Chapter 85: His Tyrant Wife

Chapter 85: His Tyrant Wife –Damon– What I love most after making love with her is the unexpected. She sat on top of me after that intense, mind-numbing session—still glowing, still breathtaking. I leaned back against the headboard, completely spent, completely hers, as I drank in the sight of her naked body straddling mine. That flawless, milky-white skin. That spill of snow-blonde hair cascading down her back. And those haunting violet eyes—glassy, unfocused, and blank, always. Because she couldn’t see me... but damn, she still owned me. Every inch, every breath, every damn drop of me. And then—fuck. That glistening fluid we’d worked so hard for, trickling from between her thighs down to my abdomen. My seed. Me inside her. The idea of our babies... I exhaled hard. God, I might’ve given her too much of it again. But I’d pour more. Always more. She stared in my direction, her gaze distant and unfixed. That was her usual. And yet it felt like she saw right through me. The Alexandrite pendant around her neck glinted against her pale skin—so regal, so goddamn perfect. My goddess draped in jewels and sin. "So," I murmured, my fingers brushing along her breasts, teasing those plump nipples until they peaked under my touch, "what changed your mind, my love?" I gave them a gentle pinch, watching her breathe. "A week without you... that’s torture." "I have things to attend to," she replied, her fingers ghosting over my shoulders, up my neck, then my jaw. Her forehead pressed against mine. "It might take weeks." My jaw tightened. "Does that mean you’ll miss me?" I ran my hands down her waist, curling around the curve of her hips. "Hmm," she smirked. "It depends." I closed the gap between us and kissed her again—slow, deep, claiming. My hands gripped her ass, and she gasped, then grinned devilishly. "You want more?" I whispered against her lips. God, she drove me mad. "Yes, of course," she said with a sultry edge. "I’m not tired." "You’ve been stressed lately," I sighed, sweeping her long hair behind her. My voice dropped to a murmur. "You can fuck me as you like. Use me, own me—I’m yours, my wife." "I am already using you," she whispered, her thumb gliding across my lips like a tease. Fuck. What did I do in my past life to deserve a woman like her? A goddess, a queen, a storm wrapped in silk. I must’ve been one hell of a saint—or a devil she couldn’t resist. "Do you remember that position... the one where I couldn’t stop coming?" she asked, eyes half-lidded. "Yeah," I chuckled, already hard again just thinking about it. "But we don’t have that Kama Sutra sofa here." "Are there alternatives?" she purred. "God, I love you." "Who? Me or God?" She raised a teasing brow. "You," I said with a groan, lifting her into my arms as she wrapped her legs around me. "You, my goddess." We went again—harder, deeper, endlessly. And when my body finally gave in, when I collapsed beside her in total bliss, I drifted off. But just before sleep pulled me under, I caught a blur of her—sitting up, whispering into the phone. Her voice was low and dangerous. "CIA agent?" she said coolly. "Hmm. Kill him? Why not?" She let out a soft, elegant laugh. "Are you trying to be funny now, Sophia? Well, if that’s what you want, we can do that. But not kill? I don’t care if it’s the CIA, FBI, or whatever acronym—they can dig through our dirt all they want. They benefit us in the end. I can bring them down too." I groaned unconsciously and rolled closer to her voice, still half-asleep. "The President?" she scoffed. "Tell the ambassador I’ll cut off everything if they keep testing my patience." Silence. Then warmth. Her skin, her scent, her presence returned to the bed beside me. And only then—only then—was I finally at peace again. –Livana– The government? They’re gnawing at my patience like starving leeches. Clinging. Parasitic. Always whispering sweet diplomacy while digging their nails into what they want. And the community? Hypocrites. They don’t give a damn about the people—they only cry for help when their mess starts to rot. They expect us to clean up after their filth. But things have changed. Mother built trust with them, laid down a foundation of civility. But me? They want to see me fall? Let them try. I will never meet with them. Not even if they dig deep enough to taste the fire at the bottom. They’re not worthy of my presence. "You’re running?" Damon’s voice broke my thoughts. I frowned, still pounding on the treadmill. My legs ached in rhythm, but I needed this. I always run, always spar. Discipline. Precision. Power. He just doesn’t notice—because most of the time, I’m underneath him or making him lose his mind. "Yeah," I replied coolly. "Damn, that’s why you can keep up with me in bed." He chuckled, and I heard the treadmill beside me come to life. I didn’t look at him. My eyes were locked straight ahead, toward nothing and everything. What mother taught us through games and sports wasn’t just child’s play—it was warfare. Strategy. Control. Archery? A classic. Shooting? That’s where I shine. Guns, rifles, sniper. The bigger, the better. Marksmanship was always mine. Combat? Intoxicating. Intimate. Violent. The way pain teaches you more than books ever could. "I’m in great shape, babe," Damon said again. I nearly rolled my eyes. Jane, ever silent and efficient, adjusted the speed on my treadmill. I slowed to a walk, heart still racing, then stepped off with her help. My breath was steady, but my mind was still in battle. "Done?" he asked. "Keep going." I told him. Jane guided me to the bench. "Phone, please." It vibrated in my hand as I answered. "What do they want?" I asked flatly. "To meet you," Sophia said with a laugh. "None of these bastards have ever seen you. You’re like the damn VVIP of the underworld." I exhaled sharply. Blood still pounded through my body like war drums. "You already know my answer." "I do. I told them to go fuck themselves." She giggled. "Anyway, Miss Faux is handling it. Oh, she’s gonna slay." "I love that sexy bitch. That attitude of hers." I smirked. "She’ll shut those bald-headed rats up. Now, I’ll call you once I’m ready. I still have to deal with the parties here at the rest house." "Babe, seriously? It’s vacation," Damon chimed in. "We’ll do an extensive workout later." I turned my head toward him. Not exactly straight—but close enough to make my message clear. "Yeah. Extensive workout," Sophia laughed on the other end. "I’ll deal with these assholes. The Pentagon? They’re desperate to meet you. Whatever your mother created—shit, if it leaks, it’s gonna be chaos." "Hmm." I nodded, tone cool as ice. "Stay safe." I ended the call. Her words echoed in my mind. That pocket watch doesn’t just hold information. No—it holds leverage. Power. Possibly enough to trigger war. If Mother didn’t destroy it, then it means she couldn’t. There’s another reason... something deeper. I inhaled slowly. I need to handle this with precision. No mistakes. Not again. Not after that last assassination attempt. That compass? I’m certain they stole it from Mother’s prototype. She designed it to look like a family heirloom—something made for us, for safekeeping. Now our identities are exposed. They know who we are. But they won’t use me. I will use them. "Damon, hubby." My voice dropped low—sweet poison. "Yes?" I still heard him running—treadmill on incline. "I want you now. Bedroom." I knew David and Alyssa were in the gym. Silent. Observing. Maybe trying to prank us again. Let them. I don’t care but I love them. They know nothing. My condition is still a secret—and I intend to keep it that way. I heard the treadmill stop. I turned and walked toward the door, every step calculated. I know every inch of this rest house—blind or not, this is my terrain. Damon scooped me into his arms without hesitation. I clung to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, drawn to the heat radiating from his body—the way his heart thundered, wild and hungry. He charged upstairs, blind to the world, ignoring voices and footsteps behind us. "Livana! Pool now!" Laura shouted after us, and somewhere in the background, I caught our grandparents’ laughter—amused, knowing. They probably saw us as two insatiable newlyweds, aching to devour each other the moment we were alone. And they’re not wrong. I need Damon. Like air. Like sin. My lips brushed his ear as I whispered, sultry and low, "I want what you did last time... Pin me on the wall—legs wrapped around you, make me beg for more." He let out a guttural groan, his pace slowing into a hard, deliberate stride. Just the memory of last night—the way he took me, the intensity, the explosion that left me breathless and shaking—it was dangerous. Addictive. And I craved it again. Craved him. I didn’t need to say more. He was already hard. And I— I just needed distraction. Before the next storm. And Damon? He’s my favorite escape. My most effective form of relief. My personal weapon of pleasure. Until I’m ready to strike.