Damn! Damn! 12

Achim Müller, a man with a past as a mercenary.

After a series of incidents that led him to leave that life behind, he now runs a small errand service — until one day, he receives an extraordinary commission.

The job: steal the semen of "Michael Bernhardt," a Royal Alpha.

An impossible task — yet he cannot resist the lure of the 500,000 euro fee, and he accepts.

Upon learning that Michael Bernhardt's frozen semen is kept at his private estate, and that a job listing has just gone up seeking a maid — restricted specifically to "beta females" — Achim cross-dresses and infiltrates the estate under the alias "Yvonne."

Contrary to his wish to keep as low a profile as possible, Michael speaks crudely to him from their very first meeting, summons him to his bedroom every single day under the flimsiest of pretexts, and on top of that, begins to reveal a strange obsession.

Achim interprets Michael's behavior as a kind of harassment, and does his best to suppress his temper and keep the man appeased. In the process, he stumbles upon a conspiracy targeting Michael...

Michael suddenly leaned forward, pressing both hands down onto the sheet. Trapped between his arms, Achim narrowed his eyes even further.

"If you have questions, ask me directly."

"……"

"And if there's something you want — that too."

At those words, Achim's expression stiffened almost imperceptibly at the corners of his eyes. Something he wanted? There was only one thing he wanted from this bastard, and it was not something he could ever say out loud.

Just as Achim was knitting his brows again in quiet frustration, Michael leaned his face in close and murmured in that pleasant voice of his.

"I'll make a special exception and answer you."

Achim didn't take that at face value.

The display just a moment ago had been a kind of warning. And what was certain was that the bastard was skilled at managing pace — he knew the split-second timing between life and the edge of death, and he knew exactly how to use it.

If his true aim had been to kill, he would have finished it. Instead, he had simply enjoyed watching Achim suffer.

Not a fan of torture? Achim could have bet his right wrist that it was precisely his thing.

"As you know, I treat you well, don't I?"

"……"

The problem was that Achim had absolutely no idea what this man's definition of "treating someone well" even was. Spouting obscene remarks? Dislocating his jaw? Strangling him to within an inch of his life?

The more he turned each instance over in his mind, the hotter his fury burned — so Achim decided to stop thinking altogether.

"Say it."

"……"

"If there's something you want."

Your semen, you piece of shit.

That's what Achim wanted to say, but he held it back with every ounce of patience he had. For the sake of the greater mission that lay ahead.

In the end, Achim gave a slow nod, as if dropping his head in resignation. At that, Michael smiled with evident satisfaction and gently ran his fingers over Achim's neck — where his own handprints still remained.

Achim watched without so much as a blink, and made a silent vow.

The moment he got his hands on this bastard's semen — he would pay him back double, whatever it took.