“Probably. But baby, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He looks utterly baffled.
For some reason his confusion gives me courage. As does the endearment. “You said you weren’t being professional because I’d asked you to be real. Did you mean it? Were you... were you being real? When you kissed me. Was that... was that just part of an act?”
“No.” The word comes out softly. Hoarsely. He takes a step closer to me. “No, it wasn’t an act. I told you I never had sex unless I wanted it. It was real. I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to do more.”
“Really?” There’s a little bit of a squeak in my voice that’s sadly unavoidable.
His gaze soft and questioning both, he reaches out toward me but then abruptly drops his hand. “Yes. I wanted to. And I thought you wanted it too and that you were just nervous or uptight about taking the risk. I’m sorry if I misread the signs. I don’t usually make those kinds of mistakes. I’m not sure what got into me. But I did want you. I do. And it’s completely fine if you’d rather not let things get messy. We can just—”
He can’t finish the sentence this time because I’ve reached out for him without warning and pulled his head down into an urgent kiss.
My questions have now been answered.
Six
IT TAKES A MINUTE FOR Damian to respond to the kiss.
Not like he’s pulling away. He stands still, braced firmly against my advances. His lips are willing. Pliant. But he doesn’t raise his hands from his sides or start moving his tongue right away.
Surprised. That’s how he feels. Astonished and unable to process what’s happening. Since that’s a feeling I know all too well, I don’t mind. I slide my hands up into his hair, the thick, soft strands tantalizing against my skin, and I stretch up to kiss him more deeply.
I recognize the exact moment when it clicks for him. He makes a breathy sound into the kiss, and his whole body tightens into action. He grabs my body and moves me so my back is pressing against an empty space on the wall of his bedroom. He plants a hand on the wall and holds the back of my neck with his other one. He takes control of the kiss in a way that thrills me to the core.
He’s hardly wearing any clothes, so my hands are roaming up and down over his naked skin. Smooth back. Rippling muscle definition. Hard biceps. Thick thighs. Body hair on his arms and legs that’s rough against my palms.
I can’t believe I’m touching him like this. That I’m allowed to touch him.
His tongue is deep in my mouth now, and I’m arching into the hard length of his body. He’s hard all over. There’s a growing bulge in his underwear. I rub myself against it enthusiastically, unconcerned that it might make me seem overly eager.
His whole body jerks in response, and he breaks the kiss to pant loudly against the crook of my neck. “Shit. Clarke, shit.”
I whimper in disappointment at the abrupt end of the kiss. “Damian. Please.” I use both hands to lift his head so I can see his face.
It’s shuddering with some sort of tension. There’s a sheen of perspiration on his skin. His eyes—his eyes—are smoldering. Feral.
“You really want to do this?” he rasps, his chest heaving visibly with his ragged breathing.
“Yes. What the hell do you think I’m doing here?”
“Because, of course, you can stop us anytime if you change your mind. But I don’t want you to force away your doubts and then do something you’re going to reg—”
“For God’s sake, Damian! I thought I was the one with the hang-ups. I’m not going to regret this. At least I don’t think so. My doubts were about you faking interest in me as part of a job. I’m not okay with that.” I swallow hard as I make myself ask, “You’re not faking, are you?”
His dry laughter is choked, barely making any sound. He’s still bracing himself with one hand on the wall near my shoulder. “Does it look like I’m faking?”
Running my eyes up and down his body, from his face to his bare feet, I have to admit the truth. “No. It looks like you’re kind of turned on.”
He laughs again. More naturally this time. Leans over and says against my lips, “Turned on