repeat, trying to push out the words between clenched teeth the way he did.
His eyebrows shoot up over the sip of bubbly wine he’s taking.
“I’m just seeing if I can do it too. It’s very intimidating but not over the top. Don’t you dare. I like it.”
He bursts into surprised laughter, almost spitting out his prosecco.
I’m ridiculously pleased by his reaction, so I smile like a fool as I start on my ravioli.
Relaxed now, he asks me about my day, and I ask him about his, and then we talk about a new book I’ve started, and he tells me a hilarious story about the wacky date one of his friends went on, hamming it up until I’m laughing so much that tears stream down my face.
We stay out on the terrace for hours. Then by mutual silent agreement, we head for his room to finish the evening in bed. He teases me into being in charge, and once I get over my initial hesitation, I have a great time playing with his body until he’s moaning helplessly. Then I ride him, bouncing over him with shameless vigor until I come over and over again.
It’s a very satisfying but exhausting round of sex. I collapse beside him afterward, closing my eyes to enjoy the way my body has softened and released. Quite accidently, I fall right to sleep. Completely naked.
I wake up an hour later and realize what happened. Damian’s asleep too. I kind of want to stay in his bed, but that’s not what we do, so I haul myself up and trudge to my own room before falling into bed and going to sleep again.
AFTER THAT EVENING, we end up having dinner together most nights. Usually we’ll just fix something from the kitchen, but one or the other of us will bring home takeout a couple of times a week.
It makes dinner better. To have someone to share it with. I hadn’t realized how much more enjoyable it would be than grabbing a sandwich at my computer.
One evening, about three weeks after we started eating together, Damian gets home early and has a quick dinner with me but says he can’t stay long because he’s supposed to meet his friends at a coffee shop. It’s one of their birthdays, and instead of a party, they’re all just going to hang out.
I’m not about to complain about it. He’s welcome to go anywhere he wants, anytime he wants. But I’m still kind of disappointed about being able to only spend a small part of the evening with him.
Being me, I’m not going to let that disappointment show.
We eat soup and crusty bread on the counter stools, and I tell him I’ll clean up if he wants to head out.
“I hope you have a good time with your friends.” I’m positive there’s not even a trace of wistfulness in my tone.
He’s leaning over to pick up his saddlebag, which he dumped on the floor near the stools when he arrived earlier. “You want to come too?”
I blink twice. “What?”
“Do you want to come? It’s nothing big. We’re seriously just going to be sitting at a table in a coffee shop. So you’re welcome to come if you want.” He’s not meeting my eyes because he’s digging into his bag like he’s looking for something.
“Oh. I don’t... know. I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with your friends.”
“It’s not an intrusion.” He finally looks at me. His expression is bland and unrevealing. “They’d like to meet you, I’m sure. I hope you don’t mind, but I told them the truth about you. Us. I mean, they know you’re my client. I didn’t like lying to them. I hope that’s all right.”
“Of course it’s all right. You can tell your friends anything you want. But they’re not going to want me there if it’s someone’s birthday.”
He’s smiling now. More natural. “Seriously, Clarke. They won’t mind. It’s not anything organized or formal. People come and go. They bring dates or friends or whatever all the time. You should come. It’ll be good to get out of the house for a while. But no big deal if you’re too scared to try something new.”
There’s a faint taunt in the last two sentences that I immediately recognize. I scowl at him. Even though I know he issued the challenge on purpose, I can’t help but respond to it. “I get out of the house plenty. And I’m not scared at all. Fine. I’ll go.”