All the Curves

Damien’s POV

I returned to the meeting with a blank expression, smoothing the mask back over my face like slipping into a finely tailored coat. The mayor was droning on about zoning conflicts and the new investor gala. I nodded, leaned back, and let my mind concentrate.

I said all the right things. Gave a compelling breakdown of the new offshore fund, disarmed the governor’s opposition with a single raised brow, and promised the mayor the zoning permits for his “legacy project” would be delivered before the next election cycle.

And yet—I wasn’t really there.

A few more minutes passed before something new cut through the meeting.

Perfume. Too repulsive. Too familiar.

I felt her before I saw her.

She sashayed in without shame, hips swaying in a rhythm only desperation could birth, platinum blonde hair cascading over bare shoulders. One of the call girls I used to keep around in my darker, lonelier hours—Sienna, I think. Or was it Star? Simone? They all blended.

"Mr Voss," she purred, her voice like sticky honey, "Long time no see."

The men at the table quieted, curious.

She leaned in too close, pressing one manicured hand on my shoulder. Her cleavage was nearly touching my arm. “Miss me?”

I didn’t even look at her.

“No.”

I shrugged her off with such cold indifference it must have frozen her down to her stilettos.

She blinked, faltered—but then laughed lightly. “Still playing hard to get…”

Before she could embarrass herself further, the mayor chuckled and extended his hand toward her. “Ignore him, darling. Why don’t you head up to my suite? I’ll be done here soon.”

He slipped her a key card like it was a business card.

She took it with a coy smile and strutted away, leaving a trail of perfume and poor choices behind.

She giggled and winked at me as she walked off, hips swaying like a promise.

I didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting. I didn’t need to.

It ended not long after, the mayor patting me on the back and muttering something about “playing nice at the gala.” I was already halfway from getting up from my seat before his words even registered.

I gave one last handshake, one last tight-lipped smile, and walked out without looking back.

Outside, the city had grown darker. Wetter. The sky had opened up, the rain turning the pavement into a mirror of headlights and sins.

The moment I stepped out, I saw him again.

Andrew. Handing out more fucking flyers like a tragic paper boy.

He looked up. Our eyes met.

I didn’t stop. Didn’t blink. Just walked past him like he was smog in my path.

He called after me. I didn’t hear it. I didn’t care.

I got into the back of the car and pulled out my phone.

“Olivia,” I said once she picked up.

“Yes, Mr. Voss?”

“Cancel the rest of my meetings. I’m going home.”

A pause. “Are you sure that’s a good call? Mrs Shirley won’t be happy about this. The last time you canceled the meeting, I apologized until I ran out of words,” she replied, a strict tone in her voice.

“Just make up something, Livy. I’ll give you another raise,” I said quickly and hung up before she could try to lecture me about keeping to my words.

I rolled my neck once, and said, “Take me to The Avenue. The mall. Now.”

The driver didn’t question it. He just obeyed.

Inside the luxury shopping center, I moved with quiet precision. I pointed to things and they were brought to me—silk nightwear, velvet robes, delicate lace in sinful reds and dangerous blacks. I imagined Isabella in each one—on the bed, in the chair, by the fire, in the pool.

Her voice still haunted me, soft and innocent in my ear, the way her breath hitched when my fingers brushed bare skin. My throat tightened.

"What size do you want them in?" One of the attendants asked, clipboard in hand.

My gaze drifted, but not to the fabric. My mind took me elsewhere—back to that first night.

The memory hit hard. Her skin had been warm beneath my palms, every inch of her carved like temptation itself. I remembered how her neck arched when I kissed just below her ear, the slope of her back as it curved so perfectly into the fullness of her hips. The swell of her breasts—full, soft, made to be touched—and the tight line of her waist that disappeared into my hands like it had been made for them.

She’d trembled under me, nails digging into my shoulder blades, whispering things I still wasn’t sure she meant to say aloud.

Now, I imagined her again—standing before a mirror, slipping on something sheer and scandalous, her hands gliding over her own body the way mine once had. I saw her—barefoot, hair loose, looking over her shoulder with that half-smile that promised trouble.

"Size four," I said finally, my voice low, thick. "She’s five-eight. Fit. Curvy. Everything you’re holding? She’d look even better out of it."

The attendant gave a knowing smile, but I was already lost in the image of Isabella once more, drowning in want.

My cock stirred with every thought. Her curves. Her soft skin. The way her breath hitched when I stood too close.

I picked out a red lingerie set so sheer it looked painted on. I imagined her in it—kneeling, looking up at me like she had no idea how fucking divine she was. My pants tightened.

I clenched my teeth, trying to stay composed as I shoved more items into the basket held by another poor, wide-eyed attendant tailing me.

“More. I want everything—home clothes, lingerie, bras, things she can wear in the house,” I said through gritted teeth, grabbing an armful of satin and lace.

The attendant was trembling now, her arms overflowing.

My gaze was black with desire, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

I left the lingerie section and stalked into the electronics store next door.

“I need the latest iPhone. The max storage,” I said to the clerk.

He blinked. “Of course. Would you like it activated—?”

“Yes. But restrict outgoing calls. She can receive, not dial.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

I handed over my card without another word.

By the time I exited the store, the driver was already waiting. He took the bags from the struggling attendant without a word and loaded them into the car.

As I stepped out of the mall, something made me pause.

Across the street, through the tinted windows of a high-end spa, I saw Liam, walking hand-in-hand with Mrs. Osmond, the silver-haired wife of my biggest rival.

They were laughing.

A slow, sharp smile curled my lips.

Good. My little backup powerhouse was leveling the ground. When I needed favors from our sugar-mummy again, Liam would ensure they were already paid for in sweat and silk sheets.

I slipped into the back of the car, just as thunder cracked above.

Rain began to pour—hard, blinding sheets smacking against the windshield.

“Where to, Mr. Voss?” the driver asked.

I leaned my head back.

“To my house.”

The phone rang.

Unknown number.

I hesitated. My finger hovered. Then I answered.

“Hello?”