Page 20 of The Landlord
My hands shake as I dial 911, explaining the situation to the dispatcher. The entire time, Damien keeps Barry pinned to the wall, speaking in a voice too low for me to hear. Whatever he's saying makes Barry's eyes widen with genuine fear.
The police arrive in less than five minutes. By then, several other residents have gathered, drawn by the commotion. Mrs. Simone gives her statement, gesturing dramatically with her cane while Doug sits regally in her arms, looking pleased with himself.
"We've had reports about this guy," one officer tells us after taking our statements. "He's been on our radar. Apparently, there's CCTV footage of him lurking around this block for the past few weeks."
"Weeks?" Damien's voice is sharp. "Why wasn't something done sooner?"
The officer shrugs apologetically. "We can't arrest someone for standing on a public sidewalk. But this" —he points to my wrist where bruises are already forming— "this gives us cause."
They lead Barry to the police car, and he twists in their grip to look at me. "This doesn't change anything, Alyssa! We're meant to be together! I'll be back!"
The threat hangs in the air even after they drive away.
Mrs. Simone pats my arm. "You should put some ice on that wrist, dear. And perhaps give this brave little soldier an extra treat tonight." She hands Doug back to me. "He's quite the protector."
"Thank you," I whisper, hugging her awkwardly with one arm while holding Doug with the other. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."
"Nonsense. That's what neighbors do." She retrieves her scattered groceries, waving off Damien's offer to help. "You two take care of each other tonight. I suspect you both need it."
She disappears into the building, and the adrenaline that's been keeping me upright begins to fade. My knees buckle, and Damien catches me against his chest. "I've got you, baby. You're safe."
The elevator stops at our floor, and without discussion, we head to my apartment. Once inside, Damien locks the door, checks the windows, then finally turns to face me.
"Ice for your wrist," he says, moving to the kitchen.
I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. Doug climbs into my lap, curling into a protective ball against my stomach. I stroke his soft fur, whispering praise for his bravery.
Damien returns with ice wrapped in a kitchen towel, kneeling in front of me to gently place it on my wrist. His touch is impossibly tender, a stark contrast to the violence I witnessed outside.
"Thank you." I meet his eyes, finding them dark with lingering anger and something else—fear. He was afraid for me. "I should have listened to you."
"No. This isn't on you, Alyssa. None of it."
The ice numbs my skin, but warmth spreads through me as Damien's thumb traces small circles on the inside of my uninjured wrist.
"You called me yours. Outside, when you were confronting Barry. You said you'd protect what's yours."
"I meant every word."
The air between us crackles, electric and heavy with unspoken want. My pulse pounds in places I shouldn't be thinking about right now, heat pooling low in my belly as his eyes drop to my mouth.
When he leans closer, his breath doesn't just warm my lips—it sends fire racing through my veins, making me hyperaware of every inch of space between our bodies. The scent of him makes my head spin and my knees weak.
His mouth claims mine with desperate hunger, and I give as much as I'm getting as Doug huffs indignantly and jumps off my lap, retreating to his bed in the corner.
Damien lifts me effortlessly, carrying me toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss. My legs wrap around his waist, feeling the hard evidence of his desire pressing against me. God, I can never get used to how good he makes me feel, and he hasn't even fucked me properly yet.
"I thought I'd lost you," he says against my neck, laying me on the bed with surprising gentleness. "When I heard Doug barking like that?—"
"I'm here." I pull him down to me, needing his weight, his heat. "I'm right here."
His hands slide under my shirt, big palms against soft skin, making me shiver. "Tell me what you need."
"You. Just you."
We pull at each other's clothes between kisses, hands fumbling with buttons and fabric. When Damien's mouth trails down my neck, he murmurs against my heated flesh, telling me how good I taste, how perfect I feel under his hands. I'm pretty sure I'll wake up tomorrow with marks that will take days to fade, and the thought only makes my pussy clench tighter.
"So beautiful," he growls against my inner thigh. "So fucking perfect."
