**Chapter 7** **Damon** Since Matthias decided to install cameras in Misty’s apartment, I find myself entranced by the vivid images that unfold before me. This morning, she glides through her space with an effortless grace that captivates me, leaving me utterly fixated. A wave of frustration washes over me as I curse Matthias for not equipping me with zoom capabilities. And when she emerges from her bathroom, wrapped only in a small pink towel that clings to her curves, my pulse quickens. Just the sight of her, skin glowing and damp from the steam of her shower, nearly brings me to my knees. My hand finds its way to my cock, and though an important meeting looms on my schedule, the world fades around me. I’m lost in a mire of desire that clouds my reason. She’s got me forgetting my identity—and she isn’t even here in person. As I watch her move around the kitchen, making toast, the towel teasingly shifts with every step she takes, revealing glimpses of her thighs. The moment the toaster pops, I find I’m already fully engaged, my hand working rhythmically as I imagine her delicate fingers instead. The anticipation builds sharply as she bites into her toast, a smear of jam spilling over her lip, its sweetness dripping down her chin like an invitation. I tighten my grip around my shaft, the warm precome coating my fingers as I continue to stroke. A deep groan escapes my lips as she lazily licks up the jam, her blissful expression setting off a wildfire of lust within me. I want her—need her—down on her knees, looking up at me just like that, relishing every part of me. Just thinking about it sends a jolt through my body, and I can't hold back. With the flood of pleasure overtaking me, I spill myself, consumed by the vision of her. Goddamn. The very act of watching her sends me tumbling over the edge. Once I compose myself, I don’t move from my spot until she steps out of her building, heading toward Nicholas, who’s waiting in the car. For a brief second, she hesitates, and my heart sinks, but whatever he says must have coaxed her in because she finally slides into the back seat. I trace the screen with my thumb. Nicholas will earn himself a generous bonus this year—a hundred grand should do, but I’d consider more if he continues to keep my future wife safe. I stay shackled by the spell she’s cast over me until I get a message from Nicholas, informing me that he’s picked her up. Late as it is, I slam my foot down on the gas pedal, my Audi R8 roaring to life as I speed down the road, forty miles over the limit. I weave around slower cars, the urgency driving me further from the office meeting I absolutely cannot afford to miss. Each mile deepens the void inside me, and I grip the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, striving to erase the memories of her soft skin swirling in my mind. I long to find her, to make my fantasies real, but I shove those thoughts aside. I can feel the tightening in my chest as I steered toward the building furthest from her. Just as my resolve begins to thaw, my phone rings. I answer without hesitating, barely letting up on the throttle. “What?” “Dropped Miss Hart off, sir,” Nicholas replies succinctly. “Were there any issues?” I ask, a slight edge to my voice. He exhales sharply. “If you want her to ride with me in the future, you’ll likely have to speak to her yourself. But I’ll be here whenever she’s ready to leave.” “I’ll speak to her now.” Even the slightest tug of reason compels me to act. I jerk the wheel, darting across three lanes of traffic. Nicholas clears his throat as he realizes I’m intent on just that. He’s been my reliable right hand for years but knows better than to test my patience. “I wouldn’t expect a warm welcome.” I chuckle at the thought. “I’m looking forward to it.” Ending the call, I veer off the next exit and onto the highway, racing in the opposite direction, my heart pounding furiously at the thought of closing the gap between us. My Little Nymph remains blissfully unaware of the hold she has over me, and I silently thank my lucky stars for that. Arriving at her floor, I push through the doors, practically feeling the tension in the air as I grip the cubicle partition tightly. Her bag and laptop are present, but the space feels vacant without her. Frustration bubbles beneath the surface, tempered by something richer—disappointment, perhaps? With a steely resolve, I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text. Me: Where is she? Matthias: You know I don’t have a tracker on her. Me: Good idea. Matthias: Fuck man, that wasn’t a suggestion. I ignore his unwanted counsel, unwilling to entertain any notion of normalcy. I am consumed by my fixation. Me: She’s at the Bruins facility. Check security for what floor. The minutes stretch painfully as I wait for his response. Matthias: Gym floor. You’re not going to be happy. Tension flares in my back as I process his warning. I watch the elevator lights flicker, adrenaline surging as the doors slide open. The moment they part, I pinpoint her across the expanse. Matthias is right: I’m far from happy. She’s engrossed in conversation with a player—a second-line defenseman, if I’m not mistaken. If he continues to encroach on her space, he might be seeking a different team soon. I stomp forward, my strides devouring the distance between us. The primal urge within me thrums louder, clamoring for action. I crave to claim her in that very moment, to press her against anything solid and watch her eyes spark with need—the same need I see mirrored in her gaze when I’m near. Finally, our eyes lock, her pale green irises widening with surprise before hardening under the facade she puts on for him. A tight smile dances on her lips as she hands out her number to… Zach? Chad? Whatever the hell his name is, all that matters to me is that he’s too close. A muscle in my jaw flexes as I contemplate the exchange, frustration coursing through me. She’s going to pay for that act—mark my words. Reluctantly, I turn away, yet I cannot let the game end here. I need to find her supervisor. If she wants to play, I’m more than equipped to demonstrate that I always emerge as the victor. As I stride through her floor, several employees gawk at my imposing presence. “Who here is Miss Hart’s supervisor?” A thin woman, dressed in a line that seems too straight, steps forward, her expression pinched. “What did she do?” I raise an eyebrow at her presumptive tone, and she instinctively steps back. “From now on, Miss Hart will report directly to me as my personal PR representative. I want her removed from all current projects and focused solely on me.” “She…she’s got quite the workload currently. Can I offer you a different employee?” she stammers, uncertainty clouding her features. “Did I ask for your opinion? Miss Hart. Now.” I proceed without waiting for a response, striding directly to my office, pulling out a cigar, and settling into my chair with an unsettling mix of anticipation and determination, ready to mold our fates together.