by Remy Rose
It’s only been six days, but God...it’s good to see him. He hands me a bouquet of purple irises, and grins, a light-up-your-entire-face kind of grin, and I do a lightning-quick scan of his blond and golden self, his cream-colored V-neck and khakis—especially the zipper area. The scan is lightning-quick because after all, there’s a dog I need to see.
I thank Damon for the flowers and then bend down to say hi to the sweetest-looking big black dog I’ve ever seen. He’s got flying nun ears that don’t know if they want to stand up or droop down, a muzzle frosted with gray, and kind eyes that have seen just about everything. I am completely smitten.
I hold out my hand for Tucker to sniff. He wags his tail and lowers his ears, and I stroke his head gently.
“Charming old man, isn’t he?” Damon ruffles the scruff around Tucker’s neck. Our fingers touch, and I feel a shiver at the back of my neck.
“He’s adorable. I love him. I can totally see why he’s your favorite.”
The three of us head up the stairs. I’m hoping Damon is looking at my ass, but then I remember he’s a guy, and I don’t need to hope—just expect. Once we get inside, he takes off Tucker’s leash, and we watch, both of us smiling, as he checks out the place, circling around the coffee table with his tail gently waving, as if to say, I like it here. He hops up on my leather couch, curls his tail around him and gives a great, contented sigh, his old bones settling into the cushion.
I look at Damon. “He is perfect.”
“Tell me about it. I love seeing him relaxed like this.” He sniffs. “Something smells delicious. Besides you, I mean—I’m talking food delicious.”
“Come on in the kitchen. Tucker looks like he’s going to nap.” Damon follows, and as I’m standing on my tiptoes to get a vase out of the cupboard for his flowers, I feel my hair being swept aside and his lips pressing gently at my neck. Shuddering, I make a little gasp. His arms go around my waist, his mouth at my ear.
“I have a plan for you tonight,” he murmurs. “Just so you know.”
My fuck. “A plan?”
“Yes. I’ve thought about it all week. What I’m going to do to you.”
“Damon...” I’m whispering, my bones turned to jelly. His lips are nipping along the nape of my neck, and he pauses to ever so gently sink his teeth into my skin. It occurs to me that he might be giving me a hicky. Then it occurs to me that I want him to.
“Is this plan in the contract?” My voice doesn’t even sound like me, all weak and breathy.
“Nope. But neither is you cooking dinner for me. So I guess we’re even. And speaking of dinner—let’s eat. Because the sooner we do, the sooner we can get to the rest of the night.”
He winks at me, and somehow I’m able to bring forkfuls of food to my mouth and ignore that my entire lower half is on fire.
It’s the dessert that does me in.
I bring over a plate of whoopie pies, and he takes one, shaking his head. “You’re spoiling me, Sprite.” I watch as he takes a bite, his eyes widening and thick blond brows arching. “These are fucking amazing.” He turns the whoopie pie so it’s vertical, and fixing his eyes on mine, extends his tongue and runs it up the layer of filling.
“It’s all about the cream for me. And licking.”
Heat pools in my cheeks. I am melting into my chair as I cast my gaze to the ceiling, trying not to burst out laughing. Yet again, I marvel at how this man can make me laugh and make me wet at the same time.
He helps me clear the table. I’m rinsing off our plates at the sink when his fingers close gently around my wrist and I hear his voice, full and low. “That’s enough, Sprite. I can’t wait any longer.”
Oh, God. My stomach feels like it just pole vaulted over my heart. I reach for my almost-empty glass on the counter and take a sip of my water, hoping he won’t see my hand shaking. But he must, because he whispers in my ear. “I just want to make you feel good, but only on your terms. It’s okay, Delaney.”
Hearing him say my name pushes me over the edge. I put the glass down and turn to look up at him. I feel very small, but not in an intimidated way—small in a highly erotic sense, as in this tall, gorgeous man is going to do things to me, and I am going to love those things very, very much.
Damon takes my hand. I freeze up. “Where are we going?”
He looks at me quizzically. “Your bedroom? If that’s okay.”
“Can we not? I know this sounds weird, but I can’t—I can’t have you in my bed. Not yet.”
“Okay.” He nods as if this makes perfect sense. I know he doesn’t get it, but he accepts it, and that’s all I need from him right now. “So...the living room.”
Giving my hand a squeeze, he leads me to the straight-backed antique chair that used to belong to my grandmother.
I don’t want to be thinking about my grandmother right now. And I hope she forgives me for what may happen in her chair.
I glance over at Tucker, who is snoring blissfully on the couch. It is such a sweetly-amusing thing, an old dog in my new place who feels comfortable enough to sleep.
Damon slides whisper-light fingers under my chin and tilts my head back. His eyes caress my face, and then he leans down to give me a soft, slow, deep kiss, his warm tongue searching mine. I put my hands at his trim waist, and then my fingers find their way underneath his sweater and travel up to the broad, hard planes of his chest. Pulling away from my mouth, he lifts up the bottom of my dress, gathering it at my waist, and then pulls it up and over my head.
Goosebumps erupt on my skin. “You’re not wasting any time,” I say, with a nervous little laugh.
“No. I don’t want to waste a second when I’m with you.” His gaze rakes over my body, making me shiver more. “Christ, Delaney...I don’t know if you can fully comprehend how gorgeous you are. Or what you do to me.”
A tide of arousal surges within me. Rough. Wild. And very, very wet. I want to tell him I feel exactly the same way about him. I want to, but right now, I can’t speak. My breasts are rising with each inhale. He’s watching like he’s entranced, his eyes glazed with lust.
He takes one, two steps toward me and rests his hands on my hips. “Remember when you said you wanted me to act natural with you—do with you what I would do with other women?
I nod.
“Do you still want that?”
“Yes.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “Good,” he murmurs. “It starts now.” He leans down, his mouth inches away from my ear, and growls. “Lose the bra and panties.”
Ohhh, God. That commanding tone, telling me what to do. My body is humming with arousal, buzzing with want. I’m trembling as I do what he asks, and then I’m standing before him completely naked. And vulnerable.
I can do this. I want to do this.
He locks his eyes with mine and in one quick motion, yanks his sweater over his head. His hair is sexily rumpled, and I suck in my breath as I drink in the sight of his broad, hairless chest, his defined abs...my own personal romance novel character come to life. My gaze drifts down to the front of his khakis—his tented khakis with his hard cock straining for release.
“You have the most perfect tits,” he tells me. “Those nipples are aching to be sucked, aren’t they?”
I can only nod. A gush of arousal soaks me between my legs. Self-consciously, I shift my feet and clamp my thighs together.
He shakes his head. “No. I want your legs apart, sweetheart. I need access to that beautiful pussy.”
Fuck.
Hesitantly, I put my feet apart again, and then I remember we’re not alone. “Damon...what about Tucker?”
He turns his head to glance over at the couch and grins at me, shaking his head. “You are too much. Tucker is sleeping. And even if he wasn’t, that old boy has seen it all. All you need to be thinking about is me making you feel good. I’m going to make you come so hard, Delaney.”
A choked little gasp escapes me as he reaches out and takes my nipples in his fingers. I lift my chin, and his
mouth crashes down on mine for a deep, rough, I want to fuck you kiss. He kneels on the floor in front of me, still pinching and tweaking my nipples which have become long and hard. I sink my fingers into his glorious hair as I feel his right hand release my nipple and be replaced by his warm, wet mouth, tonguing and sucking on the erect knob. The tugging sensation in my breast goes straight down to between my legs, creating more wetness. More aching. More want.
Damon puts his mouth on my other nipple now, his right hand going back to pinch the nipple he just sucked on, and God, it hurts just enough to make the sensation exquisite. I’m overcome with the urge to touch him, grasp his erection in my hand and make him feel as unbelievable as I do.
“I want to stroke you,” I whisper. “Please.”
He releases my nipple and looks up at me, his face heart-stoppingly handsome. “Love that you’re thinking of me, Sprite,” he answers huskily, “but no. Not tonight. It’s ladies first with me, always. And tonight, it’s only about you.”
It is incredibly erotic, looking down at the hottest man I’ve ever seen on his knees in front of me. I splay my fingers out on his head, loving the feel of his thick, soft hair, and he crouches lower. I gasp when I feel him kiss my mound.
“Sit down, Delaney. On the edge of the chair, with your legs apart. Wide.”
Holy fuck, is he going to…?
I have my answer. His hands grip just above my knees, his thumbs pressing firmly on the inside of each. Moving forward, he pushes my legs apart gently, and I bite my lip when I feel his fingers spread my labia open.
“Christ—you’re fucking drenched. I’ve wanted to taste you for so long. Do you want me to?”
I am gasping for breath, every fiber of me buzzing with heady anticipation of what he is about to do to me.
“Do you want me to, Delaney?”
“Yes. God, yes, I do.”
He spreads my lips open more and expels his breath in a long sigh. “Your pussy lips are so engorged—just begging to be tongued.”
My fingernails dig into the arms of the chair. It is not my grandmother’s chair anymore.
I cry out when I feel his finger lightly stroke my labia and then circle, agonizing and slow, around the hard knot of nerves.
His next words make me unravel. “I want to lick that needy little clit until you can’t walk.”
“Damon!” I feel his breath on my pussy. Fucking Christ, I can’t take this. I am gasping, moaning, doing everything in my power not to shriek out loud...it’s been such a long time since I’ve been intimate with a man, and also this is Damon Cavanaugh.
The tip of his tongue flicks against my clit as he tunnels two fingers inside me. I feel myself clench around him, and he pauses in his licking. “Don’t come, Delaney—not yet. I want you to hold back and enjoy it. I’m not quite done with you, gorgeous.”
Oh God...oh God, his mouth. I feel his lips kiss my epicenter of pleasure, I groan as he flattens his tongue and laps me from the bottom to the top of my slit. He’s pushing his fingers into me rhythmically, and I want it to be his cock.
Tucker makes a deep sigh, and my eyes flash open briefly to look over at him. But the further this goes, the less I care. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade could march through, and the only thing I’d be focused on is Damon’s unbelievably talented mouth between my legs.
“Open your knees as wide as you can,” he orders. “You taste so fucking delicious, I want to bury my face in you.”
I move closer and open myself to him—literally and figuratively. I am soaking wet. His slippery fingers slide in and out of me harder, faster, as he fastens his lips around my clit and sucks vigorously. I am in awe that he knows exactly what I want, what I need. My climax starts to take hold. I fill my hands with his hair as if I’m holding on for dear life. A third finger, stretching me, and I tip my head back and cry out his name again and again as I lose myself in the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. It feels like I’m shattering into a million shards, but I know Damon can put the pieces of me back together again.
As terrifying as it is to admit this to myself...he makes me feel whole.
chapter 19 / Damon
Short week for me at the office. Took today off to finish packing up The Condom; took tomorrow off for the closing and for when the movers come to take my stuff to storage. Portia and I met with the marketing manager about our upcoming feature in the summer charter issue of Yachting magazine. I’ve never seen my mother in a better mood: not only did our newest model, the Galaxy, land the front cover of the most popular publication in the business, but the woman she’d like to see her son marry is under his direct tutelage for the next couple of months...which, in her mind, will lead to a subsequent engagement.
Hate to break it to you, Gloria, but last Saturday night, your son had his face buried between the thighs of another woman you totally disapprove of. Who happens to be the hottest, most endearing woman he’s ever met. Who pulls at me like I’m the Earth and she’s the moon, which makes me wonder if there are cosmic forces at work here, because I don’t do serious relationships.
I couldn’t get enough of my faux girlfriend Saturday night. And I’m giving myself major credit for the restraint I demonstrated. Christ, it’s hard, though—pun intended. To continue with the same analogy, I’m between a rock and a hard place with her.
I want things to be on her terms. I’ve said it, and I mean it.
But I want to have her. In many different ways.
I want her to know how much I need to make love to her.
But I don’t want her to feel pressured.
So, there it is. Rock...hard place...Damon Cavanaugh right in the middle.
Saturday night, seeing her beautiful pussy all exposed and wet...I wanted to plunge my dick inside her. Bad. The hard truth is I consider myself lucky as fuck to have crossed into physical territory at all, given her initial reluctance.
It’s not just about the physical with her, though—and that’s been the biggest shocker of all for me. I just like being around her. And contractually, I’ve got two months, two weeks and two days. But who’s counting, right?
I have a plan that I’m going to run by Delaney when we meet for lunch in a few. I have to be out of The Condom tomorrow, but I don’t close on my Hancock place for eight days. That means, I won’t have a place to stay. So…what better place to crash than with my pseudo girlfriend for a few nights? I’ll be in Portland on a bachelor’s weekend for my high school buddy Steve—his last hurrah before he ties the knot—so I’d stay with her tomorrow night and next week. If she’s agreeable.
Sprite and I meet at Blaze in downtown Ellsworth for brick oven pizza. It’s sunny and 70 today, so we sit out on the patio. Her hair lifts in the breeze, and she keeps tucking it behind her ears looking like a little girl, and getting me horny with that and just by sitting there. This is the first time we’ve seen each other since Saturday, and I don’t think I’m imagining that she’s a little self-conscious. Can’t pass up the chance to tease her about it.
I take a sip of my beer. “So...did you check the chair for burn holes?”
She practically chokes on her raspberry lemonade. Her baby blues widen in disbelief as her face colors. “You are just—oh my God. Stop.” She can’t help but laugh, though, just as I knew she would, and I’m grinning ear to ear. I’m going to miss this kind of thing.
She’s shaking her head. “I can’t believe you convinced me to, um...you know...”
“I figured the chair would be the next best thing to the bed. Tucker was snoozing, and you know what they say about letting sleeping dogs lie. I did contemplate the kitchen table, but I didn’t think that would be too comfortable, so I decided on the chair. I think it worked out pretty well, don’t you?”
Delaney is looking at me like she’s trying to stay pissed but can’t. “It worked out fine.”
“And as far as convincing you, I didn’t have to try too hard, Sprite. Just sayin.”
She balls up her napkin and throws it at m
e. “I hate you.”
I grab it in mid-air, chuckling at how adorably exasperated she is. “Nope. You don’t. But I’ll behave, and I promise I’ll be on my best behavior for our sleepovers.”
“Sleepovers? What are you talking about?”
“I was kind of hoping you’d let me crash at your place tomorrow night. And next week. I’m moving out of my condo tomorrow and won’t be in my new house till next Saturday. Plus, if my mother does happen to have someone watching me, she’ll know that I’m spending the night with you.”
Her face is solemn and troubled. I don’t want to stress her out. “I’m not talking about going to bed with you...just having a place to spend the night. I can sleep on the couch, or the floor, or in the bathtub.”
She raises an eyebrow and smiles. “The bathtub?”
“Reminiscent of my college years.”
“Why don’t you ask Portia? Or stay with your mom?” She picks up her piece of pizza and bites into it, batting her eyes at me innocently.
“Excellent suggestions, but fuck no. I can obviously do a hotel...just thought I’d run the idea by you, because I thought we both might...you know, enjoy it.”
“Oh, really? That’s what you thought?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“It’s a good thing we’re not really seeing each other, so this isn’t a big deal.”
“Exactly. Not a big deal at all.”
We lock eyes for a few seconds, and it feels like we’re sharing a hell of a lot more than pizza for lunch.