by L. J. Woods
How fucked up is this? The King and I share suicide scars.
Pressing my back against the edge of the counter, I fold my arms. “Could say the same to you.”
I know why I did it but Damien King has it all. Money. Girls. That sweet ride. I can’t fathom why a guy with this much power would want to throw it all away.
We’re standing next to each other when he shrugs. “Was more of a fuck you to my dad.”
I don’t know why he’s sharing this information. Don’t know why he’s even here. I don’t tell people about my scar. When I do, I regret it. They always give me that pitiful stare, like I’m a walking sob story. It’s either that or they treat me like I’m fragile. Damien doesn’t. He barely even flinches and the longer he stays, the more I want him to.
He takes my arm again, pulling me in front of him. His finger runs along the needles of the pine tree before going down the scar. It makes the hair on my skin stand at attention, my heart a hard patter. Then he smirks, this one more gentle than the others. “I told you, so now it’s your turn.”
His other hand is on my waist and I can hardly breathe. I try to look away but his hand comes to my chin, tilting it up to keep eye contact. Damien’s eyes both seem darker, and once again, I’m mesmerized. “Why do you wanna know?” I ask.
“I can’t even look at my fingers without wanting them inside you.” His low words bring that night to the forefront of my mind, my cheeks on fire. “Can’t blame me for wanting to know more.”
Did Damien King say he was into me? Was that his twisted version of a confession?
“You want to get to know me but you want me to leave Eden?” Confusion furrows my brows. “You kiss me one day, finger me the next and ignore me in between and now I’m supposed to open my life to you? Because you asked?"
“I was wrong about you.” Those eyes dance around my face before he shocks me, running a finger down my cheek. He brings his mouth near my ear again. “You’re mine.” His tongue slides down my neck and my body melts in his hold. “Or did you not notice?”
"Yours?" He can definitely hear my heartbeat now. "More like your toy."
Damien chuckles, thumb brushing against my lip. "Don't sell yourself short." His lips press against mine and my brain turns to cotton.
There's a voice in my head telling me to stop him but I don’t. His kiss is like a refreshing drink of water. The first meal of the day. I tried to fight it but I’ve been craving this and my body shows it.
Damien's fingers move into the band of the baggy pants I've been wearing to work. As he toys with my tongue, I let his hand between my legs. Damien’s touch is a small piece of comfort in this cold town. He’s icy-hot but when he’s hot, it makes me forget damn near everything.
“You’re always so wet for me Jo.” He moves his fingers over my clit, the fabric of my underwear keeping a layer between us. “Sure you don’t want to tell me more?”
“N-” I can’t even get the words out before there’s cold air against my folds.
"Let me in." With a tug of my underwear, two fingers push into me. “I’ll stop if you don’t.”
He’s moving fast, curling his fingers in that way again and I’ve already lost composure.
I murmur, “I can’t.” God his fingers feel so good. If he’s this good with his fingers I can’t help but wonder how he handles that beast hardening between us. My hands move to his shirt, fabric tight in my hold. I’m almost at the edge when he stops, stance straightening.
“That’s a shame.” He pulls his fingers to my lips, sticking them inside my mouth so I can taste my tangy sweetness. Then he smirks, “See you around Medusa.”
With a kiss on the head, he starts to walk away, and for some reason, I can’t bear it.
My heart races, my world spinning before the words fall out of my mouth.
“I killed someone.”
Eighteen
Damien stops in his path.
My hands shake, breath heavy and I can’t move from where I’m standing.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I should have never said that.
Closing my eyes I lift my chin to the ceiling. Fuck, I’m so stupid. I’ve got some explaining to do.
I’m quick with my words as I speak to his back, “I didn’t mean for it to happen. Zane, the guy at the dumpster, I guess you could say we used to work together. We had this one job, my last…”
As the tale starts to unfold there’s a tingling in my chest. A tightness I can’t fight. By the time the tears start to roll down my face, he’s facing me, staring at me with a blank expression.
He hasn’t left. Hasn’t run for the door. So I keep going, using his attention like a priest in a confessional, “We gave him bad product. It was his first time and he—” The tears are flowing out like a broken dam, and I’m clutching to the counter.
I’m panicking and it shows.
Damien approaches me but I hardly register it. Instead, I’m seeing that fifteen-year-old kid in my head. Convulsing and shaking on the basement floor. Yells ring in my mind. The shout for 9-1-1 following it. I’m frozen in place, just like I was then.
“Jo.” I’m startled out of my thoughts to see Damien in front of me, his hand on each of my shoulders making me jump. It’s one of the rare times he’s used my preferred name. No Medusa. No Joelle. His eyebrows are low, voice lower, “Do the Huangs know?”
“What?” I’m still a trembling mess when he wipes a tear away from my cheek.
“Cindy Huang. Is that what they have on you?”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about?” I don’t know if I was expecting him to console me, or expecting him to say that it would all be okay. Then it dawns on me. Was he doing this for ammo?
I look up at his face, he’s staring right back, almost as confused as I am. “Damien, you can’t tell anybody.”
He jerks his head back as if I’ve said something ridiculous, then his mouth twists. “You don’t get to request anything of me.”
Is he fucking serious? I told him I killed someone and he’s worried about his stupid games?
“Damien, I’m not kidding!” If the Huangs, the Archibalds or anyone found out they’ll consider me a liability. “Please! They’ll ship me off to juvie until I’m old enough to do real time. I can’t have that happen. I can’t leave Willow. Please!” There’s snot coming out of my nose and I don't care. The idea of me losing Willow is too much to bear.
When he comes closer, my head falls against his chest, tears and snot dampening his shirt. I’m starting to think I’m sobbing about more than the secret he forced out of me. It’s like days worth of emotions are pouring right out onto Damien King’s chest.
His arms inch tighter and tighter until I’m wrapped up in his long, strong arms. His shoulders fall, muscles relaxing. We stay like this for a while, his woodsy scent mixing with the smell of coffee until the snuffling noises stop. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt since the last time I saw my parents and a part of me is shook that it’s coming from Damien.
“Jo…” He lifts my chin, his thumb coming to the corner of my eye, palm on my cheek. There’s a lump in his throat as he swallows. “Are you done?” His eyes look like two hypnotizing planets. They’re enchanting and I’m lost in them when I nod. “Good...” His thumb brushes against my lip. “Cause I love it when you beg.”
Damien kisses me and I’m breathless again. Before I know it, my arms are wrapped around him and he doesn’t stop me. My feet are off the floor and I’m not sure where we are until my back hits a door.
I’m on the bathroom counter, Damien between my legs, my shirt and bra above my head. He’s pulling at my clothes like he’s in a frenzy, and when our eyes lock again, his hand is on my face, pulling me to his lips. My hands move under his shirt. Smooth, rippled skin. My thighs tighten around him. I want his body as close as I can have it.
It’s hard to tell who’s panting louder, our breaths heavy between us, the smell of potpourri in the air. We’re
moving like two animals and when I bite into the skin of his lip, he growls like one. Fireworks follow each kiss he gives down to my navel, his hands pulling on my pants and underwear as he goes. He looks up at me, face between my legs, hot breath on my folds. I’m exposed to Damien King, his face lit up by the dim overhead lights, and that smirk tells me he likes it.
“I’m going to devour you, Jo.” His teeth sink into my thigh, a burst of pleasure making me squirm. “But only if you want me to.”
Really? Damien picks now to care about what I want. I’m not sure if it's consent he’s looking for or if he gets off on hearing me say it. He watches me bite my lip as he trails a finger between my folds. “Do you want my tongue inside you, Jo?” His finger comes out wet and when he puts it in his mouth I can’t stand it.
He knows I want him, and I know he wants me to say it. He gets his wish. “Yes.”
There’s no hesitation when I respond. His tongue parts my folds and my head falls against the mirror. He’s moving it in swirls, flicking it against my pearl and I’m bucking against his face. His mouth feels even better than his fingers but it only makes me crave him more.
When he kisses me again, I can taste myself on his tongue. I help him pull his shirt over his head before grabbing his belt. He lets me push his pants down but stops me when I reach for the band of his smooth black boxers. When he takes a step back, there’s an outline of his massive bulge, a splotch of wetness at the tip.
With his eyes on me, he pulls it out, stroking it. It’s bigger than Zane’s. Longer with a small curve towards the end. He’s pumping his shaft with his fist, staring at me while he does. It doesn’t make me feel awkward or confused. It makes me feel wanted. Damien can have anyone in Eden and he wants me. Maybe not forever, but I’ll take this moment.
“Are you going to stare at me?” My breath is heavy, only a hint of sass left. “Or are you actually going to use that thing?”
Smirking he reaches in his pocket for a golden foiled square and I watch him unroll the latex over his throbbing rod. He approaches me as he does and I spread my legs wider. The tip alone stretches my hole but I’m so wet he has no trouble sliding in.
Pulling on my hair, he thrusts into me, his breath on my neck, “You’re mine, Joelle.” He’s deep inside me and I’ve forgotten where I am. Who he is.
“Damien,” his name falls off my tongue. We’re moving like the wheels of a train, two fucked up cogs in a machine and the way we fit together feels too amazing for me to question it. I don’t mean to praise him but I can’t fight it, “Oh my god, you feel so good.”
“I mean it,” he growls again, thumb coming to my tongue, his pace getting faster. “You’re mine.” His voice blends in with the slapping of our skin. It echoes around the room and so does my moan when the head of his cock hits my wall. A hand slaps over my mouth and it only makes me tighten around his shaft.
“Ssh,” he grunts, his movements getting harder, frantic. “I don’t want anyone to hear you scream.”
There’s a bang from the main room, before Cindy’s voice comes through the door, “Why is there…Jo? Are you still here?”
Shit.
Fuck.
Shit!
Damien keeps his pace, throbbing deep inside me, and I’m holding on for dear life. It’s like a fever comes and goes. A rushing wave flowing from my centre to my head. His palm hits the mirror as I fall apart, an arm coming around me as my body shakes against his. When he finally pulls out, he’s peaked too.
My eyes go wide but Damien doesn’t seem too bothered. Smirking, he takes his time, throwing the condom into the trash.
The fog clears, my head resurfacing. There’s no time to talk about what just happened.
Or how amazing that was.
I’m still catching my breath when I ask, “Was that Cindy?”
He buckles his belt, fixing his hair. “Sounds like it.”
“Fuck,” I keep my voice hushed, pulling on my clothes like I’m in a marathon. “What the fuck are we going to do? She can’t see you come out of here.”
Damien shrugs, his face still rosy, a little sweaty. “I don’t know about you but I need a smoke.”
“Jo?” Cindy calls again.
My jaw clenches. “A smoke?”
He’s already dressed, watching as I fix my shirt. “I meant what I said, Jo.” Damien pulls the trash bag out of the garbage and takes it out of the bathroom with him.
What the actual fuck? With a deep breath, I push open the bathroom door, hoping it doesn’t reek of sex.
“Watch it!”
Lea’s in front of me in a burgundy sweater dress, oversized tartan scarf around her neck.
Fuck.
“Jo?” Cindy comes out of her office, a file in her hand turned to her chest. “Slow today aren’t we? I’m not paying you after ten.”
Unable to speak, I nod, moving around to get the garbage bag I left behind the bar. When I get there, Damien is gone.
“See you, Jo.” Lea’s voice is phony but at least that’s all she says.
It doesn’t look like she suspects anything after all.
Pushing open the front door, I’m taking the trash to the dumpster as Cindy and Lea head out after me. The whole time, my body’s still trembling.
I slept with Damien King.
That’s all I thought about all night. All I can think about this morning.
He doesn’t acknowledge me in class though. Doesn’t acknowledge me in the halls either and I can still feel him between my legs. I’m on edge. I keep chewing the inside of my lip and my focus is completely shot.
I had sex with Damien King.
Not only that.
I had sex with Damien King right after I told him I’d killed someone.
How fucked up is that?
How fucked up am I?
Now Damien has two things on me and I gave him both.
The funny thing about it all? I don’t regret it. It was intense. The entire thing was but I can’t stop thinking about his hands on me. How good his lips felt on mine. How good his tongue felt down there. His firm body. His hard, curved...
SLAM!
Christian plops his books on the table and gives me the same treatment as Damien. Not even a glance. I’m starting to regret sitting here and I’m thinking about asking to switch when the intercom crackles.
“Good Morning ERA!” A melodic low voice booms. “This is—uh, wait, you can’t come in here!”
There’s a ruckus in the background, Lea’s voice taking over, “Excuse me!” A bit of bickering comes through the speaker before her voice comes back. “Hi! I’m Lea Huang with a special announcement for the upcoming Fall Masquerade Ball! It's sponsored by my father, Edward Huang. Huang 2020!”
There’s silence, then…
Moans.
Grunts.
“Oh my god—you feel so good.”
My breath stops, ears ringing and my jaw feels like it’s going to break.
Christian turns to look at me but I’m already halfway down my seat, hiding behind my copy of The Catcher in the Rye. Mr. Hill turns his attention to the speaker box, lowering his glasses as if that makes him hear it better.
“Sssh, I don’t want anyone to hear you scream.”
My nails threaten to break my skin, balls in fists as tight as Isaac’s pants.
Damien doesn’t move or lift a finger despite all eyes in the class going between us. I hear our moans filling the room and my skin burns. I’m frozen in my seat and all I want is to disappear into the floor.
So she did see.
Did she see everything? I'm not sure but she saw enough to record it and humiliate me. Or...did Damien mastermind this?
The audio of our closing romp seems to go on forever but it’s only a few seconds before Lea comes back on. “Oops! Oh my god!” Her voice is thick with sarcasm. “What happened there? I didn’t mean to play this clip of Joelle Rowland and an ERA hockey player. Two guys in two weeks? Looks like our project princess is a slu—"
“Isn’t that King?”A voice comes from a distance, through the speaker.
“No!” Lea’s hushed yell isn't hushed enough. She says it right into the intercom. “Vote Huang!” There's a crackle before the speaker goes quiet again.
The original host is back after a few seconds of silence but his continuing announcements go unheard. The whole class is looking at me, including Mr. Hill.
Damien still hasn’t budged and the longer he doesn’t say anything the quicker the fire burns inside me. Was this his plan?
A lump forms in my throat and I want to throw my book at his head. I want to leave the classroom but that's exactly what they want, isn't it? To get me out of here.
Christian slams his fist on the desk before he gets up. Grabbing his backpack, he heads for the door. Mr. Hill calls out to him but it’s no use, he leaves the classroom with a slam.
I look over at Damien and he’s smirking.
You’re mine.
His words replay in my head and before I know it, I’m on my feet. Storming over to his desk, I'm in front of him before I register what I'm doing. “Did you do this?” I demand.
He leans back in his chair, tapping away on his phone without even a lift of his chin.
Mr. Hill calls to me but his voice is distant.
Fine. That’s how he wants to play this.
I turn to the class. “I guess the pussy was so good you couldn’t keep it to yourself, huh?”
“Miss Rowland, sit down!” Mr. Hill’s voice is stern.
I don’t care, heat flowing through my body. “Guess what class? He’s a goddamn disappointment. Came in two seconds.” That's not true, but if I'm going down he's coming with me.
“Miss Rowland!”
“Yeah, I know.” I walk to my backpack, grabbing it from the floor. “The rich kids get to get away with slut-shaming and childish antics but when I stand up for myself I’m in the wrong. I get it. I’m going.”
By lunch, Damien has texted me a total of fifteen times. I counted.