Maid for the Mafia by Jaylee

Never Never Land

**DAMIEN**

Stepping back out of my newly structured closet to admire my handiwork, my lips twist into a naughty grin and I allow myself to get excited for lunch. *She's going to be so pissed, but in the end it will be totally worth it.*

Romany wasn't at breakfast, and coincidentally, neither was I. I watched the dining room live feed from right here in my room. On the edge of panic the entire time, as I waited for my sweet girl to arrive. I didn't want to get caught in whatever web Dana would certainly try to weave around me *unless* my jealous midget Barbie actually showed up. I know from experience, shaking Dana off of my leg can be an all day kind of jam and I didn't feel like dancing to that tune. Nope...instead I simply waited, telling myself the moment Romany showed her face I would hightail it downstairs to intervene.

I had planned to be there, of course. *Hoped and ached* to be *really* but I also knew that Romany *might* go out of her way to avoid me this morning. Especially after my little attempt at a clit tease backfired in the most awful of ways, but I had yet to even *see* Dana at all. And the one thing I was *sure of*, was that *she* would most *definitely* be in attendance at breakfast, which she was. I *also* knew that there was no way in hell I could allow the pair of them to sit at the table together without me as a buffer. Or a referee. Or a rumor monitor. Or whatever it was that sat in between two catty females with sparkling claws.

The way Romany had reacted this morning surprised the fuck out of me. I mean sure, *maybe* it was a dick move on my part, trying to force her awake so that I could lay into her luscious body. Maybe I didn't use the right tactic, maybe it might have even been a little pervy.

But what I said wasn't in any way true! I would never, ever, ever, in a million years and a thousand suns - think that Dana could ever be a stand in for my gorgeous little siren. I mean...honestly? Who would?

But I also didn't believe she would react as violently as she had.

She fucking slapped me. *ME!?* Her Dreamboat - or so she likes to call me.

I snicker to myself, a tingling heat lighting across my face when I remember the very first time she revealed her nickname for me.

love her name for me. It actually makes me feel like I am at the head of the pack instead of last in line

in the mirror then turn toward the door. Leaving

pair of them verbally sliced me to ribbons. The thought actually has me smiling as I picture her face. How angry she might have

only got hard

cider and a flute of Armand De Brignac. They were worlds apart. Both in

in her own sort of way. She might even be the perfect match for some guy out there somewhere, but...not one like me. And it was guys like

in today's modern dating pool - each and every one of them tended to drop to their knees in worship the very moment a bad guy showed up and showed them even a modicum of attention. Suddenly all thoughts of knights in shining armor and heroes slaying dragons were gone, leaving in their wake - visceral, aggressive, *selfish* men that cared more about their money than their morals. Men that were used to doing things *without* consideration for others. Men that women *loved* to be claimed by. They lived for it. Breathed for it. All over the world villains were feared

one of these men

them ever

shirt that stretches across me like a second skin, and a pair of fashionably ripped blue jeans. The shirt is short sleeved with a widened vee neck, leaving most of my best attributes on display. Why? Because I know now much my lady likes my tattooed muscles and I *also* know that while she still may be mad at me - there

step into the grand hall and catch my first glimpse of

all of my little lap lunch fantasies burn to a crisp, dying a swift and massively punishing

can't believe what it is

It can't be.

fucking can't