Chapter 16 The Nocturnal Animal
THE NOCTURNAL ANIMAL
DAMON
Motherfucking son of a bitch. Two years.
It’s been two fucking years and that bastard still gets under my skin.
He has no respect. For the code, for the rules, for me.
I should turn this car around and gouge out his fucking eyeballs, but Vee would ban me if I laid a hand on one of her precious platinum members.
It’s not illegal to look, Damon. I’ve heard that one too many times.
My knuckles pale. That fucker wasn’t just looking, he was fantasizing, he was stripping her clothes, imagining all the filthy things he could do to her body.
I shouldn’t have brought her here. Not yet.
Not when our foundation is still so shaky, so new.
What an idiot. I thought he was back in London.
I thought he left for good this time. But he’s back.
And now he’s seen her. Now he has a new target. Now he’ll—
“Damon!” Emery yells, and I swerve between lanes, barely dodging a passing sedan. I blink, focusing back on the road. Shit. I glance over at Emery as she holds her chest. “What the fuck! Pay attention! Jesus…”
“I am,” I grumble, my gut stirring from flashbacks of the accident. “He came out of nowhere.”
In my peripheral, I can see Emery shaking her head. “Maybe you should pull over. Clearly, you’re not in the right mindset to drive right now.”
“I’m fine,” I fume, regripping the steering wheel.
“He really bothers you, doesn’t he?”
“Who?” I ask, inwardly raging at her acute observation.
She sighs. “Really? Who? Jesus, Damon. I don’t know, maybe the six foot five asshole who couldn’t stop staring at my tits?”
My lips briefly curve up. “Asshole?”
“Yes, apparently you all like to congregate together.” My smile zaps away. Emery releases a chuckle. “Wow, you really don’t like him, huh?”
“Do not group me in the same category as that man,” I spit, blinking away the budding rage. “You shouldn’t have been talking to him.”
She snorts. “I barely said a word.”
I snap my burning gaze at her. “And those will be the last words you ever exchange.”
“Why?” She lifts a badly timed taunting brow. “Worried he’ll steal me away from you? Green’s an ugly color on you, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
The tires screech on the side of the freeway as I aggressively pull over and put the car in park. Emery gasps, staring at me, frightened.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I grab her chin, seething as I say, “You are forbidden from speaking with Quinton Marquis, is that understood?” Emery tries to pull away, but my hold remains strong, stern. “Do you understand, Miss Jones?”
“You’re insane,” she mutters under her breath, glowering at me with disdain. “You know that?”
“Do you understand?” The question slips past my lips with malignant enunciation. “I need to hear you say it. Say it, Miss Jones.”
Her chest heaves as she remains still in my hold like ice settling in snow, cold and deadly.
And she is killing me. Burning me with her freezing gaze.
It’s a simple question. A simple request. Yet, she remains silent, defiant against my wishes.
She’s no idiot. She can see the fire in my eyes, the inferno of absolute loathing I have for that man, but she refuses to suffocate the flames burning steady inside of me.
“You’re crazy.” Her breath clouds in the space between our bodies, and slowly, she melts under my touch. “You’re—”
“And whose fault is that?” I rasp, dragging my hand down her chin to her neck, my nails digging into her chest before forcing myself to pull away.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Miss Jones?” My breathing turns heavy, the air in the car thick and charged as her gaze floats down to my cock.
“You can see it, can’t you, Miss Jones? Just how crazy you make me. ”
“You didn’t touch me,” she whispers, her face flushing as she tilts her head, savoring the sight of her power. “When we were watching… You,” she swallows, licking her lips in the process, “you didn’t touch me.”
And it took all my fucking willpower.
“Is that what you want now, Miss Jones?” I ask, my seatbelt acting as her only line of defense against the myriad of ways I’d like to fuck her right now. “I was under the impression you hated me.”
“I do.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, tentatively reaching over the middle console, her fingers landing on the surface of my growing erection.
She flicks her gaze up, her hungry eyes hidden behind a veil of dark lashes.
“But…” She drags a long nail down the length of my shaft, teasing the tip as she breathes out, “Not all of you.”
I close my eyes, every muscle in my fucking body aching as I will myself to stay seated.
To stay in control. To reign in the primal urge to destroy every hole on her goddamn body.
Once I start, I can’t stop. I won’t stop.
I’ll tear her apart like a piece of fucking paper. For her safety, she needs to sign.
Abruptly, I open my eyes and slam on the engine, swerving back on the freeway. Emery slides to the right side of the car, away from me, where it’s safe. For now.
“What the—”
“If you want to do this, Miss Jones,” I say, controlling my breathing. “You’ll need to sign a contract.” I glance at her. “Then, we can play all you want.”
Frustration oozes from her when she huffs, “A contract? You won’t fuck me unless we have a contract? Are you serious?”
“It’s for your benefit, Miss Jones,” I grunt. “Trust me, you want a contract.”
She scoffs. “What? Like an NDA? So I won’t go around telling people that the great Damon Cavanaugh belongs to a kink club?
Because trust me, I won’t. That implicates both of us, and the last thing I need is for anyone to know what goes on in my personal life.
But you already know how I feel about that. ”
I snort. “An NDA is only a fraction of the terms and conditions.”
She blinks. “There are terms and conditions? When did sex become as serious as a merger?”
“I need to know your limits, Miss Jones,” I say matter-of-factly, my cock slowly deflating against its will. “And you need to know mine.”
“My limits?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “What’s acceptable, what’s a maybe, and what’s completely off the table. Limits.”
“You sure know how to drain the fun out of fucking,” she mutters, crossing her arms.
I roll my eyes. “You’re acting as if you’ve actually had fun fucking.” I flash a knowing smirk, and she scowls at me. “What? Am I wrong?” I pause, suddenly curious. “What happened to poor Thomas, anyway? You finally break his little heart?”
“Fuck you,” she spits as we turn off the freeway. She sits up. “This is the wrong exit. Lux is—”
“I’m taking you home,” I say, elaborating. “To the condo.”
“My car’s at Lux,” she states in a sour tone. “I need to drive back to Connecticut tonight.” She glares at me. “And pack.”
“It’s late,” I say. “You can go tomorrow. I’ll have Javier bring your car to you in the morning.”
“But I don’t have any of my things.”
“I’ve taken the liberty of stocking your apartment with all the essentials.”
“I need pajamas—”
“You’ll find whatever you need in your closet,” I say, turning onto our street. I glance at her, grinning. “Plus, some extras I thought you might like.”
Her jaw drops. “You went shopping for me? That is so—”
“Thoughtful?” I shrug. “You’re welcome. I knew you’d appreciate it.”
She grits her teeth. “I’m not your little Barbie doll, Mr. Cavanaugh. You can’t play dress up with me.”
“You’re free to discard any garments you’re not fond of,” I say, giving her a lingering once-over.
“However, I’m confident you’ll appreciate my sense of style.
” I nod down to her oversized outfit. “While I think you’re beautiful no matter what you wear, don’t you think a body like yours deserves to be seen? ”
She blinks. “Somehow you’ve managed to insult me and compliment me in one breath.”
“It was two,” I quip, pulling into the parking lot of our building. “And don’t be offended, Miss Jones, like I said, you can throw it all away if you’d like.” I pull into my parking stall. “Ah, home sweet home.”
“Yes, so sweet.” Emery rolls her eyes, getting out of the car. She follows me to the elevator, pressing her fob against the reader. She presses forty-four.
“Penthouse please,” I smirk.
She frowns. “Did you program my fob to be able to access your floor?”
“Of course.”
“Right.” She sighs, pressing PH. Leaning against the elevator walls, she adds, “You must really trust me, Mr. Cavanaugh. To give me access to your home?” She tilts her head.
“I could be a serial killer for all you know. One night when you’re falling asleep, I could sneak in and,” she motions a slicing across her throat, “dead.”
“Good thing I never sleep,” I say, wincing as the unvetted words leave my lips. “I guess I’m safe.”
Emery’s expression morphs into guarded concern. “You don’t sleep?”
“I rest, Miss Jones,” I state. “Don’t worry.”
She purses her prying lips. “When’s the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”
Water fills my lungs, my eyes stinging from the salt as my mother’s screams suffocate me.
“Years.”
Emery studies me intently, and I can’t figure out whether it’s empathy or sympathy. She pushes herself off the wall, taking two strides toward me as we near her floor. Placing a warm palm on my cheek, she whispers, “I don’t sleep either.”
“Why not?” I ask in a hushed tone, leaning into her hand, her presence lulling me into a false sense of security.
“Same reason as you,” she says, gaze flicking up to the digital display as forty-four flashes and the doors open. “Well, I guess it’s time to say goodbye. Tonight has been…interesting.”
A frown mars my brows as I grab her arm, refusing to let her leave the elevator. “What did you mean the same as me?”
She sighs. “Death, Mr. Cavanaugh. It seems to haunt us both, no?”
My frown deepens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She tilts her head. “Remember what I told you before, Mr. Cavanaugh? I’ve died before. I can tell when a person is drowning in loss. And you?” She gives me a half-hearted shrug. “You’re drenched.”
“I don’t understand…” Her expression softens as I drop all my shields, unwilling, like a brief surrender, a momentary white flag.
“You lost your family, Damon.” She places a pained hand over her chest, voice on the cusp of trembling as she adds, “I lost myself…” She swallows. “In a way, we’re both grieving. Sleep…sleep can be difficult for the grieving.”
I shake my head, too exhausted to unravel her riddles. “How long have you been lost, Miss Jones?”
She gives me a weak smile as the elevator beeps. “Years.”
“It appears we’re both nocturnal animals,” I say, our fingertips gliding against one another as she floats out of the elevator. “Maybe you should come upstairs, Miss Jones. Even those who dwell in the darkness could use the company.”
She releases a melancholy giggle. “While I appreciate the offer, Mr. Cavanaugh, I prefer to suffer in solitude. Plus, after tonight.” She pauses. “I have a lot to think about.”
An unwitting warmth captures my heart. Yes, she does.
“You know where to find me if you get lonely, Miss Jones.”
She smirks. “Likewise.”