The Red Zone - 3. "Line Of Scrimmage"

Damien awoke the following day with a gnawing ache in his chest. He stared at the ceiling, the pale light of dawn filtering through the blinds, when that sting of humiliation crept up again. Bruce's abrupt withdrawal had felt like a slap and a reminder of something Damien thought he had figured out by now: that he should never let his guard down, not even for a second.

The blonde sat up, running a hand through his tousled golden hair. His muscles ached with tension, jaw tight from grinding his teeth through his sleep. He'd been reckless, letting his emotions cloud his judgment, allowing Bruce to get under his skin like no guest had before. And now he was going to have to deal with the fallout. And Damien was pretty sure there would be one.

Regardless, he pushed the thoughts aside, swinging his legs out of bed and forcing himself into the routine he knew so well. Shower, uniform, hair. Each step was a mechanical motion, a way to ground himself. As he stepped under the hot spray of the shower, he let it wash over him, hoping it might cleanse some of the frustration that clung to him like a stubborn stain that just wouldn't come off.

Damien didn't have the luxury of wallowing. He had a job to do and a reputation to maintain. He couldn't afford to be the weak link, not after climbing so high, so quickly. His mind cycled through the possibilities: either Bruce would demand that Damien be stripped of his duties, humiliating him in front of the entire resort, or he would say nothing, and Damien would have to face him every day, pretending nothing had happened, pretending that whatever sparked on that boat between them was a figment of his imagination.

He shut off the water and stepped out, toweling off briskly, his movements sharp and determined. He'd made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. His mind flashed to Schofield, to the inevitable and excruciatingly awkward conversation that would unfold if Bruce complained. Damien clenched his jaw, willing his confidence to return. He was good at his job, he thought. Ah, fuck it, no, he was great at it. And he wasn't letting anyone, not even Bruce Levinson, take that away from him.

He dressed quickly, his pristine white polo and tailored shorts hugging his form, the resort's emblem displayed proudly over his heart. He glanced at himself in the mirror, reaching for his buried confidence. The same one that had gotten him this far.

Damien tried to brace himself as he made his way downstairs to the staff canteen. The buzz of conversation filled the air, the morning rush of staff preparing for another day at Eden's Edge. He spotted Ryan and Camilo across the room, their animated gestures and quick footsteps signaling urgency. Damien barely crossed the threshold when they rushed up to him, their expressions excited and concerned. Ryan's eyes were wide, his voice breathless.

"Dude, Levinson demanded a private meeting with Schofield this morning!" the stud said.

The words hit Damien like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind from his lungs. He felt his stomach drop, his confidence wavering as the reality of the situation set in. Bruce was going straight to the top. Damien's worst fears felt like they were crystallizing in real-time.

"Yeah... he's definitely going to get me fired," the blonde muttered, a sigh running through his throat.

He could already picture the smug look on Schofield's face, the triumphant way he'd relish finally getting Damien on his knees, sucking his 3-inch prick. But Damien, despite his age, had faced challenges before. Obstacles that would have made others crumble. He had clawed his way up from the bottom, earning every bit of respect through sheer grit and undeniable talent. No matter how significant, one misstep with Bruce wouldn't undo that. He straightened his back, lifting his chin, his luminous eyes narrowing with renewed determination. Fuck Bruce and Schofield, Damien thought, the fire inside him reigniting. He'd fought worse.

Slowly but surely, the blonde could feel his confidence slowly revamping, brick by brick. If anything, he'd use this as a lesson. A reminder to keep his guard up and remain the calm, unstoppable force everyone knew him to be. With a deep breath, Damien set his shoulders back and walked into the canteen.

But he barely had time to assess his surroundings before he heard the familiar, grating click of Karen's heels echoing off the tiled floor of the canteen. He didn't even need to turn around to know it was her. The sharp rhythm of her steps was as distinct as nails on a chalkboard. Damien rolled his eyes, already bracing himself for whatever barrage of snide comments she had in store. Karen was like a relentless mosquito—persistent, buzzing, and perpetually annoying. She sauntered over, lips curled into a smug smile, and decked out in her usual garish attire.

"Well, well, well," Karen drawled, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "If it isn't Eden's golden boy, fresh from yet another dramatic performance." She eyed him up and down, her gaze lingering with the delight of someone who smelled blood in the water. "I heard Bruce Levinson is chatting with Schofield right now. Trouble in paradise, Damien?" she provoked.

Damien put on his best indifferent face, popping a piece of toast into his mouth and chewing slowly, savoring the momentary distraction from Karen's barbs. He glanced around the canteen, noticing that the usual buzz of conversation had quieted, replaced by a growing circle of curious eyes. The staff had caught wind of the brewing showdown, and like rabid dogs, they were all too eager to see what would unfold.

"Good morning, Karen," Damien greeted nonchalantly.

"Don't act so coy," she purred, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "I always knew you'd slip up eventually. Rising too fast, thinking you're untouchable. Sooner or later, you're going to fall flat on your pretty little face," she sneered. Damien sighed, finally turning to face her, his expression a careful mix of boredom and amusement.

"If I wanted to hear from an expert on falling flat, I'd ask you about your latest attempt at fitting into that skirt," he said, his voice laced with exaggerated patience.

The crowd around them snickered, a few muffled laughs escaping as Karen's eyes widened in indignant shock. She straightened her blazer, clearly flustered but unwilling to back down.

"Nice try, Damien, but we all know you're the one whose days are numbered. Schofield will see right through your little act," Karen sniggered, her tone sharpening as she tried to regain control. "Your charm might work on the guests, but not me. When the dust settles, you'll be just another pretty face without a clue," she added. Damien smirked, leaning back against the canteen counter with an air of effortless confidence.

"You're absolutely right," he said, nodding with mock seriousness. "Which is why I made sure I'm the best at what I do," he conveyed, letting the words hang in the air, relishing the murmurs of agreement that rippled through the staff. Karen bristled, her face turning a splotchy shade of red that clashed horribly with her lipstick. She opened her mouth to retort, but Damien held up a hand, cutting her off with a flourish. "Now...I appreciate your concern for my career," he continued, masterfully inserting the dramatic effect. "Really, I do. It's touching how invested you are in my success, or lack thereof," the blonde paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "But maybe if you spent half as much energy focusing on your own work instead of obsessing over mine, you'd have climbed out of the senior staff pit by now," Damien fired.

The laughter around them grew louder, several staff members openly chuckling at Damien's deft takedown. Karen's expression twisted with fury, her composure crumbling as she desperately fumbled for a comeback. But Damien didn't give her the chance.

"Don't worry, Karen. It's never too late to start fresh," he said with a gracious smile, his voice dripping with faux encouragement. "Maybe next year you'll finally figure out which side of the guest rooms actually faces the ocean," Damien ended.

The crowd erupted in laughter, and even Camilo and Ryan were doubled over, clutching their sides as they watched Karen's retreating form, her head held high in a desperate attempt to salvage her dignity. She glared at Damien one last time, but he simply waved her off with a dismissive flick of his hand, the corners of his mouth twitching into a satisfied grin.

"Jesus, Blondie, you went in this time," Ryan said, still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Her lower lip was actually shaking," the stud added. Damien shrugged, his smile lingering as he sipped his coffee.

"I'm beginning to think she likes the punishment," Damien softly stated before the canteen door swung open with a sudden bang, startling everyone inside. A breathless junior staff member stumbled in, his face flushed with urgency.

"Damien!" he panted, clutching his side as he tried to catch his breath. "Schofield wants you in his office. Right now," the young man informed.

Damien's eyes rolled to the back of his head. The brief high from his victory over Karen evaporated, replaced by a cold knot in his stomach. This was it. The moment of reckoning. He glanced at Ryan and Camilo, their expressions a mix of concern and encouragement, before heading out through the resort's polished corridors.

What if Bruce had complained after all? What if Schofield was about to demote him or, worse, fire him? He couldn't lose this job, Damien thought. This was more than a paycheck. It was his sanctuary, his passion, and proof that he could carve out a place for himself in a world that didn't always make room for someone like him.

He arrived at Schofield's office, a grand, glass-walled space overlooking the ocean designed to impress. The door was already slightly ajar, and with a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Schofield sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his posture stiff and expression unreadable. His eyes, usually hidden behind thick, square glasses, were fixed on a stack of papers, but the moment Damien entered, Schofield looked up, assessing.

"Damien," he began, his voice carrying a no-nonsense tone that set Damien's nerves on edge. "Take a seat," he invited.

Despite the apparent tension, the creepy glares and sexually predatory vibe were still there. Damien sat down, trying to keep his expression neutral, though his mind was already jumping to conclusions. The room felt colder, thicker somehow. Schofield leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled as he scanned Damien up and down.

"I've been hearing some things," Schofield said slowly, his voice deliberately savoring each word. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you that we have very clear policies regarding the conduct of our staff, especially when it comes to interacting with high-profile guests. Professionalism, discretion, and adherence to protocol are non-negotiable," the old geezer elaborated.

"You're one to talk..." Damien muttered inwardly, a faint chuckle escaping his lips.

The blonde could feel the noose tightening, the inevitable reprimand around the corner. Schofield's words were laced with the implicit accusation that Damien had crossed a line, and the silence that followed was deafening. Schofield's gaze bored into Damien, his expression unflinching.

"I expect my senior staff to set the standard," he said, each syllable crisp and exact. "To represent this resort and everyone who works here with the utmost integrity," he added before finally stopping. His stern demeanor softened just slightly, the hard lines of his face easing as if struck by an afterthought. He glanced back down at the papers on his desk, flipping one over with a bemused shake of his head. "Which leads me to my point..." Schofield said, the corners of his mouth twitching into what might have been the start of a smile. "I have to hand it to you, Damien. Whatever you're doing, it's working," he uttered. Damien blinked, the shift in tone throwing him off balance.

"What?" the blonde mumbled. Schofield nodded, leaning forward as he shuffled the papers into a neat stack.

"Levinson set up this meeting to sing your praises," Schofield said, a note of surprise in his voice. "He went on and on about how impressed he was with your professionalism and attention to detail. He even told me I was lucky to have someone of your caliber working here," he added, his voice growing in size. "I almost nutted when he said that," Schofield added.

Damien stared, momentarily speechless. This wasn't the reprimand he'd braced for. It was the exact opposite. Relief flooded his senses, but a flicker of disbelief quickly tempered it as Schofield rambled on.

"Levinson instructed that no one else step foot inside the Cove except you. He said you were the only one he trusted to handle his stay. And if that weren't enough, he's requested you personally to drive him and his wife to Bridgetown later today," he informed, clearly as an order rather than a request.

A simmering aggravation quickly overtook Damien's initial relief. The praise from Bruce was unexpected, sure, but the thought of spending an entire day at the beck and call of Bruce and his vapid wife made Damien's skin burn. And not in a good way. What the fuck was going on, Damien thought before forcing a smile, his jaw tight.

"Of course. I'll make sure Levinson has...an exceptional experience," Damien stated, turning to the window.

"You're so fucking sexy, Damien..." Schofield's eerily creepy voice muttered from behind him.

"Jesus Christ, Schofield. Stop being weird," Damien replied, turning around in time to catch his boss sliding his greasy hand out of his pants.

Damien could feel the frustration bubbling under his calm exterior. Here he was, being lauded as the shining star of Eden's Edge, but instead of relishing in the recognition, he was being strong-armed into playing chauffeur for the day. It felt like Bruce was dangling the praise before him as bait, expecting Damien to dance to his tune. As Schofield droned on about the importance of keeping guests like Bruce happy, Damien tuned out, his mind suddenly muffling everything around him.

Of course, he'd put up with it, just like he always did. He'd play the part of the perfect, accommodating manager, but he'd rather die than give Bruce the satisfaction of seeing him flustered.

Schofield finally finished, his praise ringing hollow in Damien's ears. The blonde nodded, thanked him, and excused himself from the blob's office, his smile still firmly plastered until the door clicked shut behind him. As he walked through the resort, not even the idyllic setting around Damien could soothe his mind against the prospect of enduring a full day with the Levinsons.

He reached the resort's garage, a sleek structure tucked away from the guests' eyes, and pulled open the door of one of the resort's jeeps. The engine roared to life, and Damien guided the jeep to the grand entrance, parking it. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes darting to his watch. Fifteen minutes ticked by, and still, there was no sign of Bruce or his wife.

"This is going to be a nightmare," Damien muttered under his breath.

But when Bruce finally appeared, Damien's efforts to keep his emotions in check were tested. The hunk was dressed in casual luxury, perfectly tailored shorts, a crisp linen shirt that hinted at the muscular physique beneath, and a confident, easy stride that commanded attention with little effort. Like clockwork, Damien's cock was hard again, his ass adjusting in his seat, trying to contain his raging boner. He couldn't help but notice how Bruce's biceps flexed as he adjusted his sunglasses or the slight smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips as if he were in on some secret that the rest of the world could only guess at.

Every glance the blonde stole felt like a small rebellion against his own better judgment. He knew he shouldn't let himself get wrapped up in Bruce's orbit, but resisting was proving near-right impossible. It was as though every fiber of Damien's being was drawn to hunk, even when his mind screamed at him to keep a safe distance.

Then there was Bruce's wife, striding with the grace of a runway model but with none of the warmth. She was already complaining before she even reached the jeep, her voice sharp and dismissive.

"I really don't see why we couldn't just take the chopper," she scoffed, her tone edging impatiently. "This is going to take forever," she nagged. Damien forced a polite smile, the practiced expression that had served him well in countless interactions with demanding guests.

"I assure you, Mrs. Levinson, the drive will be worth it. The views along the way are some of the most beautiful on the island. You won't regret it," he tried to sell. She eyed him skeptically but relented, waving a dismissive hand.

"Fine. But this better be good," she sneered.

On the other hand, Bruce slid into the passenger seat beside Damien, his expression unreadable. Damien could feel the tension radiating from the backseat, but Bruce's presence next to him was a distraction all its own. The blonde took a steadying breath and started the jeep, guiding it onto the road.

As they drove, the island revealed itself in layers, curving along the coastline, offering glimpses of sparkling turquoise waters that stretched to the horizon. The lush, rolling hills were dotted with bursts of tropical flowers in fiery reds and oranges, their colors vivid against the rich green of the landscape. Palm trees swayed lazily in the warm breeze, their leaves whispering as they passed.

Damien's irritation slowly ebbed, replaced by the quiet awe he always felt when surrounded by the island's natural beauty. This was why he loved his job. Every drive and every view reminded him of the paradise he was lucky enough to call home.

But Bruce's wife quickly shattered the tranquility.

"Stop," she commanded suddenly, her voice cutting through the serene landscape. "I want to take a selfie," she said.

Damien pulled the jeep over at a scenic viewpoint, one of the highest along the route, offering a breathtaking panorama of the island's western coast. As she hopped out, phone in hand, Damien glanced at Bruce. The player's expression was inscrutable, his eyes following his wife but drifting back to Damien. There was a flicker of something there. Curiosity, perhaps, or something more profound, Damien wondered. Regardless, Bruce guarded it well.

His wife posed with exaggerated care, tilting her head and pouting her lips, endlessly scrolling through filters until she found one that met her standards. As she finally finished her impromptu photo shoot, Bruce stood and stretched, muscles rippling beneath his clothes and his movement ushering the scent of his skin over to Damien. It smelled of old wood.

"Quite the view," the hunk commented, glancing at Damien. Damien nodded, managing a polite smile of his own.

"It's...one of my favorites," the blonde muttered.

Bruce's eyes lingered on Damien for a moment longer as if weighing a thought, but then he turned away, his expression once again unreadable. Damien forced himself to stay calm and not read too much into every glance and every word. But how the fuck could he not? A heat simmered between them, undeniable and ever-present.

As they climbed back into the jeep and continued toward Bridgetown, Damien tried to focus on the road ahead. He glanced at Bruce's wife in the rearview mirror. Her sharp, observant eyes flicked between the scenery and her phone, still busy curating her flawless online persona.

Damien knew he needed to make this day more bearable. And that's when it hit him. Perhaps, if he could win her over, the oppressive tension between him and Bruce would lighten, so he decided to test the waters.

"So, Mrs. Levinson, enjoying your stay so far?" Damien asked, his tone perfectly polite, with just a hint of charm. She looked up, her icy demeanor cracking just slightly.

"It's been... decent," she replied, her voice flat but with the faintest edge of curiosity. She put down her phone and leaned forward, clearly more interested in the conversation than the picturesque views they were passing.

"Decent?" Damien echoed, feigning shock. "I usually strive for more than that," he playfully teased. She smirked, the corners of her perfectly painted lips twitching upwards.

"Well, you can start by making the drive entertaining," she replied. Damien seized the opportunity.

"Oh, I have stories that would make your head spin," he teased, his tone playful, leaning into the challenge. "But I'm afraid they might tarnish your view of paradise," he quipped. Bruce's wife laughed, a light, surprising sound that seemed to surprise her.

"Oh, please, paradise is just a well-managed illusion. Trust me, I live in one of those, too," she replied. Bruce, staring out the window with a seemingly indifferent gaze, glanced sideways at his wife as if surprised by her sudden engagement. Damien noticed but focused on her, sensing that winning her over was his best strategy.

"What about you, Damien?" she asked, tilting her head. "Where's your paradise? Or are you stuck here, making sure we have ours?" She teased. Damien hesitated, the question landing with unexpected weight. He hadn't anticipated the conversation turning toward himself. His past was a tightly locked book he rarely opened, even in his own thoughts.

"My paradise is right here," he said, deflecting smoothly but with a touch of sincerity. "I mean, you can't really beat this, can you?" he said, tilting his chin vaguely at the scenery outside, the lush greens giving way to the sparkling blue of the Caribbean Sea. But she wasn't satisfied with such a surface-level answer.

"Oh, come on," she pressed, her voice light but probing. "What's your story, Damien? How did you end up in this little slice of heaven?" she drilled. Damien's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and the sun's warmth suddenly felt oppressive.

"It's not much of a story," he said, his voice a shade quieter. "Just... life, I guess," Damien muttered.

Suddenly, his admission hung in the air, catching Bruce's and his wife's attention. She looked intrigued, almost charmed by Damien's reluctance, a rarity in a world filled with people desperate to flaunt their stories. On the other hand, Bruce seemed to sharpen, his casual posture straightening ever so slightly as he cast a sidelong glance at Damien. The wife leaned back, studying Damien with renewed interest, her tone softening.

"Hmm...most people can't shut up about themselves," she stated. Her smile widened, and Damien saw something genuine beneath her polished surface. "It's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't spill their life story at every opportunity," she added.

"I'm not most people," Damien said, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite his discomfort.

Bruce's eyes lingered on Damien, his expression unreadable, but there was a subtle shift, a new intensity in his gaze that Damien could feel more than see.

Bruce's wife continued to probe Damien, her questions bouncing between light-hearted banter and the occasional personal jab, but always with a hint of camaraderie that made it hard for Damien to resent her. She laughed easily at his witty retorts, genuinely entertained by how Damien could dance around her inquiries with grace and humor.

Approaching Bridgetown felt like diving into the beats of a calypso drum. The capital of Barbados exploded in a riot of color and life, each turn revealing energy so natural you could almost touch it. Pastel-colored colonial buildings stood proudly next to trendy shops and cafes, gleaming under the brilliant sun. Green palms danced with the breeze along winding cobblestone streets that twisted through the city's vibrant core.

Damien stepped out of the jeep, his heart swelling with a familiar warmth. Bridgetown was more than a place. It was a feeling, a symphony of sights, sounds, and scents that exuded life and home to him. He watched as Bruce and his wife took in the scene, their eyes wide with wonder. Much different from the curated luxury of Eden's Edge, here, life was unpolished and raw, full of soul and spontaneity.

"Welcome to Bridgetown," Damien said, his voice warm and prideful.

Damien felt a flutter of satisfaction seeing Bruce and his wife drawn in by the city's charm, a testament to the magic of the place he adored. They wandered through the bustling streets, Damien leading the way casually. He pointed out local landmarks and hidden gems with the confidence of a seasoned guide, his love for the city seeping into every word. They passed by colorful stalls with fresh produce, pineapples, mangoes, and guavas piled high in fragrant heaps. The air sizzled with the aroma of street food, jerk chicken skewers, sweet plantains, and the heady scent of spices.

Damien led them into the vibrant heart of the street market, where Bridgetown's true spirit buzzed with life. The market was a whirlpool of energy, a sensory storm that engulfed them instantly. Vendors shouted their goods in melodic Bajan accents, voices interweaving with the rhythmic pulse of steel drums and reggae beats. The air was alive with haggling, a carnival for the ears. Multicolored fabrics danced on invisible strings in the warm breeze. Damien's eyes sparkled when he noticed artisans at work, their fingers deftly carving intricate patterns into calabash bowls, a skill honed through generations. The vivid hues of tropical fruits and flowers splashed across stalls, drawing eyes like magnets. Sweet and spicy aromas wafted from food stands, teasing their senses with hints of jerk seasoning and fresh coconut. As they navigated the labyrinthine paths between stalls, rough wooden surfaces and smooth ceramic figures brushed against their fingertips. The taste of sugar cane juice lingered in the air alongside laughter and lively chatter. Each piece wove together Bridgetown's unique story in this tapestry of sights, sounds, textures, smells, and flavors. Not just seen but felt deeply by anyone who wandered its lively streets.

Bruce's wife wandered ahead, her eyes wide with curiosity as she took in the stalls filled with handcrafted jewelry and vibrant prints. Damien indulged her with patience and charm, guiding her through the commotion with the practiced ease of someone who knew the market's every nook and cranny.

But as they moved through the crowd, the blonde could feel Bruce's presence. He didn't have to look to know that the hunk's eyes were on him, tracking his movements. And even as he engaged with Bruce's wife, Damien couldn't shake the weight of the player's gaze. Always there, always watching. For Damien, standing in the heart of the place he loved most, it was impossible not to feel the weight of that pull, like the tide to the shore, destined to collide no matter how hard he tried to resist.

Lunchtime came, and Damien directed the couple to a local restaurant. After a lift ride, the doors slid open to reveal a rustic, charming eatery perched at the top of a slender tower, like a secret hideaway nestled above the hustle of the streets below. The restaurant was unpretentious but inviting, with a thatched roof and expansive, open-air windows that framed the stunning vistas beyond. The interior was a mix of polished wood and stone, with tables draped in crisp white linens and small potted plants dotting each one, adding a touch of the vibrant greenery that defined Barbados. Wicker chairs with plump cushions invited guests to sit and linger, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of the sea and the faint hum of reggae music playing softly in the background.

It was different from the place Bruce and his wife would have found on their own, far from the luxury they were accustomed to. But Damien knew this spot was a hidden gem, beloved by locals for its relaxed vibe and unbeatable view. And, to his quiet satisfaction, it seemed the Levinsons usual airs of aloofness were softening in the face of such genuine charm. As they settled at a table by the window, Damien made his move to excuse himself.

"I'll leave you both to enjoy your lunch. I'll meet you back here in about two hours," he said, flashing a polite smile. But before he could step away, Kate's voice cut through the moment, stopping him in his tracks.

"Absolutely not. You must join us, Damien," she insisted, her tone light but unmistakably firm. Damien hesitated, the internal tug-of-war between protocol and propriety waging a fierce battle.

"I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Levinson, but it's against resort policy for staff to dine with guests," the blonde explained.

"Oh, fuck protocol," Kate interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "And call me Kate. Mrs. Levinson makes me sound like my mother-in-law," she quipped, her laughter light yet carrying an edge of command that made it clear she expected to be obeyed.

Damien glanced over at Bruce, half-expecting him to intervene and tell his wife to let it go. But Bruce remained silent, his intense eyes fixed steadily on Damien as if waiting to see how he would respond. Damien shifted uncomfortably, his resolve wavering under the weight of the hunk's stare.

"Really, it's okay..." Damien began, but Bruce finally spoke, his voice low and authoritative.

"Join us, Damien. It'll be fine," he invited. There was something in Bruce's tone that left little room for argument. Damien swallowed dry, his professional resolve crumbling as he nodded reluctantly.

Alright," he said, forcing a smile as he pulled out a chair and sat down, the unease still prickling at the edges of his composure.

Although the meal was a casual affair, there was something undeniably charming about it. The way the sun slanted through the open windows, the gentle rustle of trees, and the faint chattering bellow carried on the breeze. The food was unfussy but exquisite: grilled fish with a side medley of tropical fruits and a refreshing glass of rum punch that added just the right amount of kick.

As they ate, Damien kept up his polite facade, addressing Kate as Mrs. Levinson until, with a playful sigh, she interrupted him once more.

"Damien, you're starting to get on my nerves. I'm not nearly old enough to be Mrs. Levinson," she teased, her smile wide as she looked at him with genuine warmth.

There was a shift then, a softening in Damien's perception of her. For the first time since they met, he saw beyond the flawless exterior and the high-society airs, glimpsing a woman who, despite her privileged life, carried her own burdens and complexities. Bruce noticed it too, the way Damien's posture relaxed and his guardedness gave way to a more genuine connection.

"You're quite the charmer..." Kate mused, her eyes twinkling as she studied Damien. "And wise beyond your years. I can see why Bruce likes you," she added. Damien chuckled softly, though his voice had a trace of bitterness.

"I had to grow up fast," he said, his words slipping out before he could catch them. He hadn't meant to reveal much, but something about Kate's disarming smile made it hard to keep his walls intact. As she stared at him, Kate's expression softened, a glimmer of understanding passing between them.

"I get that," she said quietly. "People assume I've had everything handed to me, but... let's just say my road wasn't as easy as it looks," she uttered softly.

There was a sudden moment of vulnerability, a common thread of resilience weaving a bond that neither had anticipated. And in that moment, a subtle shift in the dynamic occurred. A softening of lines, a blurring of roles that left Damien at a loss. Suddenly, he wasn't just their guide but as something else. Something he'd never experienced with any guests before.

But Kate quickly broke the moment, shifting back to her usual lively self.

"We're throwing a little get-together at the Cove tonight. Just a few friends. Damien, I'd love for you to be there," she announced as she sipped her drink. Damien's instinct was to refuse, to default to the familiar safety of protocol.

"I'm flattered, Kate, but..." Damien stuttered.

"Oh, hush, darling," Kate insisted, her voice taking on that playful, persuasive tone. "You're coming, and that's final. Right, Bruce?" she pressed, turning her head over to her husband. Bruce nodded, though his eyes remained locked on Damien.

"Better do what she says," Bruce added with a faint smile, his words laced with the same undercurrent of command that Damien was finding harder and harder to resist. So he relented, his resolve cracking under Bruce's unwavering watch.

"Alright," he said, the word feeling heavier than it should as he met Bruce's eyes. "I'll be there," he added.

Kate clapped her hands, visibly pleased, but Bruce's quiet nod of approval sent a surge of warmth through Damien. And as they finished their meal and returned to the bustling streets of Bridgetown, Damien felt it again. As he had when he gazed at himself in the mirror the day before. That feeling that perhaps, for the first time, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Damien guided the jeep down a narrow path as the afternoon sun descended. The engine softly purred as they reached a small clearing, where the crystal-clear waters of a hidden cove sparkled invitingly against the powdery white sand. The beach was a quiet oasis, untouched by the bustle of tourism, a perfect slice of nature. Gentle, rhythmic, and tranquil.

"How about a quick swim?" Damien suggested. Bruce and Kate exchanged glances, their playful smiles mirroring the carefree ease between them over lunch. Kate was the first to agree, slipping off her sandals and tugging at Bruce's hand as she approached the water.

Damien stayed back, settling into the driver's seat, the soft breeze tousling his hair as he watched the couple wade into the surf. His breath hitched as Bruce turned his back to the water, the sunlight catching the droplets that now clung to his skin, making them glisten like tiny diamonds against his sculpted frame. Damien's cock twitched inside his pants, and his hole puckered at the thought of Bruce thrusting himself inside him.

But soon, a sudden sadness came over Damien.

To anyone else, it would have looked like a moment of pure, unadulterated affection between husband and wife, a couple enjoying the sun and sea. But to Damien, it was a bittersweet reminder of the boundaries that stood firmly between him and what he couldn't have.

He sat there, a silent observer of a scene that felt more intimate than it should, his thoughts a tangled mess of desire and restraint. He knew the danger of his growing obsession, the way it threatened to blur the lines he had so carefully set for himself. But even as he tried to reign in his wayward heart, Damien couldn't deny the thrill that came from simply watching Bruce, relishing every detail, every glance, and every smile that seared into his memory.

About an hour later, they finally pulled up to Eden's Edge. Bruce and Kate stepped off the jeep, quick and purposeful as they headed toward the dock, eager to return to the Cove before their guests arrived. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ryan sprinting across the manicured lawns, his excitement palpable. Ryan, the eager fan, beamed at the chance to get close to Bruce again. His breathless enthusiasm was endearing, and Damien, sensing Ryan's genuine thrill, decided to offer him a small gift.

"Ryan," Damien called, catching the young staffer's attention before throwing him the key to the speedboat. "Why don't you drive them back to the Cove? I have a couple of things to take care of," he added with a wink. Ryan's eyes widened, realizing what Damien was offering, sparking a radiant grin. Without hesitation, Ryan rushed up to Damien.

"I fucking love you, Blondie," he exclaimed, and in a burst of impulsive joy, Ryan leaned in, planting a quick, appreciative kiss on Damien's lips. Damien chuckled softly, his usual stoicism softened by his friend's infectious energy.

But as Damien glanced toward the lobby, he caught Bruce turning back, the hunk's expression shifting subtly. His eyes narrowed, jaw tightening ever so slightly. There was a flicker of something in Bruce's gaze, dark and simmering beneath the surface. His usually composed demeanor cracked, revealing a flash of irritation. Jealousy even. Bruce's brows knitted together, his lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Ryan scamper after him and Kate, who remained blissfully unaware.

Damien lingered momentarily, watching them walk away before returning to his room.

Once inside, he shed his clothes and stepped into the shower, the warm water easing the tension that clung to his muscles. Minutes later, with droplets glistening on his skin, Damien reached for the towel. He wiped a hand across the fogged-up mirror and ran a hand through his wet hair, gazing at his own reflection.

"What are you doing?" he murmured under his breath, his voice low and tinged with a hint of self-reproach. He wrapped the towel around his waist and turned away, the question lingering in the humid air as he got dressed and headed for the dock.

Damien steered the speedboat with a steady hand, the engine slicing through the moonlit waters of the lagoon. As he neared the Cove, he could already hear the thumping bass of a DJ's set and the glow of colorful lights spilling out into the ocean.

Pulling up to the dock, Damien stepped out, coaming his hair with his fingers before adjusting his sheer, diamond-white t-shirt. The fabric clung to him in all the right places, translucent enough to hint at the lean muscle beneath, yet airy and loose, shimmering under the lights like a veil of stardust. His wavy linen pants, tailored but casual, flowed around his legs as he walked. It was a departure from his usual sharp uniform, a deliberate choice for Damien to reveal a more authentic, unguarded version of himself.

He ascended the stairs to the penthouse, the music growing louder with every step until he crossed the threshold of the open glass doors. Damien crossed the empty living room into the patio, the space opening like an oasis. String lights twinkled overhead, cutting graciously across the space. To one side, a DJ spun records from a raised booth, his beats pulsing through the crowd of glamorous guests, swaying elegantly to the beat. A long marble bar stretched along one wall, laden with glistening bottles and crystal glassware, while low, plush seating clusters provided intimate nooks for quieter conversations.

As Damien stepped into the heart of the party, heads turned. Conversations faltered, and eyes trailed him, spellbound by his presence. He moved with an effortless grace, his attire catching the light in a way that accentuated his every movement. It was as if the room collectively held its breath, captivated by Damien's raw beauty and undeniable allure.

"Damien," Kate called from the other side of the patio, her voice lilting with a teasing warmth as she approached. She took a moment to look him up and down, then back at the crowd before finally turning, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You sure know how to make an entrance," she quipped.

Damien offered a polite smile, but his focus had already shifted. From his vantage point on the lower level, he spotted Bruce on the higher deck, leaning casually against the railing, a thick cigar smoldering between his fingers. A group of men surrounded Bruce, their conversation seemingly animated, but Bruce's eyes had locked onto Damien, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down to a stop. The music faded, the lights dimmed, and all the vibrant noise of the party fell away, leaving just the two of them. Their eyes danced together to a song only they could hear.

The distance between them collapses, their bodies orbiting around each other, aware of the other's gravity. In that suspended moment, there was no one else.

Just Damien and Bruce.

Then, just as quickly as it began, it shattered. Kate looped her arm through Damien's, drawing his attention elsewhere. The noise returned, the lights brightened, and the spell broke.

What followed could only be described as the two most painful hours of Damien's life. There was an endless parade of clinking glasses and a vibrant blur of shallow conversations. Yet, the blonde moved through the crowd with practiced ease, and it seemed, despite Damien's inner turmoil, that people just couldn't get enough of him. His presence drew people in like moths to a flame.

But across the room, Bruce's silent scrutiny had been relentless throughout the night, and Damien could feel it searing into his skin. And now, the once simmering intrigue bubbled over into frustration. Bruce was beginning to feel like a shadow Damien couldn't outrun, an incessant pressure that pressed against the walls Damien had built around himself. Slowly but surely, as the night wore on, the tension curdled into something bitter. The blonde's smile grew tighter, his patience thinner.

He felt Bruce's eyes on him, not with the casual interest of before, but with a weight that felt accusatory, almost territorial. It was as if Bruce expected something from him, something Damien wasn't willing to give.

Seizing a moment when Kate was engrossed in conversation with a group of guests, Damien slipped away, weaving himself through the deck with purpose. He found Bruce standing alone on the balcony, leaning on the railing, staring at the moonlit. A solitary figure in a sea of celebration.

"Quite the evening hum?" Bruce spoke, his words staged, forced even.

Damien immediately clocked it: Bruce was uncomfortable. But the jig was up, and he couldn't afford to waste another second.

"I may be young, but I'm not stupid," his steady voice cut through the night, laced with a sharp edge. "You can't just look at me like that...follow me with your eyes all night," the blonde said, his words trembling slightly.

But Bruce didn't respond. He just stood there, watching Damien.

"I've been through a lot of shit and worked hard to be where I am," Damien continued, his voice unwavering. "I don't care how much money you have or how many people kiss your ass because of who you are. I'm not gonna let you mess with my head," Bruce's expression remained calm, his eyes locked on Damien's. There was no anger in his gaze, no defensiveness, just a quiet intensity that made Damien's skin prickle. Bruce didn't interrupt, didn't push back. He just listened, his attention thoroughly on Damien as if absorbing every word. "First thing tomorrow," Damien said, his voice firmer now, as if sealing a promise. "I'm going to Schofield's office and ask to be replaced. I don't want to be around you anymore," he finally uttered. Bruce's gaze flickered, something shifting in his eyes.

Was it regret? Understanding? Attraction?

Damien couldn't tell, and he didn't care to find out. He turned on his heel, feeling Bruce's eyes on his back as he walked away. He pushed through the throng, his mind racing, every step a battle to maintain his composure.

The guest bathroom was right there, so Damien punched the door open, only to find it jammed. These giggling sounds were sliding through the cracks.

"Fuck," Damien blurted, his pulse quickening, panic, and frustration clawing at his chest. He needed a moment alone, away from the prying eyes and curious glances. Making a quick and somewhat rash decision, he pivoted, rushing up the stairs for the master suite bathroom, a more secluded refuge.

He slipped inside and closed the door, the sound louder than he intended. Damien leaned against the cool tiles, his breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. He clenched his fists, pressing them to his forehead before inadvertently catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his reflection staring back.

And there it was. What Damien didn't want to face: himself.

"You're such a fuckin' idiot," the blonde murmured, his voice cracking in the silence. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to stay back.

But the truth of his own words lingered.

For the first time in a long while, Damien felt stripped bare, on the verge of a precipice. And beyond it, everything he couldn't control.

Suddenly, three knocks on the door.

"Shit. I'll be right out," Damien hollered, trying to throw his voice over the loud music. He slapped some water over his face, dried it gently with a hand towel, and ran for the door, opening it before his golden eyes flared. Bruce was standing in the doorway. He looked massive. Damien stumbled back a couple of steps. "I'm sorry...the guest bathroom was...I was just..." he stuttered, mentioning to leave.

And that's when it happened.

Bruce stepped in, blocking Damien from leaving. His sheer size made it impossible for Damien to do so.

"Can you let me through, please?" the blonde asked as he motioned to leave again, his words sounding more like a plea for life. But Bruce just stood there, a tower of flesh standing between Damien and the door. A surge of rage erupted inside Damien's chest. "What the fuck is your problem, dude?" the blonde hollered. "Move," he asked, his voice demanding, eyes raging with frustration. "Fucking move!" he warned before his arms finally came up, hands punching Bruce's chest, hoping to knock the jock back.

It was the lamest yet most infuriating moment of Damien's life. Even with all the strength he poured into it, Bruce didn't even budge.

He was about to do it again when jock's hands swung up, grabbing his wrists.

"Please...just let me leave," Damien begged, his golden eyes glistening as he turned to face Bruce, whose emerald gaze hovered, waiting for him.

"I don't think you're stupid," the hunk whispered. Damien could feel Bruce's breath on him. Musky, with a tinge of nutmeg. He slowly pulled Damien closer, their noses practically touching. "I think you're amazing. I think you're great," Bruce finally stated.

There they were. The words Damien had waited for. The ones he longed for.

And just like that, for the first time in his life, Damien let go.

He fell forward, forehead bumping against Bruce's chest. Following his motion, the hunk grabbed the blonde's waist and hoisted his body. Like second nature, Damien's legs scissored around Bruce's waist as they moved into the sink where the jock placed the boy, their groins rubbing.

The hunk's hands crawled up Damien's upper body, taking his diamond white shirt with them. As the fabric broke from the boy's head, Bruce tossed it to the side. Then he grabbed the blonde's neck with his right hand and guided Damien's hand to his crotch, sliding his slim fingers inside his shorts.

Even with his eyes closed and overwhelmed by what was happening, Damien couldn't help but gasp as he finally held Bruce's throbbing monster cock in his hand. The hunk loosened his grip on the boy's neck just enough to let him peek down. Tucked inside, ripping its way out of the jock's shorts, was a 12-inch cock, bathed in glistening, thick precum. Damien's eyes came up, radiant. Only to find Bruce's locked on his lips, admiring them with awe. The hunk's fingers brushed tenderly over them, exploring their softness with disarming wonderment.

And it didn't take long before Bruce succumbed, lunging forward, sliding his tongue inside Damien's mouth, the edges of their lips locking together finally.

Their fused moans began to fire, unbridled. Their heads tilted from side to side as their tongues danced together inside their mouths. Damien could feel himself fall deeper into Bruce, his senses dissolving inside the hunk's passionate embrace.

"I knew it," Bruce groaned as he pulled his mouth away from Damien's, their lips hanging on by a string of spit. Damien couldn't say anything. He could barely breathe, with only a faint moan escaping his lips. "Fucking delicious..." Bruce finally whispered, lunging his tongue back inside the blonde's eager mouth.

Outside, the music raved under the relentless night heat, thumping and roaring like a wild beast.

But inside that bathroom, a fire had been set loose, its flames raging with a passion the likes of which the Cove had never seen.

(To be continued...)