Chapter 38
“Oh my gosh,Damon! They’re beautiful! But what’s the occasion?” I ask as Damon places the bouquet on the small coffee table in front of the fireplace. Up close, they smell glorious and they match my store perfectly. Although, why wouldn’t he have them delivered to my house since we won’t be here for the next few days? My shop is open only Wednesday to Saturday.
“As if I need an occasion to buy you flowers,” Damon remarks. Though, as our eyes meet, I’m surprised by his grim expression. “But these are not from me.”
“What? What do you mean?” We both look at the flowers, unsure of what to do with them. Damon’s lips press into a flat line. He crosses his arms over his chest as he lets out a sigh of either contemplation or frustration—I’m not sure which. “Who could they be from?” I walk around the bouquet, scanning the stems for a card, and Damon dips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small white envelope. He holds it between two fingers, looking more displeased than I’ve seen in a long time. “Damon…what’s going on?” I take a step back from the flowers then as if they are a bomb waiting to detonate. My eyes widen as a chill works itself up my arms and across my chest. “Damon, who are the flowers from?” He looks at me and the energy in the room shifts. Standing before me isn’t my boyfriend, rather my protector. My stomach twists as I anticipate his answer. Have they found me? What are we going to do? We should run! We should hurry!
“They’re from Aidan,” he says.
“Jesus!” I let out a sigh of relief and bring my hand to my chest. “Well, thank God. You had me worried. Let me see the note.” Damon hands me the envelope, though I can sense his reluctance. It’s already been opened so he’s obviously read it. Well, of course he has. If the flowers had been from a suspicious party, they could’ve been poisoned for all he knew and he would’ve wanted to dispose of them immediately. Though now that I know they’re from my brother, I’m not quite sure what’s with Damon’s mood.
I open the envelope and quickly read my brother’s scribble. “It says he wants to meet,” I tell him, though I know he already knows. According to the note, my brother has booked us two adjoining hotel suites under aliases at the Royal Sonesta Hotel on Bourbon Street. I’m to meet him there in an hour for a private dinner in his suite. Yet, I’m to enter through mine so that no one knows we’re meeting. It seems he’s still taking precautions, which suggests the conflict with the Italians hasn’t been handled or he’s simply trying to protect the private life I’ve built for myself. Either way, the thought of seeing my brother makes me happy, a happiness Damon clearly does not share.
“Why now?” Damon asks then. I look to him and find him deep in thought. His eyes are narrowed as he brings his hand to the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s one week until his big State of the Union. You’d think he’d be occupied with preparations. Not to mention, the looming threats against him. Why reach out now? It just doesn’t make sense.” Damon shakes his head and sits down on the chair opposite the one I was sitting. As he does, he pulls out his phone and immediately begins typing.
“What are you doing?” I ask, moving to sit on his thigh. I can tell he’s worried and maybe I should be too. But what is there to worry about? “It’s Aidan’s handwriting, Damon. And pink peonies are my favorite flower. He would know that. This seems genuine. And he’s still taking precautions so that we aren’t seen together in public. So what’s the problem?”
Damon shoots off a text, which I see is to my brother. Then he takes a deep breath, and rests his hand on my lower back. “The problem is, this was unexpected and I don’t like unexpected, especially during a time like this. So you aren’t going anywhere until I hear back from him directly that this invitation is real. Understand?”
“Yes. But, Damon, what if it’s not real? Aren’t we wasting time? What’s the plan?” He looks at me and gently rubs my back. We haven’t talked much about what will happen if a threat becomes an attack. All I know is to listen to him, do exactly as he says, and trust him. Other than that, he’s told me to leave the details to him, which I’ve been glad to do. But now…
“If it’s not, then…I have a plane standing by, ready to get us out of this city at a moment’s notice.”
“What? A plane? Damon, how?”
“I told you—I have plenty of money and I know how to spend it. The plane is registered under an alias no one knows about because I created it after the Mafia was dissolved. If anyone learns about you, then it won’t take much for them to see I’m your protector. So, anything listed under my name or known aliases will be watched just as closely as they watch you. The plane is just one asset I’ve acquired in the event of something like this.”
I nod. “You are good at this, aren’t you?”
Damon smiles. “Only the best for a princess.” His phone vibrates then. “But it seems we won’t be needing it tonight. Aidan confirmed the invitation is legit.” I feel his muscles relax beneath me and I immediately let out a sigh of relief.
“Thank God!” I sink into him and rest my head in the crook of his neck. We sit in silence with Damon running his fingers up and down my back. I love our moments like this when he makes me feel warm and safe. This is a feeling I never want to lose. I wasn’t planning on seeing my brother so soon. Still, I have no hesitation to tell him about me and Damon. How could I when this man makes me feel this happy, this cherished, this loved? I just hope he’s okay with it. Once Aidan knows…
“Damon, I’m ready to tell my brother about us.” At that, Damon’s fingers slow to a stop on my back. He tilts his head in my direction though I do not move from my place in the crook of his neck.
“Are you sure? You know what telling him will mean, don’t you?” The thought of it makes me smile. Flowers and a white dress flash before my eyes. I’m not the girl who grew up dreaming of her wedding, mostly because I never thought I’d have the luxury of marrying someone I love. I guess that means I’m about twelve years behind on the planning. Though, as I bite my lip and sit up to look at the man I will marry, I know I could marry him in an empty room wearing a paper sack and be the happiest bride to ever live. “Damon, despite everything that’s going on, I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you. This is a happiness, a love that I never want to end. So, yes, I know what telling Aidan will mean and I’m sure. You’re my family now.”
I bring my hand to Damon’s cheek and kiss him, long and slow. It’s the kind of kiss that tastes like an oath. As the realization of my words finally hits him, Damon’s lips draw into a smile of his own, letting me know he’s ready too. Tightening his grip on me, he stands, pulling me up with him. I giggle and grip on to him for balance. With a beaming smile, he wraps his arms around me, picks me up, and spins me around so many times I lose count. As his movements slow and our eyes meet, he says, “You just made me the happiest man, Anastasia Cross. The only thing that could make me happier is the day you officially become Mrs. Anastasia Dupont.”
“Who says I’m changing my last name?” I ask, brows raised. Of course I’m kidding. I’ll happily take his name. Though a little playful ribbing is always good for a relationship.
“Excuse me? Do I need to take off my belt and remind you who you belong to?” Damon squeezes me tighter, drawing a soft gasp from me as his eyes and lips shift into that devilish smirk I used to loathe and now love.
I cock my brow and offer him a smirk of my own and say, “Maybe.”
Damon nods and darkness clouds his vision. He moves without hesitation, carrying me to the back of my store with intention. Positioning me between him and the rack of hanging clothes, he places me on my feet. What’s he doing? It’s then that he pushes the clothes to the side, making a spot to hang something else. As he takes off his belt and wraps it around the rod, I start to understand. “Damon,” I say, though I’m too taken aback to finish my sentence. He ignores me and brings his hands to my purple scallop-trimmed tank top. Without a word or a glance, he roughly removes it from my body, revealing my see-through baby-pink bra. It’s dotted with tiny pink flowers and trimmed with matching pink lace. He then repeats the process and removes my purple shorts.
Damon growls at the sight of my pink Brazilian-cut panties. “What did I tell you about these?” he asks as he pulls them away from my ripe flesh with one finger. As he does, the lacy, sheer fabric rides up and pinches my clit. I let out a small gasp. All of this intensity and roughness has made my skin hot and tingly. Damon’s body responds in like kind as his erection threatens to bust the zipper on his black denim. Finally, he lifts his eyes to meet mine.
“I thought your rules didn’t apply anymore,” I say through bated breath. Damon moves closer to me then. He’s so close I feel his breath on my forehead as he towers over me. My underwear still bites my tender flesh, my wet arousal now soaking them.
“Do you have a problem giving me easy access to your pussy, my love?” he says.
“No, my love,” I answer. Damon nods and adjusts his grip on my panties from a soft one with one finger to a fistful. “Ah!” I cry out as the fabric threatens to rip through me.
“Then you won’t be needing these.” Finally releasing me from this torment, Damon removes my underwear. Though he makes quick work putting me in another vulnerable position. Damon lifts my hands above my head and binds my wrists with his belt. He tightens my restraints to the point that I’m lifted from the ground. Only the tips of my toes touch the floor beneath me. I wince as the belt tears at my skin, but I don’t complain. Damon and I have done a lot of things, but never anything this rough. Strangely enough, I like it and I want more.
Damon takes a step back and examines his handiwork while I fight against the sting of his belt by trying to balance on my toes. His eyes graze every inch of my body, from my toes to my dripping pussy, to my hardened nipples poking against the lace of my bra, and finally to my lustful eyes. Desire coils inside me just as intensely as the anticipation of what he’ll do to me next.
Slowly, he removes his clothes. First, his black T-shirt, then his jeans. Finally, he drops his black boxers to his ankles and steps out of them. I lower my gaze to his long, throbbing appendage. Even from this distance, I spot the pre-cum oozing out of his tip. It’s a good thing I got on birth control.
Damon walks toward me and brings his strong hand to my throat. Gently, he squeezes and then harder, harder. As breathing becomes more difficult, so does balancing. I stumble and the restraint catches me, but it hurts more than I ever thought it could. “Good,” he says. “Now you know what it feels like when you go lax against the restraints. So, wrap your legs around me, take my dick inside you, and fuck me to keep yourself upright.”
I smile then. “Is this you teaching me who I belong to? Because I was expecting something else. Perhaps a spanking or a tongue-lashing.”
Damon lets out a deep chuckle and removes the few curls threatening to hide my breasts. His eyes fall to them as he brings his hands to the delicate fabric and rips my bra from my body. He lifts his eyes back to mine, and in them I find a hunger that makes me crave him even more. “I have you naked, dangling from a metal rod in your own shop, Anastasia. This is proof enough that you are mine, that I can do whatever I want to you.” His fingers move to my nipples and begin a process of plucking, rubbing, and twisting that has me quivering, so much so, I nearly cum. Sensing my arousal building, he lowers his hands to his sides and says, “But only good girls get tongue-lashings. So, if you really want it, show me how much. Show me how much you want to be mine and I’ll show you even more so that you already are.”
My body is ripe and ready for Damon to plunge inside me and he does just that. He inserts himself, but then stills, leaving it to me to finish us both off. I take his hot directive as a personal challenge. I use every bit of core strength I have to angle myself just right. Damon stands with his arms outstretched on either side of me, palms pressed against the wall as I move my body back and forth on his dick. I grunt and sweat as I struggle and my efforts are only made harder as Damon moves his hands to my breasts. He toys with my nipples as I do my best to keep him inside me. But the stimulation is so much, I hunch forward to give my nipples a break.
“Uh-uh,” Damon says. “You know you’re not allowed to hide from me.”
I whimper as I work up the strength to expose my chest to him once more and continue riding him. Between my legs is sopping wet and my body is covered in sweat, so much so the grip of the belt on my wrists begins to loosen. Damon realizes it and moves one of his hands to where my wrists are bound. He uses his own hand as a cuff, letting me know I’m not getting out of this predicament until I finish him.
“Damon, please,” I beg. “I can’t. I can’t take much more.”
“Say it,” he says. “Whose pussy is this?” He moves his hand between my legs and massages my clit as I continue thrusting myself onto him. I cry out in pleasure.
“Yours.”
“Say it again.”
“Yours!” I scream. “My pussy is yours. You can do whatever you want to it. I belong to you.” With those words, we both cum. Damon pumps into me, filling me with his cum without stopping his assault on my clit. My arousal mixes with his, and when he pulls himself from me, it drips down the insides of my thighs all the way to the floor. My body shakes as I dangle once more—my orgasm ripping through me more powerful than ever before.
“Good girl,” Damon says and then quickly unbinds my wrists. Weak, I fall into his naked body and he promptly catches me. Swooping me up into his arms, he carries me away from the scene of the crime, back to the chair he once sat in. He sits, cradling me in his arms. The space between my legs still throbs minutes after, so much so, I feel like I could cum again.
“Now, whose heart is this?” he asks me, his voice much gentler as he brings a finger to my chest.
“Yours,” I say once more, and he kisses me softly on my sweaty forehead. The sweet gesture brings a small smile to my face.
“Good girl, Mrs. Dupont.”
As Damon continues to hold me, I’m quiet for a moment longer as I catch my breath and ride out the last of the waves of pleasure coursing through me. Once I regulate, I say, “How on earth am I supposed to look my brother in the eye after that?”
Damon laughs. “The same way I will—with a smile.”