He stretches out on top of me and settles there—ah, God, right there—in the cradle between my hips, his unyielding cock unerringly hitting my sweet spot with every powerful thrust as he finds the perfect rhythm. I cry out, unable to keep the spiraling jolts of gathering ecstasy inside my body.
“Quiet down, little tiger,” he says in that black-velvet voice as he locks his hips in place. “If you think I’m going to let you come before you apologize, you’d better think again.”
“I’m sorry.” The words, bottled up inside since almost the moment the door to his hotel suite clicked shut behind me, can’t pour out of my mouth fast enough. It’s a relief to confess. To own it. “I’m so sorry.”
“For…?”
“For walking out on you like that.”
“Why did you?”
I teeter on the edge of a shattering orgasm as I struggle to catch my breath and get my words right.
“I was afraid it would be awkward in the morning. Or that you’d kick me out when you woke up.”
A humorless laugh from Damon. “Kick you out? Your situational awareness needs serious work.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid. But don’t pull a fucking stunt like that again.”
“I won’t.” I palm his face and pull him in again because I’ve had enough talking. “I won’t.”
“Did you think about me?”
“Constantly. It’s been very annoying.”
The hint of his smile gives way to another sumptuous kiss. More uncontrollable cries from me as he grips my ass to anchor me and his hips began to swivel. The gleam of dark amusement in his eyes as he watches me helplessly unravel.
“Does he touch you like this? Make you crazy like this? Percy?”
I laugh. The question is so absurd. “You know he doesn’t. You think this is normal behavior for me? Any of it?”
The flash of that pirate’s smile from Damon.
“You were going to marry him? Anyone can see you’d be bored to tears. You’d make mincemeat out of him by dinner. That’s plain as the nose on my face, and I’ve only known you for ten minutes.”
“Yes, well, where were you when I was telling him yes?”
“I’m here now. And no one else touches you.”
He may have me where he wants me and I may well have overdosed on his pheromones, but I still resist being told what to do.
“I’ll decide who touches me and who doesn’t,” I say.
“It’s not up for discussion.”
He’s right. It’s not. Not when he slowly trails his fingers across the top of my bosom, right at the lacy edge of my camisole, at the same time as a particularly well-placed thrust.
I fly apart, raw pleasure making my heart stop, my back arch and entire body stiffen. He holds me while I ride it out, until the last aftershocks ripple through my cooling body, leaving only embarrassment and growing uncertainty.
Oh my God.
What did I just do?
What did I just say?
I push his shoulders to get him to release me, which he does reluctantly before standing and turning away to adjust his trousers. His face is shadowed, his expression indecipherable. I scramble up to sitting, the better to examine the enormity of what just happened.
My sleek ponytail is now a mess. I’m sure that we’re both wearing my bright red lipstick all over our lower faces, although the dim lighting hides the full scale of that disaster. My panties are wet, my nipples hard. His jacket does little to hide the bulge between his legs. We’re in the middle of a cocktail reception with my father present.
Worst of all?
I have no idea where Damon and I stand, although I seem to have just unabashedly thrown myself at him.
And I can’t swear that I won’t do it again as soon as the opportunity presents itself.
We regard each other warily until the silence becomes too much for me and I say the first thing that pops into my mind.
A nasty habit of mine, I admit.
“I assume you’re trying to humiliate me by making your point,” I say, trying to smooth my hair, quickly giving up in the absence of a magic wand and looking around for my clutch. “Well done.”
He scowls. “Again. Situational awareness. I’d never try to humiliate you. I’m reminding you.”
“Of?”
He doesn’t seem to care for my snotty attitude. Or maybe it’s the scathing look I shoot him as I stand up and head for my clutch over on the floor. Whatever.
He grabs my wrist for the second time tonight, ignores my gasp of surprise and flattens my hand over his cock. Which is still rock hard and straining for me.
“I’m into you.” He plants both his hands over mine, guiding me into a rough caress that I eagerly mimic. Clearly, it doesn’t take much to make me follow where he leads. “I’m not thrilled about it. I tried to pretend that I’m not. That’s why I didn’t try to track you down when it would have been easy to hire an investigator to find you.”
I frown. An investigator?
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about my pride. When you walked out? I said, Fuck her. I’m not chasing anyone. I’m not playing games.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointment and dread trickling through me. Unfortunately, I’m not a good enough actress to hide my reaction. Hell, I’m a mess. A recently broken engagement. No career to speak of. Sending mixed messages to Damon. What thinking man with half a brain would want anything to do with me in my current state? “I see.”
“Don’t worry.” Self-deprecating smile from Damon. “I changed my mind. If we can be together like this?” He thrusts against my hand, making renewed desire coil low in my belly. “Fuck pride.”
I stare at this man, riveted by his sexiness and his vulnerability. By his occasional openness and by all the secrets hidden behind those dark eyes. I remind myself that I’m not in the market for anything, and, even if I were, this would not be the man on which to hang relationship hopes. He could slay me with little effort on his part.
Absolutely slay me.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now I want you to get the hell out of here and think about how hard I am for you. How hard I’ve been every fucking night because you want to play games and seem to get off on making me crazy with your knee-jerk reactions.”
“I don’t—”
“Yeah. You do. So take a minute and picture me trying to fall asleep like this. Do you touch yourself in the shower? Next time, think about how much I wish I were there, licking the water off your breasts.”
I gape at him, the seething erotic images making speech impossible.
“Think it over. I think we should spend some time together. Get to know each other. See what happens. Let me know if you’re up for that.”
We stare at each other, the silence mushrooming as I think about all the ways and times we could fuck each other if I only said the word.
Honest to God, I can’t think when he looks at me like that.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He blows out a breath and roughly rubs his hands over the top of his head, ruffling his hair. “Actually, hang on. Give me your phone.”