by L. J. Woods
My hand flies to the headrest, gripping onto the leather seat while he laps at my hole like a thirsty animal. “Damien!” I don’t want him to stop. God knows I don’t but we need to talk about this. “We need to—”
My thong comes to my mouth, balled up in his hand and he forces it in. It gets me to shut up and if I needed an excuse to lay back and enjoy this, then this is it.
“You taste so good, Jo,” he groans before his fingers push inside me, the lace in my mouth muffling my moan. It makes him moan too, a groan vibrating against my legs, between my folds. I’m rocking against his face and with a hand moving under my ass, he locks me on his tongue.
“All for me,” he growls.
He’s been there enough to know what to do and when he curls those fingers, “Mmmmmf!” I wanna scream but my gagged mouth stops my noises, my body shaking and writhing with his touch.
The stars blur together when my eyes spring open, an orgasm hitting me like a tidal wave but he doesn’t let up. I reach for his head, bucking against his mouth but he grabs my wrists moving his hand from under my ass, keeping me in place.
The trees behind him look like a water painting when my eyes blur again, head spinning as he forces another orgasm from my core. Then another.
I’m a sputtering mess when he pulls my thong from my mouth. FInally coming up for air, his chin drips with my juices and god he looks so, fucking, hot. His cheeks flush with redness, face wet, that smirk on his lips like he’s impressed with how he devoured me. I’m breathless, unable to say a thing before he lets me go, turning me around in my seat and closing the door.
“What the fuck,” I whisper, blinking at the dash, stunned, body still tingling from that orgasm.
He’s quiet when he gets back in and starts the car, finally wiping his mouth with the side of his palm. With my head hitting the backrest, I’m exhausted, albeit calmer and I’m starting to wonder if that’s why he did that.
Did he think he’d be off the hook that easy?
Smirking, he leans over the console separating us, a finger under my chin. That small touch sends another post-orgasmic shiver shooting right through me.
“Feel better?” he asks before he nibbles my lip, my stomach clenching at the sensation. He pulls away, tugging my lip with his teeth before he lets go.
“You’re a fucking mess,” I say, still breathless.
“Your mess. Remember? Or did that go off the roof with my aunt?”
A melody follows Damien’s words. His phone. I’m saved by the bell. He keeps his eyes on me when he pulls the phone to his ear. “Eric,” he answers, and that keeps me awake. “Ah, you agree. That’s what I thought. I’ll handle the balance.”
Unbelievable.
“Looks like you got a new home, Rowland.” Hanging up, he smirks. “With me.”
* * *
I guess I should thank Damien for taking me out of the clutches of the Archibalds.
No more events.
No more Nancy and Eric.
Isobel’s a giant trade-up from Vincent though I’ll miss Holly. Still, it’s hard to believe that just like that, I’m on my own.
Well, kind of.
I’m shacked up with the devil.
Cold air comes through the front foyer of the mansion the next morning, a couple of men moving boxes inside. I’m watching in disbelief at the change of events, my hand on the door in an old oversized band tee. Misfits. I didn’t realize how clean the mansion looks in comparison to how we left it. Baldy came around after all.
“Welcome home, Medusa.” Damien appears next to me in nothing but his boxers, two black mugs in hand, one larger than the other.
Home. It’s still settling in.
Damien got his way, again.
“Filtered, black. The way you like it,” he says. I’m trying to ignore the sexy morning croak in his voice. “Filthy.”
We still haven’t talked about what happened last night. Still haven’t talked about much. When we got home, I went right to my room. I waited for Willow but she texted me saying she’ll be with Jordan and I can’t help but wonder if their friendship is more than platonic. Didn’t have time to think about that though, after the feast Damien had on my body, I was out like a light.
Damien nudges my tattooed arm with the mug, breaking my groggy haze before taking it from his hand. It’s hard not to look at those rippled abs or that steel-cut ‘v’ popping out his waistband.
How am I supposed to fix my life when I can’t get away from Damien? A Damien that looks like a rippled pile of deliciousness.
There’s a smirk on his face when I pull my gaze away, my eyes landing on the driveway. A silver Mercedes truck pulls in, parking behind the moving van.
“What’s Perez doing here?” Damien asks.
I’m wondering the same thing. While we’ve been cordial, Allie’s been keeping to herself. Possibly still mortified from the entire thing.
She hops out of the driver’s seat but she looks a mess. Her purple beanie covering most of her forehead, wavy hair pinned to her long face. Her glasses sit on the edge of her nose, hiding tired eyes.
“Remember when you said you owe me?” She doesn’t even say hello when she’s feet away from us, blinking with a puckered forehead.
She’s in a long, puffy jacket, not her usual attire, and considering the time, I’m surprised she’s even awake. Especially in Damien’s driveway.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, moving to the side so we don’t have to stand in the cold.
She walks right into the foyer before she rubs her forehead with her palm, head to the ceiling. “I need to cash in that favour.”
I take a quick sip of coffee because it sounds like I’ll need it. Once the coffee fills my mouth, I take a hard swallow before my tongue hangs out.
That gets a small croaky chuckle from Damien.
“Really?” Turning to him, I make sure to give him a heavy scowl. “You put booze in this? It’s like, seven o’clock.”
Walking to the stairs, he sits down, leaning back with a shrug. “You look like you need it.”
“We need to get Lea from Montreal,” Allie blurts.
Whipping my head back to her, she waits for an answer. Pulling the mug to my lips, Damien’s right. I do need this. Taking another sip I study her face before I confirm, “You’re serious?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head like she can’t believe what she’s saying. “I know it sounds crazy but we need to get Lea out of that boarding school.”
“So wait,” a nervous laugh escapes me. “You want us to kidnap Lea?”
“Technically she’s being held against her will.” Allie pulls at the zipper on her jacket, chipped nails scratching against the metal. I haven’t seen her this nervous since The Grove. “I know this sounds crazy but it seems we’re both lunatics.” She gestures to Damien.
When I glance at him to see if he’s as surprised as I am, he lifts his espresso to his lips while he watches us like the news.
Do I want to save the girl that’s been terrorizing me since I’ve stepped foot into Eden? Damien’s ex-girlfriend? No. Not at all.
But do I want to let Allie down? No, not again. Especially not after she helped me find Damien and Willow.
Bringing the mug to my lips, I take another glug. “When?” I ask into my morning cocktail.
Her eyes brighten, shimmering in the hanging chandelier before she gulps again. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?!” I repeat.
“I know! I know! But she has a field trip and it’s the perfect time to get her away from the group. She hasn’t left her school in weeks.”
“You’ve thought this through?”
“It sounds insane but we text all the time and this is the best shot we have.” Nibbling on the inside of my cheek, I’m hanging onto Allie’s words even though it’s weird hearing her mention Lea as “we”. She continues, “It’s only an eight-hour drive and I’ll man the wheel. I just need you with me. C’mon you owe me after what hap
pened and it’s not like it’s not your fault she’s there. Kind of.”
The look in her eyes tells me she’s as determined as she is desperate. If I’m going to mend our friendship, this is the best place to start.
“Fine,” I sigh. A girl-trip could be what I need to clear my head without Damien. I know I’m risking another day of classes but it’ll be worth it for both of us.
“I’m coming with you,” Damien finally speaks, popping my bubble. He rises off the steps, heading to the kitchen like we’re having a casual conversation about a vacation. “We’ll take the train. I’ll have Isobel book everything.”
“What? No,” I protest.
“Actually.” My eyes widen when Allie speaks up. She gives me a winced smile. “That’s not a bad idea.”
I’m starting to think the tragedy on the roof is turning all of us insane. “Are you serious?” I blink.
Damien’s already in the kitchen, mumbling orders to Isobel when Allie answers, “You do know they speak French in Montreal, right? My French sucks and I don’t take it you know any.”
Shit. “Fine,” I groan, taking another long sip of spiked coffee. “Guess I’ll go pack.”
“Looking forward to our trip, ladies,” Damien says, entering back into the foyer with his hand on the rail. He looks over his ripped shoulder, and I try to keep my eyes on his but every part of him makes knots in my stomach tighten. “Just another thing you need me for, Rowland. Besides that orgasm last night.”
* * *
Willow stays at Bella’s for the weekend, making it easy to let go of my worries come Sunday night.
I’m already tired by the time the train arrives, and when the attendant offers to take our bags, we decline.
Allie and I both have our backpacks filled with essentials for the night, all three of us in joggers. Damien has his duffel thrown over his shoulder, a white v-neck under his leather jacket.
“All aboard!” the conductor calls.
Damien leads us to the last car, and when I enter, it’s far from what I arrived on.
“Wouldn’t be Damien King if it wasn’t fancy,” Allie says, patting Damien on the back before she makes her way into the car.
I’m still frozen by the door in awe. “Is this whole car ours?” Looking around makes me feel like I’m on the train equivalent of the Titanic. A couple of large grey sofas line both sides, a huge bed in the back next to what looks like a minibar. Lamps with blue shades hang from the ceiling matching the gold and blue decor, fluffy pillows arranged throughout.
“If you want, you can join the commoners in Business,” Damien says, striding towards the bed in the back with sheets that look as comfy as fancy hotels.
When I mimic his comment, he laughs, throwing his duffel onto the bed as I walk further in. Allie’s already made herself comfortable on a sofa, tapping away on her phone. A smile spreads across her face and I can only bet Lea’s on the other line.
Damien slips off his jacket, tossing it on the mattress, his tattoos on display again. “You gonna be comfy there, Perez?” he asks, running a hand through his hair like he’s on a goddamn runway, a bicep popping with his movements. “Or you want the bed?”
Allie doesn’t even look at him when she answers, waving her hand, “Thanks, I’m good.” Unlike me, she looks comfy in all this high-end luxury. I thought I’d get used to it but I was way wrong.
“All set?” A woman sticks her head in the car. “I’ll be your attendant tonight and if you need anything just press this button.” She points to a blue button at the end of the car, there’s an identical one next to Damien’s bed.
I didn’t even know they had private train cars but of course, High School Billionaire over there shows me different.
Damien nods and she gives him a smile before closing the door. I don’t have a passport for this overnight trip to Quebec but Damien doesn’t seem bothered. I won’t admit it calms my nerves having him here. That’ll be admitting I actually need him.
“Getting comfy with me, Medusa?” he asks, flopping on the bed with his arms behind his head. That makes his shirt lift enough to get a look at his lower abs as he crosses his legs.
“Ew.” Allie comes back to earth. “If you guys are fucking I’ll take Business class.”
“Don’t worry, we’re not doing a damn thing,” I protest, sitting on the sofa across from her. Not that we already haven’t
“Yet,” he says, his eyes closed, perfect face to the ceiling. There’s only a hint of the bruises he got from Marion’s henchman, his smooth complexion coming back. “She can’t last six hours with me in this bed. No way.”
Ignoring him, I pull my calculus book from my backpack, setting the heavy hardcover on my legs. After a few moments, the train starts to rock back and forth, signalling that we’re on our way, out of Eden.
From the corner of my eye, Damien pulls his headphones out of his duffel bag. With his phone in his face, punk rock blares, and I wonder how he doesn’t go deaf. The song he’s playing makes me tap my foot and I know he’s watching because he smirks.
“Fucker,” I mumble, and when I do he lets out a yawn, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt lifts higher, revealing that chiselled washboard and my body betrays me, lip going behind my teeth.
Allie lifts her head, an eyebrow raised. “You okay?”
“Yep, fine,” I say before I realize that was way too quick of an answer. Is the whole ride gonna be like this? If I stayed back at the mansion at least I could close the door, block him out. But he knows how to dangle that syringe in front of my face. He knows I’ll use it if I come close.
Trying to keep my focus on math is damn near impossible. Damien makes a show of making himself visible, even when I turn my back to him. Allie’s quick to fall asleep curled up on her sofa but just like the past week, shut eye’s not coming for me.
It’s not coming for Damien either.
“Shit, it’s late,” Damien finally speaks when we’re about two hours into our trip. “You tired, Jo?”
Allie’s snoring away, phone clutched to her chest when I do the thing I shouldn’t. Look his way. He stands at the edge of the bed, pulling off his shirt like he’s in the middle of a Calvin Klein ad.
The room slows, Damien’s body catching the dim light above and I can make out every ripple, every muscle he’s showing off. It ignites that tingle between my legs, that twist in my stomach. He hasn’t played hockey in weeks and he still looks like he can own it on the rink. In bed.
“I’m not tired,” I reply.
“Me either,” he says, walking over to the bar. “Bourbon?” He wiggles a bottle he takes from the small metal shelf. “You always sleep like an angel after some good whiskey. Or a good fuck.” He’s speaking in that low, deep way that makes me curl my toes in my boots. “But we all know you’re far from an angel, Medusa.”
“I don’t want to drink with you,” I groan before I sit up, giving him that glare again. “Matter of fact, I don’t wanna do anything with you cause someone will end up dead and I actually like Allie.”
“That’s not what it sounded like the other night,” he chuckles, pouring amber liquid into two sparkling glasses. “You know, when you were calling me ‘God’ with my head between your legs? Is that what you need instead, Rowland? Me between your legs?”
My eyes widen and I glance at Allie. Still asleep. Grabbing a thick pillow from beside me, I send it flying at his head. “Can you stop being an ass?”
He catches it, tossing it on the bed before picking up both glasses and walking over. “So booking you and your BFF a train to Montreal to get her girlfriend back is being an ass?”
“Know what? Nevermind.” He hands me a drink. I don’t know why I take it but it’s filled to the brim, the rocking train making some of it spill onto my joggers. “I didn’t say I wanted it.”
“You do.” He smirks, clinking my glass with his before he sits next to me.
“Wasn’t Lea your girlfriend?”
“No.” He doesn’t he
sitate to respond, leaning back. “But you sound really jealous of Allie’s girlfriend right now.”
“I’m not jealous.” I take another long gulp. If I’m going to have this conversation, he’s right. I do need a drink.
“I told you we weren’t dating,” he says before taking a sip. My eyes land on his scar, the one matching mine but I try to push our similarities out of my mind.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t believe you.”
“You never believe me.”
“Because you’re trouble.”
“So are you.” He smiles. “Sweet, delicious trouble. Yet somehow, I can’t get enough of it.” The feeling is mutual, his honesty bringing heat to my cheeks but it’s likely with frustration. “Stop fighting it, Jo. You’ve always fought this but you know it’s nothing but explosive madness when we’re together and we both fucking love it.” He bites his lip, staring into me like his favourite dessert and that doesn’t help that tingle between my legs.
“We kill—”
“That doesn’t matter,” he cuts me off. “Nothing fucking matters except you. Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think I did what I did at the Huang event?”
“For your own reasons,” I mutter.
He ignores it, moving towards me. I scoot over on the sofa as he comes closer but he doesn’t get the hint. He sits right beside me, sandwiching me between the edge and him. And that’s exactly how I feel. On edge.
That familiar scent is back. The one that makes me act like a basic bitch and when he moves closer, that knot in my stomach folds and folds.
“The look in your eye when you came on my roof to save me from Marion says you feel the same.” His voice is low and sultry. Smooth and growling. Lowering his eyes, they wander around my face. “That’s what you did. Right, Medusa? You came to save me from dying? You don’t do that if you don’t feel something for someone.”
“I was there for Willow,” I remind him. “And who the fuck would let someone they know die? I’m not a psychopath.” Though I’m starting to think I am.