Chapter 19
Damon movesto stand in front of me and kisses me, soft and gentle. First, on my lips and then my neck. Next, he brings his hands to my waist. Letting his fingers linger on my hips, he teases me. Will he move them lower or higher? The anticipation elicits a moan from me and heightened sensitivity in both areas. He’s warming me up, and once he’s satisfied… He adjusts his grip on me and lifts me, placing me on the countertop. I smile and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me as we continue our kiss. I love the taste of him, the feel of him. And yet, I haven’t truly tasted or felt. In all the ways I’ve come to know him, this is one in which he’s still a stranger.
Just as I slide my hands from behind his neck, down his chest, inching my way closer to the button on his jeans, he swipes them away, pinning my wrists against the countertop. I gasp and he offers me a stern look. The familiar darkness I’ve become so accustomed to has taken over him. It clouds his eyes and intensifies his touch. “Take off your shirt,” he says with a low growl. Before I can reply with a snarky remark about needing my hands for that, he releases my wrists. I suppose I can put off my plans to taste him a bit longer, since I know better than to interrupt his plans for me. I do as he says. Slipping my gray tank top over my shoulders, I sit before him in a pair of medium wash jeans and a nude-colored balconette bra dotted with blue butterflies.
“Hmm, butterflies,” he remarks, offering me a coy smirk. I roll my eyes, remembering his earlier remark about the type of clientele he wanted to avoid. And look at him now, about to have his way with the very type of woman he finds so annoying. It’s then that he returns his attention to my body, taking me in. His eyes follow the lead of his hands as he runs his fingers up my arms and down my torso, grazing over my boobs ever so slightly. I arch my back in response, desperate for more of his touch. His lips lift into a smirk as he notices my eagerness. And yet, I wait patiently for his next command. Needless to say, his effect on me hasn’t worn off yet. In fact, it’s only intensified.
He lowers one of his hands to the waistband of my jeans and lifts the other to my neck. Once more, he brings his lips to my skin, choking me ever so slightly as he kisses me. Only this time his kisses are harder as he sucks and nibbles on my delicate neck. “Ah!” I moan, my lips drawing up into a smile as I imagine the marks he will leave on me.
The first time he left a bruise on me—fingerprints on my thighs—it was like he’d killed someone. He shut down. I had to assure him I was okay, more than okay. I quite like them. They allow me to retrace his touch and relive the moments we share each night before bed—an exception he did allow to the no-touching-myself rule. It took a while to talk him off the ledge, but finally, he accepted my answer, and since then, he doesn’t react as strongly when he sees them on my skin. Although, his reaction has stuck with me and makes me wonder if there’s something about his past he hasn’t shared. Hell, I’m sure we’re both keeping secrets from each other. And yet, I’m so captivated by him in this moment, thoughts of all the things I’ve yet to learn about him last no more than a millisecond.
His mouth on my body is so distracting, I don’t even notice when he reaches around and unhooks my bra until he pulls himself from me and it along with him. He drops it on the floor as his eyes drift down to my exposed breasts and erect nipples. He stares at me so long, so intently, without a word that I start to feel self-conscious. Is something wrong? Has he found another bruise that’s worried him? I look down and examine my flesh, finding nothing abnormal. Although, looking at my own naked skin somehow takes me out of the moment and I find myself starting to blush. I fluff my hair over my shoulders out of instinct, allowing the long strands to hide me from his view.
“Don’t you dare,” he says then.
“But what’s wrong?—?”
“Shh.” He closes the distance between us and lifts his finger to my lips to shush me. Slowly, he uses his other hand to brush my curls away, revealing me to him once more. “Am I not allowed to be captivated by your beauty?” he asks. His words settle my thoughts and cause my cheeks to blush, though, this time for a different reason. Bringing his lips to mine once more, I gasp as his hand finally finds my breast. “Am I not allowed to appreciate your perky little nipples?” He smiles at my response to his touch. As he kisses me, he rolls my nipple between his thumb and index finger. The sensation is so intense, it’s hard for me to continue our kiss. Which, I gather, he likes. Finally, he moves his lips from mine to my neglected breast. While still tormenting my one nipple, he envelops the other in his mouth. Licking and sucking. Sucking and biting. “Am I not allowed to examine my meal before I devour it?”
“Yes,” I breathe, bracing myself against the countertop as Damon’s relentless assault on my chest becomes all-consuming. My breathing increases. My core tightens. My moans are endless. Between my legs is nothing but a slippery mess. I pinch my eyes closed as he alternates between my two most sensitive peaks. “Yes,” I say once more, though this time it’s meant as encouragement rather than an answer to a question.
“Mmm,” Damon moans. “That’s my girl. You like this, don’t you?”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble. But, as he bites down on me with a bit more force, I correct myself. “Yes.” He likes yes and no answers. It’s another thing I’ve learned about him during our time together. I’m not sure if it’s part of his need for control or he just wants to make sure I’m truly enjoying myself. But it’s a small ask, so I do my best to oblige.
“Good. Because I’m just getting started with you and them.”
“What?” How can this be only the beginning? I’m already soaking through my jeans.
Damon takes a step back and pulls two tiny metal balls from each of his pockets. Has he had those in there the whole time? What are they? They’re smaller than marbles so I know they can’t be for?—
“Most men don’t give the nipples enough attention,” Damon says. “Some women can orgasm from them without any other form of stimulation. And even if you need a little extra assistance, nipple play makes the orgasm all the more intense and easy to attain.” Nipple play? It’s then that Damon reaches forward and places one of the balls on one side of my nipple and one from the other hand on the other. I cry out as they latch into place.
“Magnets?” I ask, though I already know. I can feel their magnetic pull. It’s what allows them to stay attached to me, pressing on either side of my sensitive flesh. They look like piercings. The added weight to them pulls while the invisible string between them presses. I’ve never felt such a sensation. It’s almost painful. Perhaps it is painful, like a stinging pinch you just can’t escape. And yet, as Damon places the other two on my opposite breast and begins massaging them in place, I realize the truth in his earlier claims.
“Poke out your chest. Give me a good view, sweetheart,” he coos, and I do my best to follow his command. Though as he twists one ball on each nipple, prompting the other to move in response, I can hardly remain seated, let alone with an arched back. It hurts but it’s also…
“Ah!” I moan.
“That’s my girl.”
“Damon,” I start.
“Relax, baby bird,” Damon says, bringing his lips to my neck once more as he gives one of my nipples a short break. “Focus on the pleasure, your clit, everything you feel in your nipples, imagine it flowing through your body to your most sensitive spot. Imagine the pleasure coiling in your stomach and then exploding between your legs.”
“Ah!” I cry out, doing just as he says. I love how he talks me through it.
“Cum for me, baby.” And, with his command, I do. Damon keeps his hands on my breasts as I shake with pleasure, offering me stimulation throughout the entire orgasm that makes it feel like it will never end. As I finish, I lean forward and rest my damp forehead against Damon’s shoulder. He quickly removes the magnetic balls, soliciting another cry from me. But, as he wraps his arms around me, the pain subsides. All that’s left is a pool of goo between my legs, my rapidly beating heart, the warmth of his chest, which soothes the tenderness of mine, and a wave of sleepiness, calmness that follows every orgasm.
Damon rubs his hand, softly and slowly, up and down my back. I love the balance we have. Our time together is erotic and yet sensual. Intense yet gentle. I could fall asleep against him right here, right now. But the sound of Brinkley’s collar draws my and Damon’s attention. I turn just in time to see him grab hold of my bra and run across the room with it toward his bed. He plops down on the plush bed, nestled between the fireplace and the French doors, and begins gnawing on the fabric.
“Brinkley!” I call out. Shifting my attention back to Damon, I say, “You owe me a new bra.”
“I’ll buy you a thousand,” Damon says then, handing me my tank top before Brinkley makes it his next victim.
“Very funny,” I say. As I take it, I contemplate what to do with my tank top, deciding to place it on the countertop instead of putting it on. Damon watches me, picking up on the cue.
“Is that a request for round two?” he asks, resting his hands on my thighs.
“Yes,” I say. “But not for me. For you.” At that, I lower my hands to his belt buckle once more. Only, like before, I’m met with his resistance.
“Easy there,” Damon says, taking a step back from me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
“Nothing, uh—” Damon lifts his hand to his neck as if massaging away some tension. I’ve noticed him do it a few times. Perhaps it’s a nervous tick or something he does when he needs to think through his answer.
Unable to keep the hurt from his rejection from rising inside me, I ask, “Why won’t you let me touch you, Damon? Or see you? In all this time, you’ve never even taken off your shirt. And I know it’s not because you’re insecure.”
Damon lowers his hand to his side and shakes his head. Feeling a disconnect between us, I reach for my shirt and quickly slip it on over my shoulders.
“I just…this is still new, Anastasia. I’m okay pleasing you, but to ask you to please me is something different entirely.”
“It’s not that new. It’s been a month, Damon, and we’ve known each other for nearly three. But if that’s how you feel, then okay. Explain to me why though. Why would me pleasing you be so different than you pleasing me? Because I want to, Damon. I want to please you. I want to touch you, taste you, see you. I want to feel close to you.” As the words leave me, I wonder if that’s the problem. Is he afraid I’ll become too attached to him? We have gotten close, I mean… Maybe he’s right, but something about this feels off if it’s only one-sided.
“I just think we should take this slow. There are still things you don’t—” Damon stops himself before finishing his sentence, which only leaves my mind to wander. Things I don’t what? Know? Know how to do? Maybe he fears my inexperience just as much as I do. Embarrassed, I shrink into myself and lower my head. I place my hands in my lap and pick at my cuticles despite my fresh manicure.
“Hey, don’t stress about this, okay?” Damon says. He closes the distance between us and comes to stand before me. Reaching me, he wraps his hands around mine, forcing me to stop destroying my nails. “Anastasia, look at me.” His voice is soft and gentle, as is his gray-blue gaze as I comply. “You are amazing and beautiful and perfect, just the way you are. My issues have nothing to do with you.”
“But I want to understand them. I want to understand you. I want to know the man who touches me, and I want to be able to touch him, please him, the same way he pleases me or else?—”
“Or else what?” It’s then that the slam of a door and voices downstairs draws our attention. It’s late on a Friday night, which I’ve come to know is one of his shop’s busiest times. If all his artists are occupied with appointments and walk-ins come in, he has to attend to them. “I should go check on that, make sure everything is okay,” he says then. I nod, not wishing to continue our conversation anyway.
I know this is just an arrangement. I shouldn’t desire to know him or feel close to him. The fact that I do would probably be enough for him to end it and I’m not ready for it to end—yet. But I’m not sure how much longer I can suppress certain urges, perhaps even certain feelings. The more I’ve gotten to know him and gotten used to having him in my life, the fewer reasons I’m able to come up with as to why I don’t want more with him.
When I first realized my attraction to him, it was his behavior that made me fight it. And when he said he wasn’t boyfriend or husband material, I believed him because I had no reasons not to. When he told me not to fall in love with him, I could’ve laughed in his face because how dare he think that I could love him. When this began, it was as emotionless and contractual for me as it is for him. At least, I think. But now… Now, I don’t know.
Damon gives my hands a final squeeze and leaves me with a kiss on the forehead. I pinch my eyes closed to savor it. When I open them, he’s gone. I sit in silence, unsure of how I feel, as Brinkley continues to destroy one of my favorite bras. I guess that’s what I get for getting involved with an emotionally unavailable fuckboy who’s only ever going to hurt me. Deep down, I know the truth. I know this is going to end in disaster. Once the orgasms stop, we’ll be back to fighting like before except now his verbal blows will sting even more because for a single second I gave a damn about him.
Maybe, in the beginning, I convinced myself this would be harmless. Now that I can see its tragic end, I can’t break free because I’m too addicted—to him, to the way he makes me feel, to what he does to my body, to how it feels to be wrapped in his arms, absorbing all his warmth. I can’t let that go yet. I can’t let him go, even though, in moments like this one, it doesn’t feel like I have him at all. “Ugh, I can’t think about this right now.” Especially not when my skin is still damp from his kisses. It’s late and I’m tired. Right now, the best thing for me is a quiet night at home—alone. If I am starting to care too much, then, for my own sake, I need some distance and detachment. Even if my feelings for him are changing, that doesn’t mean his feelings for me have. He is a man of his word and his word—his rule—hasn’t changed.