were made for this cock, yeah?”

I hated that word, but it made me cum intensely.

Afterwards, I’d buried my face in the pillow so he wouldn’t see me cry.

Not from pain. From shame.

Because I’d wanted it, I was getting trained even when I didn’t want to.

Damien knew this too.

He always grinned against my shoulder blade when he finished inside me. Like he’d won a conquest.

I was breaking in ways that terrified me. Even when I told myself it was survival. Deep down, in the twisted part of me that was growing stronger every day, I knew the truth.

Part of me was starting to like it. I didn’t feel heavily repulsed when he breathed ’Cum for daddy,’ in my ears.

So I fought him every time he did something intimate like kissing me, because if I stopped fighting that and let myself respond to his mouth the way my body responded to his cock, I’d really be pathetically broken.

Today began normally, I was in the bathroom drying myself when a presence filled the doorway.

My heart lurched into my throat.

Damien stood there, watching me with that intensity that made every hair on my body stand up.

His eyes had always been terrifying—cold and devoid of normal human warmth. But lately, they scared me on a different level.

It was almost as if he could see through my good girl act, my false submission and the fury still burning underneath.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there watching me with that unnerving intensity.

”Is there something you want?” I whispered, still drying off. His eyes followed my movement, lingering.

”No.”

No? Then why the hell was he blocking the doorway, staring at me with that look?

Unless... could it be?

It wasn’t the first time I’d caught him watching me lately. Was the monster finally developing a soft spot as I’d hoped?

Could I test it?

Using his obsession with my body against him had been the original plan.

I dropped my shoulders, letting my wet hair fall forward like a curtain, peering up at him through my lashes with what I hoped was a meek look.

”Can I keep this? I’m c-cold.”

I’d been cold since he never allowed me clothes. I had told him multiple times, but he’d never cared before—had seemed to enjoy watching me shiver, watching my nipples harden from the chill.

He studied me without speaking, and my shoulders slumped dejectedly.

”It’s fine. Sorry I asked.” I blinked back tears rapidly.

”Why don’t you come out of the bathroom, Angel?”

Wait... why?

Was he pissed by my simple request?

Before I could process the command, he moved forward with that predatory grace that never failed to make my pulse spike. His hand wrapped around my arm and he led me back into the bedroom.

My cell. Except it had transformed.

The sheets were fresh, crisp and white. The floor was spotless. Everything had been cleaned, made perfect while I’d been in the shower.

I couldn’t imagine Damien doing all the work.

Someone had been in here. My heart kicked violently. Again.

Was it another slave he locked away as I’d guessed before?

”I thought you’ve been such a good girl these past days. So I wanted to reward you.”

To say that I was shocked was an understatement. On the bed lay a single piece of clothing. A shirt. Oversized, clearly his.

He lifted it and draped it over my head like I was a child who needed help dressing. The soft material fell past my mid-thigh.

As much as I didn’t want to be submerged in his scent like this, for the first time in what felt like forever, I almost felt human again.

Almost.

But I also felt owned. Like wearing his shirt was another way to remind me who the master was.

”Do you still feel cold now?”

I kept my expression submissive. ”I’m better. Thank you,” I whispered, and watched his grey eyes gleam with something dark and satisfied.

”That’s not your only surprise.”

I looked up at him in complete astonishment as he continued.

”Since you’ve been such a good girl, I’m thinking of letting you leave this room.”

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might break through. This was it. The opportunity I’d been playing the long game for.

But I tried not to show too much excitement, even as hope flared white-hot in my chest.

”Just don’t make me regret it,” he added, and there was a threat in those words.

A promise of what would happen if I disappointed him.

”I won’t. I promise.” The words spilt out, eager and sincere-sounding.

He studied me for a long, heavy moment, those eyes trying to read my thoughts. Then he nodded, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw.

We walked out of the room I’d been trapped in for days—weeks?—and I nearly burst into tears from the sheer relief of seeing something other than those four walls.

The apartment was modern and simple, structured like an upscale cabin. We moved through a short hallway, and my gaze drank in every detail. Doors. Weapons. Escape routes. Like my life depended on it.

Because it did. I tried not to make it too obvious.

We reached the kitchen, and Damien motioned me toward a stool ”You also get to pick your meal.”

”Anything?” I couldn’t quite keep the suspicion from my voice.

”Like I said. Good girls deserve rewards.” He smirked.

I stared at him, trying to understand this version of Damien. This was completely unlike the beast who’d forced me to my knees last night, who’d fucked me until I couldn’t breathe, who’d made me clean his cum that had leaked from my pussy to the bedsheets with my tongue.

Was this a test? Another mind game designed to make me trust him before he ripped it away?

”Then... pasta?” I said tentatively.

I watched him move around the kitchen, his muscles flexing under his shirt as he reached for ingredients.

Once again, I couldn’t help but notice how he would be devastatingly attractive if he weren’t the monster who’d stolen me.

In another life, I might have looked at him across a room and felt butterflies.

In this life, looking at him made me feel like a rabbit watching a wolf circle closer.

I watched him reach for a knife, and my eyes locked on the weapon hungrily. Then I forced myself to look away before he caught me staring.

”How is the place so clean?” I asked, genuinely curious. ”I noticed the bedroom too.” If I confirmed that there were other slaves, I could start making plans.

He glanced up from the chopping board. ”The housekeeper comes once a week.” Then, almost as an afterthought: ”Don’t get your hopes up. She’ll never help you.”