by Tempest Phan
Things had changed, and not for the better. And it all felt devastating.
I slid out of the booth and headed toward the dance floor. As the music raged on, I threw my arms up in the air and started to move in time with the beat. I swayed my hips, perhaps too suggestively, as I tried to hold his stare from across the floor. He looked, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. The distance between us stretched on. And then he turned away.
Heartbroken, slightly confused, still, I looked away too, and continued to dance, losing myself to the flashing lights and MCR’s I’m Not Okay (I Promise) set to beats that mimicked the panic in my heart.
He didn’t want us anymore. No matter what I did, he’d never want us again.
I climbed up the stairs to the stage and began to dance, each move more and more desperate. I realized my short skirt was beginning to hike up slightly with each sway of my hips, and I didn’t give a damn. He wasn’t looking anyways.
I kept dancing, let my hands drop to caress my arms, stomach, no longer looking over at Damien, no longer caring. My tears were beginning to fall, and it didn’t matter. It was now time to let go of any hopeless, foolish dreams that he’d come running and declare his love for me. That he’d be mine.
Suddenly, I felt a tall, hard body crowd me, pressing against my back. Damien? I turned around, but instead of his clear blue stare, I lost myself in eyes the color of steel.
Brushing a falling blond lock from his forehead, he smiled at me, the small ring in his left nostril catching the disco lights, as he pressed even closer, his arms gently wrapped around me from behind, hands on my waist. I could feel the heat of his body against mine.
“Hello, Mirabella Mei Grace Davenport. You looked quite lonely up here, so I figured I’d come and keep you proper company,” he whisper-shouted in my ear in a crisp, British accent.
It was Lukas.
His cocky, lopsided smile froze on his face when he noticed my tears. With a finger, he gently reached out to wipe the trail away. “Are you all right there, love?”
The platform had rotated, and I was now staring straight at Damien again. He’d leaned forward on the edge of the seat in his booth, resting his forearms on his thighs, hands clasped. Now, he was looking. Now, I had his attention. I couldn’t tell what his expression was, but to hell with it. He didn’t want me. Perhaps someone else would.
I smiled at Lukas. “Yes. Thank you, Lukas Stone. Dance with me.” He smiled a brilliant smile in response. I turned away and looking straight at Damien, I began to dance again, with Lukas holding me from behind. He held me close like that for the space of an entire song, as we lost ourselves in this ancient rhythm.
I glanced over at Damien again. He hadn’t moved. Feeling emboldened by his rejection, my back still to Lukas, I began to grind against him, throwing my arms up and around his neck from behind as I leaned my back against him. He gasped and immediately I felt him harden through his jeans.
“Oh, you’re a proper bad girl, aren’t you, love,” he said against my ear.
I ignored his words, continuing to gyrate against him instead. He moaned in my ear.
“Would you like to finish this somewhere more private?” This time I looked up and turned slightly. I saw fire in his steel eyes. He wanted me. Damien didn’t, but he did. I glanced back to our booth. It was empty. My heart sank. Had he left me?
I looked back at Lukas and felt his whole body stiffen. His eyes became cold, and his face tightened.
I suddenly felt someone in front of me. I looked up into Damien’s angry face. He grabbed my arm to pull me away from Lukas and against him instead.
Lukas stepped back to stand tall, feet planted firmly on the floor in front of Damien, who in turn mimicked his fighter’s stance.
“Hold on, mate. If you can’t tell, she is a tad busy.”
Damien leaned in close to Lukas’s face. “I think she’s done.”
Lukas lifted an eyebrow at me. “Are you, love? Are you then?”
In spite of the fact that I’d been the one to stir the pot, that Damien’s display of near anger was perhaps what I had been subconsciously after all along, I didn’t like where this was going now. My loyalty would always be to Dame, first and foremost. I pushed Damien gently back and disentangled my arm from his grip as I stepped in front of him. “I’m so glad I ran into you, Lukas. I have to go.”
Lukas reached out, his hand gently touching my arm. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
I smiled at him. “But I do want to. It was so nice to see you again, Lukas. Take care, now.” And I reached up to gently touch his cheek. He looked at me, fire and intensity in his eyes. I could see he was hesitating.
“Will you be safe?” he asked, eyeing Damien’s tightly drawn face.
I paused, those words bringing me back to Damien’s own whispers, not so long ago, an echo in time.
It never occurred to me that others might not know that Damien would rather cut off his own hand than ever hurt me. Would I be safe? The question was ridiculous, of course.
“Yes—thank you, Lukas.” I turned away.
Damien reached out to grab my hand, but I ignored him, pulling away instead. I left Lukas standing on that spinning platform as I walked back toward our booth, Damien close behind.
I paused in front of it, but Dame shook his head, and so I marched outside. The cold night air hit me in full force, and I wrapped my arms around myself. I was still wearing that stupidly short, thin, nothing of a dress. I heard the sound of a zipper as Damien shrugged out of his hoodie and gently placed it on my shoulders.
“Here,” he said softly, avoiding my gaze. “You’ll catch cold.”
It was cold, and my nose started to run, so I wiped it with his great big sleeve.
We sat in silence in the back of the Lyft. Once home, I walked ahead, not waiting for him.
Back in my apartment, I went in for a shower, not saying a word. When I walked out in my pj’s, he looked at me and said softly, “Bella . . .”
“I’m done with the bathroom, if you need the shower.”
He stared at me for the space of several heartbeats then went in. He came out, still towel drying his hair. I was in my bedroom, sitting on the bed.
He was at my door and whispered, “Can I come in, Bella?”
I looked up and nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to drag you out like that.”
“See, that’s what I don’t understand. We’re not together, Damien. You’ve made that clear. So what is it to you if I’m dancing with another guy?”
He rubbed his face with his palm. “You’re right. I have no right to tell you who you should dance with. But I was concerned for your safety.”
I snorted.
He stabbed angry fingers into his dark hair. “I mean it. The way he was all over you, he might as well have been fucking you. He sure as hell wanted to.”
I turned an angry face to him. “And have you thought about the fact that clearly, unlike you, maybe some men do want to fuck me, and maybe I want to fuck them? Have you fucking thought of that?”
He paled.
“Like I said, what is it to you? You have no say in this.”
“You’re right. I have no say. And I’m fucking lying to myself.” He dragged his hand through his hair again, shaking his head. “I tell you to move on, Bella baby, and I can’t even stand to see it when it happens. It killed me to see his hands on you. Fucking killed me.”
Seeing him like this, unraveling in front of me, took the edge off my despair. I walked toward him. I took a deep breath, and then looked up to meet his eyes. And the truth just came tumbling out, surprising me. “I’m lying to myself too, Dame. This was the first time I went out since I got here. When you’re not here, all I do is sit around and wait. I can’t help it.”
I reached up to cup his cheek, shaking my head. He closed the last remaining distance between us and wrapped me in his arms. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m so sorry.”
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nbsp; The tears started to fall as I heard the erratic beat of his heart against my ear. Why couldn’t he allow himself to surrender? Why was he fighting me at every turn?
I pulled back to wipe the back of my hand across my eyes.
“Look at us.” He sighed. “This conversation is going nowhere, and we’re both exhausted. I’m going to bed. You should go to yours. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
I nodded as he kissed me softly on the forehead and left.
I sat there for a while. I hadn’t imagined the jealousy in his eyes when he’d pulled me away from Lukas. He’d admitted it. Yes, it had been out of a sense of protectiveness, but that hadn’t been all of it. We weren’t done. I wasn’t done.
I walked to my closet and pulled out a matching set of red bra and panties. There was lace overlay covering the bra, and the panties were cheeky hipster, completely see-through. I got out of my pj’s, threw on the set, and immediately felt better. I threw my hair upside down to tousle it, licked my lips, and opened the door.
Damien was lying down on his sofa bed, one arm behind his head, the other holding a book. At the sound of the door, he put his book down on his chest and looked up.
Desire flashed across his face, unmistakable this time.
No, we weren’t done.
He closed his eyes and swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
Finally, his eyes still tightly closed, he spoke, his voice raw and slightly unsteady, “Bella, Bella, what are you doing?”
I walked toward him. “I want to pick up where we left off eight months ago, Damien. I’ve been waiting for you this whole time.” I kneeled by his bed, bringing my face near his. He opened his eyes. Desperation and lust were blatant in his stare. He wanted me. No matter what he said, he wanted me.
“We agreed that we’d leave the past in the past.” He cleared his throat again. “There was never supposed to be an us. Nothing has changed. Now is not the time.”
“Don’t you want me?” I whispered, ignoring what he’d just said as I unhooked my bra.
He turned his face away. I grabbed his hand and placed it on my breast, and slowly, slowly guided it down my stomach to my aching pussy, already wet, dripping with want for him. I felt him tremble as his fingers curled into a fist and he took his hand away.
“No, Bella.”
I sat back on my heels. “Then why are you looking at me like that, like you want to fuck me?”
“No,” he repeated again.
My heart felt like he was tearing it in two. I felt my face flush with embarrassment. I stood up and walked away, but even as I closed my bedroom door against his rejection, I knew that I wasn’t ready to give up. Not now. Not yet. What baby girl wants, she gets, he’d said. And I would. I really would.
***
Damien
I laid in the dark, trying to keep myself from getting up and running over to her. The shattered look in her eyes when I’d turned her away. It cut my soul in half knowing that I’d been the one to put that devastation on her face. Knowing that she was so close to me, sleeping next door, and that I’d said no. That I had hurt her.
But this was all wrong. We couldn’t go down that path again.
I thought back to Saint’s parting words, when Bella had been out of earshot.
“You were right,” he’d said. “She’s very special, that one. Don’t let her slip away.”
I hadn’t responded, just returned his pointed stare with one of my own.
Tell me more shit I already know, Saint.
Like her father’s parting shot. She needs more. She deserves more.
All the more reason to keep my hands off her while I sorted my shit out.
Oh, but images of her as she’d walked out of the bathroom in that short, tight dress, a dress that had hugged her in all the fucking right places. It took every last ounce of my willpower to not throw her down on the couch and fuck her. Hard. I’d wanted her—still wanted her—with a violence that terrified me. When we’d gotten into the car, and her dress had hiked up, flashing me her creamy upper thighs—and more—I’d nearly lost it. But I held on. I don’t know how I did it, how I had succeeded in hiding how I’d truly felt.
I’d hidden it. Up until that moment when I’d seen another man’s hands on her hips, her thighs, her stomach, near her breasts. Not just any other man, but him. The one who’d appeared at the charity dinner with Davenport, like he belonged by his side. Like I would never.
That moment when Bella had been in his arms, out of my reach on that spinning stage, grinding against him while he touched her in places that I told myself no one but me had touched before. After that, I couldn’t pretend cool detachment any longer. It had made me raw.
And then she’d walked out in nothing but a whisper of red lace, taking it off to unveil herself to my hungry eyes. My hand remembered the soft firmness of her breasts, her wet core. I screamed silently into my pillow.
That night I dreamt torturous dreams of her, dreams where she was mine, where I made her mine—fucked her—over and over again. Where there was nothing but her and me. Nothing to keep us apart. No demons nor darkness nor pain. No fucked up filial obligations that imprisoned me in their choking grip.
I screamed out her name in my sleep, over and over again.
“Dame, are you ok?” I heard her say in the ink black night. “Damien?”
And I responded by moaning her name. “Sweet, sweet Bella. Baby, I love you.”
I felt soft lips on mine, heard her sighing my name, replying that she, too, loved me. In the dark I could not tell where my dream ended and reality began. I felt her hands on my chest, and still she kissed me.
“Bella, Bella, Bella mine,” I moaned.
“Yes, I’ll always be yours. Make love to me. Make love to me again, make me truly yours,” I heard her whisper. “I’ve missed you. Why won’t you see?”
In my groggy state I could not heed the warning bells in my head but kissed her right back as if my life depended on it. I felt her climb over me kissing, lower, lower until she hit the aching bulge in my boxers. I felt her take me inside her sweet mouth and suddenly I was wide awake.
“Bella, Bella, what are we doing? We can’t.”
But she wouldn’t have it, kept sucking, her head bobbing up and down until I couldn’t think anymore. She took me deep into her mouth, and I almost lost it at the terrifying pleasure. She leaned back and licked down my length, her eyes never leaving mine, her teeth grazing my cock ever so gently. She began to suck again.
I gave up my fight.
I twined my fingers gently into her hair, pushing her against me, fucking her mouth, feeling my dick swell even more as I hit the back of her throat.
“Oh God, baby doll, I can’t, I can’t. I’m coming,” I bit out, trying to pull her off me. She wouldn’t have it, and I was beyond self-control. I felt myself come inside her sweet mouth in long spurts, heard her wet sounds as she swallowed every last drop.
What was wrong with me? But it was too late. I shivered as the last of my jets hit the back of her throat. When she finally unwrapped her lips from my cock, our eyes met, and I knew guilt littered mine. But she just smiled her sweet smile at me and echoed back to me words I’d once whispered to her, “You taste so damn good.” It made me harden again.
I reached out to wipe the trickle from her chin and pulled her up against me.
I loved her so fucking much.
She touched me again, and months—no, years—of denial finally caught up to me. I don’t think I ever fully softened, but my cock thickened, lengthened against her hand, harder than I’d ever felt it before.
She leaned in and kissed me. I tasted myself on her lips but didn’t give a damn. I crushed her to me, kissing her like I was trying to suck her into my soul and keep her safe and warm there, protected against anything that could hurt her, especially me.
She moaned into my mouth and I tore my lips away before reaching down to grab her by her tiny waist and pulling her up so she straddled my face.
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br /> “Damien . . .” she gasped softly as I began to eat her out. “Dame . . .”
I slid my hands down to her hips and urged her to rock against me, and she did, making soft, gaspy sounds that drove me insane, made my blood surge and my heart drop like a heavy bassline.
Yes, so damn good. I fucking loved how she tasted. Soft, bright, so, so sweet. I licked her, grazed her sensitive flesh with my teeth, pulled gently on her clit. And then I entered her with my tongue as she rode me, her breath hitching.
“Dame!” she cried out again.
I kept on, knowing she was close.
She made that sound that was uniquely hers and tensed around me as her orgasm hit her. She nearly dragged me with her as there was nothing, nothing in this world that felt as good as making baby girl fall apart.
Her breath was still coming hard, fast, and sweet when I flipped her soft body over until I was on top of her, missionary-style, my full weight against her, her soft curves nestling into the harshness of my body.
“Oh Dame. That was…” She shook her head. “I’ve missed you, my Damien James. I want you to want me like I want you.” She was breathless.
I made a grab for my wallet and the lone condom in it. Reading my mind, and in response, I felt her hand on me, guiding me inside her. “I want you, Dame,” she whispered again. “All of you. I’m on the pill. For you. I haven’t been with anyone since you. And I trust you.”
Oh baby girl, you shouldn’t trust me.
But I was clean. And I hadn’t been with anyone else, either. After her, after how we’d left it, how could I?
I entered her, slowly, slowly, as I heard her gasp.
“Baby,” I managed to breathe out while my body and mind swirled with pleasure so intense I thought I would die. There was nothing like the feeling of being inside her, completely bare, both physically and metaphorically, her soft tightness pulling me in, devastating my body, my soul. “You ok, baby?”
In response, she smiled at me and whispered, “My Damien James,” before wrapping her legs around my waist, arching her back as she drew me in even more deeply inside her. My heart burst and I roared as I crushed my mouth to hers.