“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. I can be mad too.
Now that I’m alone in his bedroom, I take a few minutes to look around. I didn’t get to truly see anything earlier because he distracted me. For the first time, I see the dark furniture and luxurious bedding that is posh but masculine with its brown and gold palette. I didn’t notice the wall of glass. His house sits so far up in the canyon, it’s like sitting in a tree house. Maybe it reminds him of his father and brother and the beloved tree house they built and shared.
The bathroom is unbelievable, with a shower made to hold no less than ten people. Heads and jets spray from every wall. There’s even a button for steam. It takes a few minutes to figure out how to turn everything on, but I finally get the water adjusted and climb into a new experience.
The jets are set for Damon’s height, so a lot of the water shoots over my head, but the heat and steam relax my muscles as I sink against the far wall. One side of the shower contains a bench, and on it is a wide selection of body washes and shampoos. Looking through them, I find the least manly of the bunch and lather up.
“Can I wash your back?”
His voice startles me, and I spin around to see him.
“I’m sorry.” The whispered apology drips with sincerity. He wraps his arms around me, and he tugs me close.
“You don’t have to be sorry, but we need to talk about whatever takes you to that place. This isn’t the first time you’ve gone there.”
He sits on the bench and pulls me to his lap. We sit together as the water pours over us and prunes our skin. My head leans lazily against his shoulder as he cradles me in his arms. When the water runs cold and I shiver, he rises with me in his arms, turns off the water, and carries me out of the shower.
Setting me down on the soft rug, he rushes to the linen cabinet, pulls out a large bath towel, and drapes me in it. He has a second one he wraps around his waist.
I have a hard time separating this man from the angry one in the kitchen. If I’m honest, that man rarely shows up, but when he does, it is an unsettling experience.
We move to the glass wall in the bedroom and take a seat on the overstuffed chairs. The stars light up the night sky.
“I can’t imagine you with another man,” he says.
I’m jolted from my peaceful moment and catapulted back to the here and now.
“You don’t have to picture me with another man. I’m here with you.” I reach for his hand.
“You are now, but what about tomorrow or next week or next month?”
“Damon, you made it clear you were not ready for a relationship. You wanted to start slow. We agreed to take it one kiss at a time.”
“We are way beyond kisses, Katarina. The minute I sank myself into you, everything changed. I don’t know why, but it did, and I need to know you’re mine.”
I leave my chair and climb onto his lap. “I’m yours if that’s what you want. Is that what you really want?”
“I want you, and I’m ready to move forward. You brand me with your kisses. You mesmerize me with your laughter. You astonish me with your candor. And you completely paralyze my heart with your ability to love.” He plays with a stand of my wet hair. “A while back, you told me I was lovable and worthy, and I didn’t agree. I still don’t think I deserve your love, but I want it. I need it.”