The Maid's Deception-Chapter 50 - 49: Jealous Fury

Damian’s POV

Damien stood in conversation with Harold Chen and Robert Morrison, two potential investors, but he wasn’t listening to a single word they were saying.

His entire focus was on James Worthington...standing too close to Aria, smiling at her with that charming, predatory grin Damien recognized all too well. James had a reputation. A habit of pursuing women who worked for other men, as if it was a game to him.

And now he was looking at Aria like she was prey.

Mine, something primitive in Damien’s chest growled. She’s mine. Touch her again and I’ll destroy you.

He watched James’s fingers brush against Aria’s hand as she gave him a champagne glass. Watched her try to step back. Watched James follow.

The rage that flooded through him was white-hot, barely controlled.

He pulled out his phone and turned the vibrator to maximum, watching with dark satisfaction as Aria gasped and nearly collapsed. Watching her flee toward the kitchen, away from James’s predatory attention.

Good. She needed to understand. Needed to know what happened when other men looked at what was his.

"....don’t you think, Blackwood?"

Damien realized Robert had asked him a question. "I’m sorry, could you repeat that?"

"The quarterly projections. Do you think..."

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Damien’s voice was polite but cold. "I need to attend to something. Marcus can answer any questions you have."

He didn’t wait for a response. Just moved through the crowd with single-minded purpose, every instinct screaming at him to find Aria, to claim her, to make absolutely certain everyone in this room knew who she belonged to.

He found her near the bar, trying to compose herself, still trembling from the orgasm he’d denied her. Her eyes met his across the room, and he saw the fear there. The awareness that she’d done something wrong, even though she’d done nothing except be beautiful and draw the attention of a man who had no right to look at her that way.

Before Damien could reach her, James appeared at her side again.

That was it. The final straw.

Damien crossed the room in long strides, his expression carefully neutral even as fury burned through his veins.

"Sarah," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "I need you in my study. Now."

"Yes, Mr. Blackwood." Her voice was small, scared.

"Blackwood," James protested with a laugh. "I was just having a conversation with....."

"Sarah has duties to attend to," Damien interrupted, his eyes cold. "I’m sure you can entertain yourself, Worthington."

The threat beneath his polite words was unmistakable. James’s smile faltered.

"Of course. My apologies."

Damien’s hand went to the small of Aria’s back, guiding her away from the crowd, through the hallway, toward his study. His grip was firm, possessive, barely controlled.

"Damien...." she started once they were out of earshot.

"Not here." His voice was tight. "Wait until we’re in private."

They reached his study and he all but pushed her inside, slamming the door behind them and locking it with a decisive click.

"Damien, I didn’t....he just...."

"He touched you." Damien’s voice was low, dangerous. "He put his hands on you. Flirted with you. Looked at you like..." He stopped, his jaw clenched. "Like he had any right to you."

"I didn’t encourage him! I tried to get away...."

"I know." He moved toward her, predatory, and she backed up instinctively until she hit the wall. "I know you tried. But that’s not the point. The point is that he thought he could. Thought you were available. Thought you weren’t already claimed."

"Damien, you’re being unreasonable..."

"Am I?" He braced his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. "Tell me, Aria. Who do you belong to?"

"I...."

"Say it." His voice was steel. "Tell me who owns you. Who has the right to touch you. To make you come. To have you."

"You," she whispered. "You do."

"That’s right. Me. Only me." His hand slid to her throat, not squeezing, just holding. "And I think you need a reminder of that. Need to understand what happens when other men think they can have what’s mine."

ARIA’S POV

Aria’s heart hammered against her ribs. She’d never seen Damien like this—barely controlled rage simmering beneath his polished exterior. This wasn’t the careful, controlled man who’d been teaching her about pleasure. This was something rawer. More primal.

And despite the fear, despite everything, she felt heat flood through her.

"I’m sorry," she said, meaning it. "I didn’t mean to..."

"I know." His grip on her throat tightened slightly. "But that doesn’t change what’s going to happen now. You’re going to be punished. And you’re going to learn that your body belongs to me. Every inch of it. Every response. Every orgasm. Mine."

"What are you...."

"Strip." The command was absolute. "Everything off. Now."

Her hands shook as she reached for the zipper of her dress. "Here? But the guests...."

"Are being entertained by my staff. And this room is soundproof. Now strip before I rip that dress off you myself."

She hurried to obey, her face burning as she pulled off the formal uniform, her bra, her panties. Standing naked in his study while he remained fully dressed made her feel vulnerable in a way that was both terrifying and arousing.

"The vibrator," he said. "Take it out."

She reached between her legs and removed the device carefully, her face flaming with embarrassment.

"Good. Now go to my desk. Bend over it. Hands flat on the surface."

"Damien, what are you going to....."

"Do as I say." His voice was hard. "Or the punishment gets worse."

She crossed to his desk on trembling legs and bent over it as instructed, her palms flat on the polished wood, her ass exposed and vulnerable.

"Do you know what I’m going to do?" Damien asked from behind her, and she heard the sound of his belt being removed. "I’m going to spank you. Going to mark your ass so you remember this every time you sit down tomorrow. So you remember who owns you."

"Please...."

"Count them," he ordered. "And after each one, you’re going to say ’I belong to Damien.’ Understand?"

She nodded, barely able to breathe.

The first strike came without warning....his belt against her bare ass, sharp and stinging. She cried out.

"Count," he demanded.

"One! I belong to Damien!"

The second strike was harder. "Two! I belong to Damien!"

By the fifth, she was sobbing. By the tenth, she was sure she couldn’t take any more.

"Ten! I belong to Damien!"