by Julie Olsen
Taking his seat, he placed his napkin in his lap and turned to me. “I made coffee and tea, since I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“Coffee, please.” I smiled at him, shaking my head in wonder. Add executive chef to his list of accomplishments and character traits. Justine would be beside herself.
“How do you take it?” Damien asked, pouring me a cup.
“With lots of cream, two sugars.” He added half and half and sugar and passed the cup and saucer to me. The first sip was like heaven. It had been hours since my last meal, and the smell of the food made me ravenous.
I loaded my plate with a little of everything. Sinking my teeth into a hot buttered croissant, I couldn’t help a small moan from escaping. It was delicious. We ate in silence for a while, Damien apparently as hungry as I. Granted, I couldn’t remember the last time I was this hungry. Well, I guess four rounds of toe-curling sex would do that to a girl. I glanced at Damien and found him looking at me, chewing thoughtfully.
“I love to cook, but it appears I’ve been showed up by my boyfriend.” Too late, I snapped my mouth shut. Oh my God. I couldn’t believe I had just said that. My eyes rounded as I looked at Damien. “I mean…er…”
“Don’t take it back, sweetheart.” He smiled his Mona Lisa smile. “I like it.”
“Damien…” I began.
He put his hands up. “I know, I know. We’re taking it slow.” Those pale green eyes bored into me. “That’s the first time you’ve admitted anything of what you’re feeling about me. I’ll take it, however I can get it.”
The heat of embarrassment slid up my neck, sprinkled liberally with a dose of guilt. I knew he was absolutely right. I hadn’t said anything about my feelings because I was completely thrown by his intensity. We had only just met. It was too soon. It was all too soon.
“So, did you get in touch with your sister?” he asked softly, switching gears so fluidly I was almost able to believe the elephant wasn’t sitting here at the bar with us.
“I sent her a text.” I looked down at my plate. This was not the time to bring up the reasons why the whereabouts of a grown woman should so completely alarm her older sister.
“She worries about you. Has she always been like this?”
“Um yes. For a while now.”
He nodded but looked like he was a million miles away. “It’s good that she watches out for you.”
I put my knife and fork down. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He was wary, eyeing me speculatively.
I took a deep breath. “That night, after the movie.” How to put this? “You told me…um, not to…”
A sly grin touched his lips, and he raised a brow. “Not to what, Olivia?” He was enjoying this.
“You know,” I whispered.
“I want to hear you say the word.”
“Why?” I frowned, flustered because I knew what he was going to say.
“Because it’s sexual, and anything sexual coming out of that extremely fuckable mouth is a huge turn-on to me.” His eyes glinted dangerously.
My foot began a frantic tap. My appetite had suddenly gone on hiatus. “You enjoy shocking me, don’t you?”
“No baby, that’s not it. You’re easy to shock, yes. And I’ll admit, it’s adorable.” His lips turned up in a half-grin as his eyes zeroed in on me. “But I’m not going to pussyfoot around, particularly when it comes to sex. I want to be an open book to you, and you to me. If we hide behind our wants and desires, that’s not very honest and we won’t be able to move forward. We’re consenting adults, not giggling teenagers. As your lover, it’s my job to satisfy you, as it’s your job to satisfy me. We should be able to talk about anything freely and without shame. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I nodded meekly, a shiver running through me from his blunt honesty.
He reached across the table and took my hand, looking at me tenderly. “I asked you not to masturbate because I wanted you to lie in your bed and think about me, like I was thinking about you. I wanted to occupy your thoughts and dreams. If you’d touched yourself to orgasm, you would have rolled over and fallen asleep and forgotten all about me.”
I let his admission roll around in my head, feeling the prickling dawn of apprehension that I might be just scratching the surface of his control freak issues.
“So you wanted me suffering all night?” I clarified softly.
“I wanted to be the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep. And then I wanted you to dream about me.”
“And what about me? Don’t I get a say in any of this?” My voice had risen an octave and a few decibels, and I lowered it before continuing. “Or do you just want me to lie in my bed tossing and turning all night. Just so long as I’m thinking about you?”
He had the decency to look guilty and chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Maybe it was a little extreme, on second thought.”
“You think?”
“But effective, right?”
“Damien, you can’t do things like that. It’s not fair, and it’s manipulative.”
“But you did as I asked. Correct?”
My thoughts drifted back to that night, remembering how I willed myself not to reach for the vibrator stashed in the drawer in my bedside table. All because he told me not to. I suddenly felt very underdressed.
“That’s frankly none of your business.” I stood and threw my napkin on the chair. “Excuse me.” Damien looked alarmed as I strode out of the kitchen and up the stairs, making a beeline toward the bedroom and my clothes.
“Olivia.” I could feel rather than hear Damien approach a few steps behind me. “It’s very much my business. All matters pertaining to your sexual pleasure are now my business. And vice versa.”
What the hell did that mean? I turned to face him. “Do you mean now that we’ve fucked, I can say good-bye to my personal freedoms? What other parts of my life do you want to dictate? And by the way, your no masturbation order was prior to the fucking!”
His eyes were frosty, his mouth a straight line. “I told you, Olivia, I don’t fuck around. I give orders. I expect them to be followed. And they’re for your benefit as well as mine.”
So, you can stand there and stroke yourself but I can’t do the same thing? This is 2015, Damien, not the Dark Ages.”
“Olivia, if you want to masturbate, I’m all for it. Just do it while I’m watching.”
“What? Is that a joke?”
“No. I’m dead serious.”
“So let me get this straight. You don’t want me to touch myself unless I’m with you. Does the same apply to you?”
“Of course,” he said. “And as long as we’re clarifying things, we are now in a relationship. No one else will be touching you. Only me. I don’t share, Olivia.”
He stared at me with steely resolve, his eyes charged and glittering. This was no-nonsense Damien, the man who was used to getting his way, accustomed to giving orders and having them followed. I crossed my arms in a huff, angry at his overbearing attitude yet realizing that I wanted to please him. I wanted what he wanted. The realization was liberating.
“And vice versa?” I whispered.
“And vice versa. You are mine, and I am yours.”
I stared up at him, feeling a thrill of triumph. “Okay.”
He relaxed, the tension leaving his body as if a switch had been thrown. His arms wrapped around me and he leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I’m glad we got that settled.”
I gazed at him, part of me angry at his arrogance and another part in utter tranquility. He wanted me, he couldn’t be more clear about his feelings. His lover. In a relationship. These were bold, unambiguous words. He was so bossy, though. Bossy was not a trait I was comfortable with. Was I ready for this?
He pressed his forehead against mine. My hands were spread across his T-shirt, his hard muscles flexing beneath my fingers. My eyes drifted closed. This was where I wanted to be. P
ressed up against him, his warm, strong arms around me, his scent enveloping me.
“This I just who I am, baby,” he said softly. “I’ll never ask you for more than you are capable of giving.”
How can you be sure of that when I haven’t told you my sad story?
We stood like that for long minutes, each of us lost to our thoughts, lost in each other.
“Come back and finish your breakfast.” He released me and took my hand. I let him lead me back to the kitchen, but my appetite had vanished, once again. The last two meals shared in his company had both ended with me throwing a hissy. At this rate, we would end up wasting more food than eating.
Damien’s appetite didn’t seem to have been affected by our argument in the slightest. He plowed back in, casting an occasional look my way. I nibbled on a slice of bacon to appease him.
“More coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
Damien drank his coffee while I did my best to avoid his glances by keeping my eyes on the remains of my now cold breakfast. I wanted to say something to relieve the tension, but I had never been one for small talk.
I could avoid the topic no longer. “When do you leave for Chicago?” The words stuck in my throat.
“In a few hours.” He fidgeted and frowned, setting his coffee down and turning toward me. “Would you like to come with me?”
My momentary elation at his invitation was quickly eclipsed by the hard reality. “Damien,” I frowned, “I can’t go to Chicago today.”
He nodded, his eyes roaming over my face. “It could be a one-day trip. I’d put you on a plane back whenever you needed.”
My eyes narrowed as I contemplated the scenario of me stuck in Chicago, unable to find a flight and with work first thing in the morning.
As if Damien sensed my next question, he added, “I have planes at my disposal. You don’t need to worry about missing work.”
“You have planes?”
He smirked. “STG also owns Arch Air, an executive charter jet company. So yes, I have planes.”
I could only shake my head. He had planes. Jet planes. At his disposal.
“Cat got your tongue, baby?” Another smirk. Gripping my thigh, he rotated both our barstools until we were knee to knee, his hands capturing my thighs through the robe.
“I have responsibilities, work, a life. I can’t just fly to Chicago on a minute’s notice.” My stomach was in turmoil at the constant and dramatic change in conversation. Was this how he lived? Deciding on a whim to fly in his jets to wherever he pleased? Who had the means to live like that? Damien Moneybags Stone that was who.
If I didn’t understand before, I knew now just how far out of his league I really was. My heart sank.
“And besides,” I said in anticipation of what I was guessing would be more Damien arm pulling, “I promised James I would make him dinner tonight in repayment for fixing my car.”
His smile disappeared. “Just James?”
“No, not just James. Lucy will be there. Justine, too.” I placed my hands over his on my thighs. And because I wanted to please him, and because it was also the truth, I added, “If you weren’t leaving I’d invite you, too.”
His green eyes softened briefly. Leaning in, he nestled into my neck, planting soft kisses from my jaw to the hollow behind my ear.
“What was wrong with your car?” he whispered in my ear.
“The battery was dead.”
He sat up and our eyes met, a shared despondent comprehension settling over us.
“It’s going to be okay. We’ll make this work.” He brushed a finger down my cheek.
Oh, Damien. I hoped so. I had hurtled headfirst into the unknown. All I was sure of now was I wanted more of him and would do anything to get it.
CHAPTER 14
Sometimes it took years of therapy to come back from the dark. And then sometimes, if a person got lucky, they just stumbled across the one person who would lead them kicking and screaming into the light.
For three years, I had been living half a life. I had my family and friends, a good job and employer I loved. It seemed enough to get me through. I thought I had come through the dark. I thought I was happy. I moved through life thinking I was improving, progressing, healing. Friends and family were amazed at my progress and stood by the ready to pull me up when I faltered. But then I met Damien and realized the tough armor I had built to protect myself did more than keep the bad stuff away.
It kept the good stuff away, too.
Good stuff. Like trust, hope, self-worth, confidence, power. Love.
I knew that armor wouldn’t splinter overnight. That piercing it would be an ongoing process. And I knew eventually I would need to tell Damien why I had the armor in the first place. That was where the trust part came in.
But that armor had chinks. I could feel them already, like chain mail starting to unravel, showing patches of bare skin underneath, letting the warm sun shine through. And I knew something else, too.
Damien held the cutters.
* * *
Although he would have preferred that I stay with him while he packed for Chicago, I opted to go home. I needed space, even as I craved to be in his orbit. Besides, I had the necessary task of explaining my whereabouts to my worried posse of family and friends. I certainly didn’t look forward to those conversations, but they couldn’t be avoided any longer. I owed it to them to put their minds at ease.
Lucy was going to skin me alive.
Damien drove me home in the SUV. As he kissed me good-bye at my front door, a surge of loneliness swept over me. He held me tight and I sank against him, soaking up every last bit of him before we would be forced apart.
“I’m just a phone call away, Olivia.”
This little bit of knowledge gave me a welcome shot of strength, and I perked up slightly. Before leaving the apartment, Damien had entered his home, work and cell digits in my phone. Intending to do the same for him, I had grabbed his phone, smiling at his indulgent grin. Paging through his contacts, I found he already had all of my numbers stored. He chuckled as I shook my head at him.
“Do you know my bra size, too?”
“Thirty-two C,” he deadpanned.
I gaped at him.
“Merely a guess, but by your expression I’d say I hit the nail on the head.” He popped a kiss on my nose. “That one was my favorite number to work out, by far.”
I shoved against his chest playfully. I knew he was doing everything he could to boost my spirits. It was working.
At my door, I fought the urge to invite him in. I knew it was best not to prolong the pain. Just get it over with. This feeling of loneliness, the anticipation of loneliness, since he was still here next to me, must be what Shakespeare had in mind when he wrote those lines about parting being such sweet sorrow. Five Damien-less days laid ahead. The prospect was almost more depressing than I could bear.
“Thank you for dinner. And for bringing me home.” My voice was whisper-quiet, my smile strained.
“It was my pleasure.” His voice was strong and unwavering, as usual.
The moment I’d been dreading had come. Damien stood on my Wipe Your Paws doormat and faced me. Leaning down, he gave me a last lingering kiss on my lips. It was sweet and tender and perfect. I wanted to cry.
“Until Friday, Olivia.”
I swallowed, gazing up at his gorgeous face. If I spoke, I knew I would give my emotions away, so I merely nodded.
He released me and walked back to his car, shooting me a grin and a wave when he reached the driveway. Pulling myself together, I smiled and blew him a kiss, which he caught and placed over his heart before climbing in. A dark pull grew in my soul at his going. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this sense of deep loneliness, not even when Mom and Dad moved away. Fourteen hours with Damien and this was the result.
He pulled away from the curb, and I sighed heavily, resigned to my fate. Now for the first unpleasant task.
Lucy waited at the bottom of the stairs as I keyed into the house. Let the fireworks begin.
“I can’t believe you,” she spat. “Do you have any idea how worried we were about you?”
I closed my eyes as my stomach lurched. I never meant to cause anyone distress, especially not Lucy. I had some serious making up to do.
“Lucy, I’m really sorry. It completely slipped my mind to let you know where I was.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was in a tank top and sweats, and from the looks of her bloodshot eyes, I’d guess she hadn’t slept all night. “You don’t have the luxury of staying out all night and not reporting in. Travis took that from you. You should know that.” She sighed heavily, her eyes scanning my face and taking in my evening attire. “So, you’re okay?”
I didn’t think I could feel much worse than Damien’s leaving had made me feel, but I was wrong. Waves of guilt rushed through me. How could I have been so irresponsible?
“I’m fine.” I shook my head as tears welled. “Lucy, I’m fine.”
Her face fell. “Come here, Sis.”
She held her arms out and I went to her, hugging her tightly and willing away her worry.
“I was so scared. You’ve never done that before, not since Travis…”
“I know. Oh Luce, I just got caught up in the moment.”
She patted my hair and released me, stepping back to take a more discerning look. I really didn’t want her to see me like this. At least I had put my hair in a ponytail before leaving Damien’s home. But with my crumpled clothes—and Justine’s fuck-me boots—she surely knew exactly what I’d been up to.
“So. Coffee?”
What I’d really love was a hot shower and to change into comfy clothes, preferably of the sweats and T-shirt variety. But I knew when it was time to pay the piper.
“Sure.”
We moved into the kitchen, and I took a seat at our breakfast table. “What did you tell Weldon?”
Lucy got the milk from the fridge. “I called him around midnight when you didn’t answer your phone. I just asked if he’d seen you.”