by C P Harris
I’d never seen Damon cry. It left me raw like an exposed nerve. I wished I could reach back into the past and rip Emilia apart with my bare hands for what she’d done to this man. My lover, my best friend, my sometimes enforcer and forever savior. My everything.
He shivered, and I pulled him onto the couch and onto me, and I held him all night. Filtering all my love into him, into his meat and bones. “I love you. Always.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
It’d been several weeks since Damon’s night of confessions. Some things had changed since then, and some remained a work in progress.
We moved the image of Benji to the spare bedroom, where Damon could go be with him when he felt the need, instead of him feeling the crippling sensation of grief every time he walked through the front door.
We no longer worked on pushing him past his limits. Now, when he reached them, we stopped. With the agreement in place that he wouldn’t stop out of fear, but when his body and mind gave the signal that it’d had enough.
Emotional intimacy still challenged him. Damon could bare his soul verbally, to an extent, as long as we weren’t touching, but he continued to rely on dominance and aggression when we had sex. My motto became: We’ll get there when we get there. As long as we weren’t moving backwards, I became patient with how long it took to move forward.
I stopped playing therapist. That might have worked for Julie and her husband, but it didn’t work for us. I showed him the respect of asking his opinion before taking matters into my own hands.
I asked if he wanted to go to his mother’s grave; he said no. I let it be.
Damon had his Blake moments, kind of like flipping a switch. No telling what would turn it on or turn it back off. I still occasionally found myself wondering who stood in front of me. Julie insisted I stop viewing it as something that needed to be on a schedule: Damon from sunup to sundown, Blake at night and on weekends. “Personalities don’t work that way,” she’d said.
On the evening before the fundraiser, we were all at the center getting things ready. Damon, Max, and Sam volunteered for the dating auction, and they were in the auditorium practicing their catwalks.
“I’m not strutting like some peacock up there. Tell me where I need to stand, and I’ll walk there from backstage,” Damon grumbled.
“If we’ve gotta strut, then you’ve gotta strut,” Max shot back.
Sometimes they got along well enough, and sometimes they didn’t.
He came offstage and walked over to where I stood in an aisle observing, draping his arm around my neck and pulling me into his side. I reminded him that this was for the kids. He nodded, grunting gruffly. I patted him on the belly and kissed under his chin.
“You know you didn’t have to do this, baby. Your donation was enough to build the library,” I said.
Max planned on removing a portion of the ground floor ceiling in the room designated for the library, in order to expand it to both floors. All thanks to Damon.
“I don’t mind doing more. These kids deserve as much as they can get. I’ll probably be bought by some old lady for a measly hundred bucks. The date will be over in time for her to catch Jeopardy.”
“What a horrible thing to say.” I chuckled, digging my fingers in between his left flank.
“Damon! Get your ass up here and suffer like the rest of us.”
We looked to the stage at the same time. An annoyed Sam watched us with her arms folded over her chest.
Pointing at me, Damon said, “You’re his best friend, which makes you my best friend by default. You’re supposed to want the best for me.”
Damon always liked Sam—because she had parts that didn’t interest me—but ever since she created the Benji masterpiece, he’d counted her as one of his own.
“Soooo, by that same thought process, Ashton is Justin’s best friend too, right?”
“Ash is mine,” he growled, and Sam keeled over with laughter.
I rolled my eyes. His possessiveness amused her, and he fell for it every time.
“Oh my god, Pete, you were spectacular!” Sam shouted backstage, doing a little dance that left me seasick. “Justin, did you see him? He did like ten spins back to back and then that leap! You saw him, right?”
Laughing, I placed my hands on both her shoulders to keep her from floating away. “Sam, I choreographed the whole thing, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Everyone did so well. I’m so proud of you guys.” She kissed Pete smack on the cheek before running off to congratulate the other kids huddled a few yards away talking excitedly. They startled when she rushed over squealing and grabbed Debbie under her armpits, spinning her around in her arms.
I looked over to Pete, who stood with a palm to his cheek, gaping open-mouthed at Sam. “Hey, are you okay?” I asked, snapping my fingers in front of his face.
“I am never washing this side of my face again,” he pledged.
Chuckling, I informed him that he had red lipstick on it.
“I don’t care,” he replied.
“Oh, there you are!” Chancellor Davis approached; his smile made the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes more prominent.
“Chancellor Davis, hello. I’m so glad you could make it,” I said.
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” He pushed his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and adjusted his tweed blazer. “You must be Pete?”
I nudged Pete’s shoulder to get him out of his shy stupor.
“Ah... yes, I am. It’s so nice to meet you, and, ah... thank you for coming.”
“Oh nonsense. My pleasure, young man. You were outstanding tonight! Tell me, how long have you been training?”
“Since age four, and I’m sixteen now. So, ah, four years.”
“He means twelve years, Mr. Davis. He’s nervous. Forgive him.” I squeezed Pete’s shoulder in silent support.
“Well, that’s completely understandable. Tell me, Sir Pete, what are you doing here? With your talent, you should be in a more formal dance school competing for a spot at Glifton or Brinshill University.”
“Umm, well... I... ah—”
“He came here to find acceptance and love. In the process, he found his strength. Now, he’s ready for anything,” I said.
Pete smiled at me, his eyes saying, Thank you.
And mine said, Anytime.
“Splendid.” Mr. Davis clapped his hands together. “I’d like to refer you to our apprenticeship program. This will allow you to observe and learn from some of the best in the business. You’ll study under a Ballet Master—an acclaimed Ballet Master if Justin comes back.” He winked at me. “You’ll also have your own solo as the opening act for our winter performance. It’s the biggest performance of the year. It will be a lot of hard work, and you’ll need to show up for practices every Wednesday evening and all day Saturdays. It won’t be easy, and I’m sure it will be even harder commuting from here?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to make it work. That is, if Pete wants to accept your offer?” I asked, staring at Pete.
“Yes!” Pete blushed at his own exuberance. “I mean... yes, sir.” He stood taller, finding his voice. “I won’t let you down, I promise.”
“I don’t believe you will. May I have a moment alone with Mr. Daniels?”
Pete said his goodbyes and walked further backstage.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Yes, everything’s fine. Merely wondering if you’ve decided to come back to the OBH?”
“To be honest, Chancellor Davis, I’m not sure. I love what I’m doing here, and I don’t want to give it up.” But keeping my title at The OBH would put me in a position to help these kids and others like them. Kids that had a passion for dance but lacked the influence, and privilege, sometimes needed to make it to the top. “I need to determine if it’s possible to do both.”
He nodded, appraising me. “You’ve changed, Justin. You’re more open and grounded in who you are. You were a smidge ad
rift in the past. Like life was merely pulling you along on its currents. You have purpose now—one that is bigger than you. Hold on to it. It’s what makes life worth living.” He looked thoughtful as he tweaked his bow tie.
“You know, there’s a famous quote that I love, ‘What counts isn’t always counted, and what’s counted doesn’t always count.’ Don’t worry about the accolades, the writeups, and the validation from your peers that come with your position at the OBH. The work you’re doing here is what really matters. It’s what counts. You’ll always have a friend at the Ballet House, and if you’re here, this is where I’ll be scouting for talent. Now, who do I speak to about not only making a donation but also sponsorship?”
I directed the chancellor to the main office and lingered deep in thought backstage long after. He’d given me a lot to think over.
I was then seized by the waist, spun, and pinned against the wall. With a face full of my hair and something very hard pressed firmly against my thigh, I muttered out of breath, “This better be Javier.”
“Who the fuck is Javier?” Damon growled.
Pushing my hair back, I grinned. “You make it too easy.”
“That’s because I’m too trusting,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” I said straight-faced. “What are you doing back here anyway? And why are you hard, you little deviant?” I teased.
“Seeing you in tights always gives me an instant hard-on.” He reached both hands behind me and took a firm hold of my ass, raising me to my tiptoes and grinding his cock against mine. We both groaned. “I’m actually getting ready to change to go on stage for the auction,” Damon said, in between biting at my neck.
“Shit, I need to get changed. I’m bidding on Sam! How much time do I have?”
Pete wasn’t too happy about Sam being auctioned off. I decided to bid on her under the guise of worrying about her safety in the hands of some stranger. Which wasn’t far from the truth anyway.
Checking his watch, Damon confirmed, “Ten minutes.”
I leaned in for what I intended to be a quick kiss, but he held my head to his forcefully and tried to turn my mouth inside out.
Grabbing a paddle from the table outside the auditorium, I entered through the back, relieved to see that I hadn’t missed much.
After Max’s introduction, he sauntered on stage, looking sexy in a tailored tux. He cleaned up nice. More than a handful of people put in bids, and he was currently going for one thousand dollars when the auctioneer called, “Going once, going twice—”
“Five thousand dollars!” someone shouted from across the room. I couldn’t see a face, but I’d know that voice anywhere. If I needed further confirmation, Max’s facial expression said it all.
The auctioneer banged the gavel and yelled, “Sold to—?” looking to the bidder for an answer.
“Ashton Jackson.” Said with a note of triumph. Max was in trouble.
Sam stepped from behind the curtain. Pete came up from behind me to stand on my right side.
“I have some money saved if you need it,” he whispered as the auctioneer read off her stats to the attendees. “To help, you know... protect her.”
“Thanks. I might need it depending on how this goes,” I said to make him feel useful. I ruffled his shaggy, brown hair. “You need a haircut. Sam cuts hair, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” He blushed and averted his gaze.
“No, way. Pete, did you grow your hair just so you could ask her to cut it?”
“Two hundred dollars!” someone yelled, and I had to get myself in the game before Pete could answer me.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “Five hundred dollars!” My deep, husky voice wasn’t the best for traveling long distances.
“Seven hundred dollars!” someone countered.
Fuck. “Eight hundred dollars!” I said.
“Nine hundred dollars!” came from somewhere up front.
Pete snatched my paddle and yelled, “Fifteen hundred dollars!” I’m sure the people in the parking lot heard him.
“Fifteen hundred and fifty dollars!”
“Two thousand dollars!” Pete said.
I grabbed his raised hand and tugged it down. “Pete, how about we work with one hundred dollar increments, yeah?”
“Sold to the nice young man in the back!” said the auctioneer.
“We won, Mr. Justin! We won.” Pete jumped up and down.
His happiness was contagious, and I quickly forgot about the two grand. “You won, not me.”
“Well, it’s your money,” he said, apologetically handing me back the paddle.
“Hmm, I’m sure we could work out a fair trade.”
“Really? You really mean it?”
“I do, silly.” I ruffled his hair that he’d worked so hard to get back in place only a minute ago.
Damon stepped out, and something in my lower region shifted as he walked across the stage. A wolf surveying his prey. “Jesus,” I whispered.
His dark curls were slicked away from his face, but he decided to keep the stubble. I could clearly see the sharpness of his chin and his full, pink upper lip from where I stood. When his eyes finally landed on mine, they glinted. My dark wolf had found what he was searching for. His tailored, midnight-blue suit sat well on him, and when he popped the jacket button to push the ends aside and slip his hands in his trouser pockets, it drew attention to his immense cock, that even relaxed was quite impressive. He topped the look off with a simple black button-down shirt with cufflinks sparkling at the wrists. The top few buttons were open, revealing the tanned, smooth cleft at the center of his collarbone.
All around me, the bidding frenzy had started, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. What was I thinking agreeing to this? I felt that old proprietorial side of me dusting itself off. I wanted to behead anyone or anything that believed they could have what was mine. I tried to calm down by telling myself it was more than likely the winning bid would go to some straight woman that had no clue Damon was gay. They’d have the most boring date, and he’d come home—to me.
“Two thousand dollars!”
“Twenty-one hundred dollars!”
“Twenty-one fifty!”
“Fifteen. Thousand. Dollars,” someone interjected.
The crowd roared. “Quiet please. Settle down everyone.” The auctioneer banged his gavel, trying to call order to the room as everyone whispered and turned in their seats to see who put in such an outrageous offer.
My heart thundered; the vibration reached my fingertips. The man stood, but from the back, I could only discern his tall, slim stature and light blond hair buzzed short on the sides. I cursed myself for not moving to the front earlier.
“Going once, going twice... Sold to Mister—?”
“Tristan Noble.”
“No. Fucking. Way,” I breathed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Placing my keys in the porcelain bowl on the table in the foyer, I headed for the dining room. One of my favorite rooms in the Chadwick house. Drawn there because the windows allowed a perfect view of the full moon. Its glow was hardly enough to see by, but it gave me something to focus on.
The auction was the last event of the night. The auditorium had cleared out quickly with everyone making their way to their cars with their purchases in hand, and their bank accounts lighter than when they arrived. That left the five of us behind. Tristan Noble had made six.
I watched the moon now and thought back on my behavior. “Take your fucking money and get the hell out of here. If you think for one second that he’s going anywhere with you, you’ve been misinformed. The nerve of you to show up here,” I’d said. Not my finest moment.
“That night happened so long ago. Are you really not past it yet?” Tristan had asked, innocently.
I’d gotten in his face, and it felt good to look down on him. “Am I past walking into my husband’s dorm room to find you on your knees choking on his dick like a fucking amateur? No, I�
�m not.” I shook my head to rid it of the memory.
Damon eventually joined me, barefoot, his jacket removed. He held an array of items in his hands: three dildos—in various sizes—rope, candles, a lighter, a cock ring, a spreader bar, and, lastly, lube. Thunder screamed, and lightning arced across the darkened sky, adding a measure of severity to the dark atmosphere. The windows did little to insulate us from the pervasive sound.
Damon lined up his items along the bare wooden table. “Your voice gets huskier when you’re angry. Swollen. That’s the word I’d use to describe how it sounds. I bet if I felt around, I would find something else on you that I could apply that word to.”
“Damon—”
“Don’t tell me that you want me to stop because we both know that would be a lie, and tonight, I need honesty from you. When you tell me it’s too much, I need you to mean it. Because I won’t be able to gauge what you can and can’t take. Not tonight. Not this time.”
Damon refused the date with Tristan, even when doing so would look badly on the center, throwing its integrity into question. The whole ordeal dredged up old feelings, insecurities and coping mechanisms that I didn’t want to fall back on. My head wasn’t clear enough to distinguish why I needed what Damon was offering. That scared me. I didn’t want to jeopardize our recovery. I wouldn’t allow Tristan that power. Damon waited, watching my struggle.
“Allow yourself to have this,” he whispered. “Don’t think. We’ll pick up the pieces after.”
I took a shaky breath and nodded, trusting him to know better than me right then. Damon grabbed my shirt at the center of the neckline and ripped it away from me. My lips parted on a sharp intake of air.