walking down the aisle.”
His face goes from curious to concerned, then back to something resembling humor. He pulls me toward his chest, so my face presses against him. I inhale his scent; he’s spicy, with undertones of lavender and cedar—intoxicating and sensual.
My hand covers his heart, and the pace speeds at my touch and taps out a steady cadence different from the one a few moments ago. I recognize it as his “I’m ready again” rhythm.
“Again? Already?”
“I told you we’d make love all night.”
He rolls us both over and braces himself above me. The darn man delivers on his promise to make me scream his name.
I don’t have a chance with him. I try my hardest to stay neutral and not fall in love, but it’s impossible. I tumbled headfirst and failed to break my fall. Someday soon, I’ll land, and it will hurt.
What Damon and I share is much more than sex. It feels like love, but that’s impossible because Damon loves no one.
Chapter Twenty
“Are you doing okay?” he asks
“Never felt better.” My body aches, but my heart is full.
He rolls off the bed and strolls to a large walk-in closet, coming back with a long-sleeved dress shirt and a robe for me.
“Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Let’s eat. Dinner is probably dry and awful, but it’s sustenance, and you’ll need it for tonight.”
I take the shirt and put it on. It falls mid-thigh with the sleeves hanging past my hands by six inches.
He stands naked in front of me and buttons me up, leaving the top three undone. “I think this shirt will be my favorite from now on,” he says. When he’s done, he kisses me on the nose.
At his chest of drawers, he pulls out a pair of sweatpants. As he steps into them, every muscle in his torso flexes when he lifts his legs into the body-hugging fabric. The soft cotton clings to him, like a jealous lover, making me envious of those sweatpants.
“What are you thinking about?”
“How nice it would be to be your sweatpants.”
He laughs and takes a last lingering look at the bed before leading me out of his room.
“We need to get out of here immediately, or we may never leave,” he says.
I follow him downstairs and into the enormous kitchen.
He opens the oven and pulls out what appears to be chicken Kiev. It’s dry but still edible.
“Where are the dishes? I’ll set the table.” Looking around, I ask, “Do you want to eat at the island or the table?”
He directs me to the dishes and silverware, and we sit at the island.
I serve up the chicken while he pulls a pre-made salad from the refrigerator. We each take a seat and eat in silence. I’d give him all my pennies for his thoughts.
“We were talking about firsts earlier, but we got distracted. What are your other firsts with me?” he asks.
“I already said the orgasms, so that one’s covered. I’ve never given or received oral pleasure, so that’s another. I’ve never fooled around in unconventional places like a restaurant booth or an executive office. You’re a bad influence. You’ve ruined me, and I’ll never be good for anyone else now that I’ve had you.”
His expression turns from happy-go-lucky to serious. Tension sits in the air like thick fog.
“What’s wrong?”
He stares at me—almost through me. There’s something brewing inside him. He pours two glasses of wine and drains his in one gulp.
I reach over to hold his hand, but he avoids my touch and instead grasps the bottle and fills his glass again. I have no idea what changed his mood, but he’s brooding over something. His eyes are no longer alight with passion but clouded with pain.
“Would you like more wine?” he asks.
His question is an attempt to avoid dealing with the issue at hand, whatever that may be.
“No,” I respond. No longer feeling blissful but soiled by his sour mood, I say, “I’d love answers, and if I can’t have those, I’ll take a shower.”
He turns the wineglass in circles and watches the liquid move. “You can use my bathroom. Do you remember how to find it, or do you need me to show you?”
“I can find it.” I jump off the stool and turn to leave but stop. “Whatever just happened here wasn’t warranted. Whoever you’re thinking about. Whoever you’re mad at, I’m not her.”
My statement catches him off guard, but I don’t wait for him to reply. I walk to the hallway, grab my bag, and stomp up the stairs.