His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips, flipping me back over onto my back.
I hear the fly of his jeans unzipping, and my eyes wander down with a lazy quality, defying the way I know he wants me to panic at his leisurely movements. His fingers wrap around the hem of his T-shirt, and he stares down at me like he’s considering how much he’s going to need to get undressed for this. How much he wants to. Maybe he can just throw me the dick through the unzipped V of his jeans, probably already knows it’s not going to take much to make me come.
It’s true, a part of me wants him, and wants him now. But I also don’t mind watching him get undressed as slowly as he wants. This morning was the first time I got a taste of his body. Figuratively, and literally. Both things were good enough to run on a loop through my mind all day, but they both definitely require a second showing. I’m getting it now, eyefuls of the shadows and curves that make up the lines of his body. He’s strong, and dangerous looking under normal circumstances. Under these circumstances, he looks positively brutal.
He shifts his jeans off his hips, but not before reaching into his pocket for a square, foiled-wrapped condom. He holds it up, giving me a triumphant look.
“Oh, you thought I didn’t know your original intention was to come in here and fuck me the entire time,” I say sarcastically, imparting a bitterness into my tone that somehow makes me feel even more turned on.
I can’t touch him. I can’t punch him or scratch him. The only thing I have are my words. But wanting to fight him when I know all we can do from here is fuck heightens the heat I feel towards him. It makes me want him to hurt me. I want to scream his name for mercy, and for more.
He tears into the wrapper with his teeth, baring canines like an animal. He’s naked by now, and he brings the condom down over his swollen cock, standing at attention. There’s something intimidating about it despite all the ways I want it, but right now desire beats fear.
Even so, I still feel myself instinctively tense up as he approaches me, coming onto his knees and lowering himself between my knees. A smirk dashes across his face, one I can’t help but notice for the way it cuts into my tension.
“What?” I ask.
He gives a shake of his head. “You just look so fucking hot like that,” he murmurs, and there’s a genuineness to his voice and the way he looks at me that nearly makes me shiver. We’re both feeding into each other’s fantasies right now, and it feels good.
Damien has been all about trapping me lately, imparting his will onto me, and making me like it.
I’ve been enjoying the control, the attention, having each and every one of my fantasies fulfilled. Sometimes even the anger, the way his eyes still turn bitter. For every way he’s convinced he hates me, he still can’t help himself.
“Ready?” he asks me. His hips shift between my thighs, and he’s incredibly close, closer than I’ve ever felt him, warm and solid and hot.
“Yes,” I say because a nod won’t do. I want to make it emphatically clear. I’ll never be more ready than I feel right now.
I gasp as I feel him move into me, but my gasp quickly turns into a whimper as my body adjusts to the feeling of him inside me. I’m not a complete stranger to penetration, but this time it’s different. This is a real living, breathing cock.
But I’m also so turned on by now that it nearly slides in with ease, and the anticipation I’ve built up makes me instinctively relax, welcoming him in, and relishing the feeling of him filling me.
Damien moves his hips, pumping in and out of me with slow strokes as his mouth falls open. I’ve never had sex but something tells me he’s about to burst. The only question now is who’s going to come first.
The vibrator whirs to life again, and I let out a moan, an anticipatory sound. If he puts it to me in this state, there’s a good chance I’m going to be done for. It moves over my clit in a teasing way, barely hitting my skin, more reverberation than anything else. I tighten around Damien’s cock, and he groans.
“Don’t come yet,” I say, but it’s more like telling myself. Still, I want to taunt him, to piss him off. I know he’s holding back because it’s my first time, but he doesn’t need to. I want all of him.
He thrusts into me, harder this time, and I cry out, my knees shifting back towards my head as I widen my legs to take him in. His hand shifts down to my hips, holding me in place as his other hand holds the vibrator to my electrified clit.
I whimper, but pace myself further. It feels too good to give in without a fight. The way he moves in and out of me is every dirty, stinging thing I could have ever wished for. It hurts, but in a way that’s nearly maddening. Paired with the intense feeling on my clit, I’m not going to be able to hold out much longer.
His hand on my hip disappears, and he reaches up, unlooping the fabric from my bedpost but leaving the binds looped around my wrists. They’re looser now, and with my arms free, I lower them over the broad lines of Damien’s shoulders, using the fabric as leverage to pull him towards me.
He looks into my eyes, sees I’m close. I know he’s close, too. He shifts the vibrator away from me, turning it off and abandoning it on the bed, but I don’t even care. It means I get both of his hands to turn their attention to my body. I love the way his fingers cup around each and every one of my curves, gripping into the flesh of my thighs hard enough that he won’t be the only one with bruises by the time this day is said and done.
I want the evidence on me. I want to remember the exact way this felt, sinfully good and perfect.
A tension begins to spike in my body once more, and my breathing picks up in my chest. My nipples heave against the warm skin of Damien’s chest, and he leans down and sucks one into his mouth, at the same time thrusting into me again in a way that makes me cry out.
“I’m coming,” I say, but it’s not an exclamation. It’s almost matter-of-fact, and for a second, I wonder if that’s all I’ve got.
Then it washes over me, a feeling of such exquisite pleasure that a sound echoes from the back of my throat, a loud and pleading whimper.
Despite my clenching pussy, Damien moves faster, and it feels good, so good my legs begin to shake. He gasps above me, his eyelids lowering as he begins to come. I feel the spasm of his cock inside me, and a breath leaves my chest.
Everything is going to be different now, I think.
No, I decide. Everything has been different for a while now. In fact, things have been changing daily. This is just another one of those regularly scheduled changes.
But I can’t deny that there’s still a mystique about Damien that elevates this from just any other ordinary deflowering.
He pulls out of me, pulling the condom off and tossing it into the wastebasket under my desk. Paired with my torn underwear from the other day, my trashcan has had a hell of a few days.
I stare up at my ceiling. There’s a pleasant numbness coming over me, a euphoria that I’m more than willing to give into, especially when he crawls back into bed and pulls me close.
I can’t believe I just had sex in the same room I’ve had my entire life.
I can’t believe I just had sex.
I can’t believe I just had sex with Damien.
“Don’t overthink it, Wind,” he tells me in a soft way. The harshness is gone from his voice, expelled in cum that’s sitting at the bottom of my wastebasket now.
“I’m not overthinking anything,” I tell him. “How do you know what I’m thinking anyway?”
“Because,” he replies. “I know you.”
I grin, something I don’t bother to hide. His eyes are closed anyway, hiding those glowing yellow-green orbs, ones that are constantly changing depending on his mood. I let my eyes stay on him for a second longer than I should. I usually don’t let myself just stare at him. But right now seems as good a time as any.
I don’t know what this means for us, if anything. I don’t even know if I want to find out. I just know there’s no other way to go but forward.
18
I wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking downstairs, the rich smells of eggs and bacon wafting upstairs and into my nose like cartoon curls of smoke. My eyes flutter open, only to lay eyes on the dark fabric still wound around one of my wrists.
I sit up with a start, clutching my sheets around me. I’m completely naked, further reminding me of everything that transpired last night, and Damien is nowhere to be found.
But I know he was here. I fell asleep wrapped firmly in his arms. He held me to him like I was something to be coveted, something precious.
To top it off, my vibrator is still lying discarded at the foot of the bed.
I get up from bed and pull on a bathrobe, hiding the evidence in my drawer before shuttling my ass down the hall to the bathroom. I don’t know where Damien is, but I’m not ready to run into him yet, or my mother for that matter, because I’m fairly sure I still smell like sex, and my face is probably just as guilty.
In a hurried daze, I shower, noting the darkening marks of fingertips left on various parts of my body, especially my thighs. Some are low enough that they would be visible below the hem of my uniform skirt, but luckily it’s winter, and I can get away with wearing tights until they fade away, even if winters in Diablo Beach never really get all that cold.
When I’m done, I pull my bathrobe back on, looping the tie around my waist and heading downstairs. Sounds emanate from the kitchen, my mom has one of her jazzy YouTube cooking playlists on, and as I near the doorway, a laugh echoes from her lips. I hear the low reverberation of Damien’s voice, and my stomach flips as I poise myself near the archway to the kitchen.
“Oh, Windy, you’re up,” Mom says, turning around to look at me with a smile that’s already bright. Damien stares at me from behind her, a silver bowl and whisk held in his hands. When he sees me the smile slides off his face in a gradual run until it disappears entirely.
“Whatever you guys are making, it sure smells good,” I say anyway, trying not to be perturbed by the stoic expression he’s obviously choosing to use when he looks at me only. He’s only been back for a short amount of time, but already I’ve gotten used to how fleeting his affection can be, here one day, and gone the next. It works in the opposite way, too, of course. One minute he’s dumping water over my head to the gleeful, snorting laughs of his minions, the next he’s stealing a kiss. Just after sunset last night, he swore he was going to forcibly tattoo me, and just before dawn was when he obviously crept away, out of my arms after an experience so intensely pleasurable I almost can’t be mad at him.
Almost.
But I act like everything is fine, because the last thing I need is my mom being able to sniff out my inner turmoil, or any of the things that have happened between me and Damien lately, let alone last night.
“You should have invited George over for breakfast,” I say, my voice coming out in a more cutting tone that I intended, but I desperately need to flip the script and focus attention on her. After all, it had been her absence that had led to everything that happened just a few short hours ago.
Mom looks at me with a slightly guilty expression, one that suddenly has me feeling bad. “I suppose it is time for a formal introduction between you two, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” I agree, taking a stack of plates from the cabinet and exiting the kitchen to set them on the dining room table. I can feel the muscles in my face rife with tension, because not only am I distracted by whatever mood Damien’s emitting, a mood that’s obviously just for me, but now I’m thinking about meeting my mom’s new boyfriend.
It’s been three years, I remind myself. She’s allowed to date. She’s allowed to have another man in her life that isn’t Dad.
But despite knowing it’s fine, I can’t force myself to feel like it’s fine. A part of me has always been living in denial, ever since he died, and losing Jessa within one year of that wasn’t easy either. There’s probably still plenty of unresolved grief inside me despite doing everything I could to relieve some of it. Taking care of myself in all the ways I thought I should has only managed to keep me afloat, and sometimes it seems like it was in the most precarious of ways, like riding a kayak down a waterfall.
Maybe it’s all a matter of time until I’m tossed around by the current and flipped over.
I sit down at the table, staring down at the plate in front of me as Mom and Damien exit the kitchen. My stomach rumbles at the sight of the food they set down, and I glance up, trying to look appreciative and not completely lost in my own world.
Damien thunks down into the chair next to me and looks like he couldn’t care less.
I stab my fork pointedly into the top pancake and drag it over to my plate.
“You seem hungrier than normal,” my mother says.
“Yeah, I really worked up an appetite last night,” I murmur, on purpose, just to make Damien uncomfortable. I know he likes to act like he doesn’t care what my mother thinks, but he likes playing teacher’s pet more than he realizes.
Maybe if his own parents wanted anything to do with him, I think, but what starts out as a thought made out of spite ends up being a fact that just makes me feel bad.
Damien’s parents, especially Sheriff Black, are kind of fucked up.
“You know, that reminds me,” my mother says. “Damien, we actually ran into your parents last night while we were out to dinner.”
If pancakes weren’t already soft, I would have choked. Instead, the bite I was in the middle of taking heads down my throat like a squishy rock. My gaze raises to look at Damien, but as usual, he’s pulling the perfect poker face.
“Now I know things haven’t exactly been the way they should with everyone lately,” my mom continues diplomatically.
“The way they should?” Damien repeats, and I see his jaw tick over the side. To the naked eye, his anger wouldn’t be obvious, masked in discomfort, in awkwardness, but to me, I know he’s raging just beneath the surface, enough to slip up with even my mother.
He nods suddenly, agreeing with her. “I mean, yeah, you’re right. Things have been a little distant with them. But I think they’re coming around.”
“Well, I think so, too,” Mom agrees. “In fact, your father mentioned he and your mother would love to come over for dinner. We were talking about tomorrow night, as a matter of fact.”
Damien’s eyes raise up to my face for the first time since we all sat down together. There’s something behind his eyes that alarms me in an entirely different way than what I’m used to, something that makes goosebumps spread up and down my arms.
Just as quickly, he looks away, and back at my mother.
“He invited himself over here?” Damien says, his voice clouded with fake interest, as though the development is interesting, but not unwelcome. In reality, I know it’s anything but.
“Well, I mean, I extended the invitation,” Mom says with a tiny little smile. I can tell she’s still high from her evening with George. At least one of us can be open about the latest developments in our personal lives. “But we sort of came to a mutual agreement, the more we talked, that it was time. Maybe this could be the first step to you going home again.”
“Mom,” I utter, but the word escapes my lips before I realize where I’m going with it. It’s just some sort of instinct I suddenly have to defend Damien. We both have privileged information about each other that it feels wrong to betray.
“I mean, you know you’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” my mom clarifies. “I just thought—”
“No, you’re right,” Damien tells her. “It would be a good thing, going home.”
I focus on him with a pointed look, one only readable by his eyes. I know he doesn’t mean that.
Or maybe he does. I nearly can’t tell up from down anymore.
My fork slices though the stack of pancakes on my plate, lifting a bite up to stuff my mouth so I don’t say anything more.
The safest bet I can
make is to just stay out of this entire conversation.
“It’s all settled then,” Mom says brightly, despite the darkened mood from the rest of us sitting around her. I know she may be a little happy-go-lucky, but she’s not clueless. I’m sure she can sense the apprehension coming from Damien, the one he’s trying to play off as non-existent, but she’s probably just chalking it up to normal estrangement jitters.
But if he’s not going to say anything, neither am I.
“You know, I was already thinking about making some of the repairs to the shed we talked about. I was going to run and get some of the hardware, maybe a few pieces of lumber,” Damien says, shifting back into the mode of natural born charmer.
“Well, that would be just great,” my mom coos. “Spring is right around the corner, you know.”
“I thought maybe Windy could come with me,” Damien continues, his eyes flickering over to me. “If she’s interested.”
I lift an eyebrow. “She’s interested,” I murmur. “Or were you not actually asking me?”
Damien cranks an annoyed little smile in my direction.
“Of course he was asking you, Windy,” Mom says directly. “Dad would want you to be a part of the shed’s restoration anyway.”
“Well then, I guess it’s settled,” I reply, both to her and to Damien. “I’ll go.”
The only question is, what the hell does Damien want with me now?
19
“You drive,” I tell Windy once we’re outside. We’re balls deep in the middle of winter, but you would never know it. The sun is high in the sky, setting the scene for a day that’s more like summer. Windy is dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, ones that conform to the curves of her sweet round ass and perfectly thick thighs. A loose braid hangs down her back while tendrils of her natural waves frame her face.
She looks cute as shit.
“Why me?” she asks, catching the car keys I lob towards her anyway. “I don’t know how to drive a stick.”
“Yes, you do,” I say, calling her bluff. “I know you spent about a million hours working on cars with your dad. Besides, Jessa told me you could drive a stick by the time you were fourteen.”
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