a single tug, my underwear fall from my body.
“Damon.”
“You said whatever I want.” He drops to his knees and pleasures me to the beat of the music. Damon is a man of many skills—oral being near the top. Once the last quiver leaves my body, Damon stands and holds me while we sway to several more songs.
He kisses me and tells me he’ll be right back. A minute later, I look through the glass into the VIP lounge, where Damon smiles from below.
I laugh, lift my dress, and dance for him.
When he returns, he confesses, “That was awesome. I’ll never be able to be in the VIP lounge and not think of you on the floor above me. If I died today, I’d die a happy man.”
“I might die if you don’t feed me soon. I get grumpy if I don’t eat.” I look at him and push my lips out into a pout.
“How about In-N-Out? We can take it home and watch the movie.”
“Perfect. I want a double-double with fries and a chocolate shake.”
He gives a look of surprise.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been exercising from morning to nightfall for two days now, and I’m famished.”
“You have to be hungry. I exercise all the time, and you’ve worn me out. I think the scarf and heels will have to wait for another day.” We take the elevator to the first floor. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”
“Who wanted to make love in a tree house and dance on a glass floor?”
He raises his hand, “Guilty. I can’t get enough of you. The glass floor was a sight to behold. Next time I want you naked.”
“Fat chance of that.”
“Is that a challenge?”
The one thing I know is Damon always rises to a challenge.
We take our dinner to the theater and watch the new release he scored, then snuggle on the couch and enjoy a peaceful night together.
Exhausted from the physical demands of pleasing each other, we trudge to his bed and collapse. Lying next to Damon feels so natural. He’s my person.
“I’m falling in love with you,” I admit cautiously. I don’t know how he’ll respond, but I know it’s something that needs saying. I can’t fall further and expect to survive.
Pulling me as close as possible, he tells me, “I love your love, and I’ll do my best to be worthy. My life is better because you’re in it.”
It’s not an affirmation of love, but it may be as close as I’ll get from him. Actions speak louder than words, and Damon’s actions say he cares. I fall asleep with his breath on my neck and my heart in his hands.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Should I fear meeting your parents?” Damon asks.
Stuck in traffic on Interstate 210, we have plenty of time to talk. Normally it’s the 405 that’s bottlenecked, so it’s odd we’re at a complete stop.
“You should be terrified. I don’t come from the average American family. My parents are way ahead of their time, but they’re traditional and old-fashioned in many ways. I couldn’t date until I was sixteen, and everyone had to meet my dad before I went anywhere with them. He made copies of their identification cards so he could track them down if I disappeared.”
“Thank goodness I brought my ID. They may even let me leave the house with you,” he teases.
“These days, I’m on my own. Once I went off to college, they figured they’d done their job. If I didn’t know how to care for myself by then, then I’d succumb to natural selection.”
“You’re joking, right? I’ve never met a daddy that didn’t obsess over his little girl’s safety.”
“Dad worries about my safety, but he trusts me to make good decisions.”
We inch along on the freeway until we come across an awful car accident. With the amount of mangled metal on the side of the road, no one survived.
“That’s a bad one,” Damon says.
“I hate the traffic in Los Angeles. People get distracted so easily with cell phones and other stuff. Accidents happen when people don’t pay attention.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Once we clear the accident, the freeway opens up, and it’s smooth sailing.
“Tell me, have you met a lot of fathers?”
Has he always been cool and confident, or does he ever waver under pressure?
“I’ve only met one girl’s father. He was okay. Since then, I wouldn’t call what I do dating. You’re my first date in ten years.”
“You can choose not to answer, but who’s this