Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
DOTTIE
M y head fucking hurts.
“What the actual fuck?” I groan, trying to roll away from the light I can see through my cracked lids.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
That voice.
I must be imagining it.
But the sound of his voice, even if it is a dream, has my hand sliding down my body. However, before I reach the promised land, a growl fills the space.
“Dorothy. Stop.”
My eyes spring open, and I scoot up the bed, and try to focus on my surroundings.
I’m in Damon’s bed.
“Shit, fuck. What happened? Did─did we? Oh god.”
Damon lets out a strangled chuckle.
“Want to finish that sentence?”
My eyes find his. He’s standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest with nothing but a pair of jeans on. It’s unsettling, and unfortunately hot .
Instead of answering his question, I glance down to find myself in one of his shirts, and not the one I’ve been wearing either. My neck snaps up to find him wearing that infuriating and sexy smirk of his.
“Please tell me we…”
“We what?”
“Damon!”
He chuckles, kicking off the doorframe and I can see the exact moment his demeanour shifts. He was coming in to say and do something entirely different, but his eyes have darkened, that fucking smirk deepening, and I hate how my pussy flutters at the thought of us sleeping together.
Did I really have sex with Damon Woods? No. It’s not possible, I’d know. That’s something I would definitely remember.
Fuck. Arrie is going to kill me. I already feel as if I’m betraying her by the thoughts that I’ve been having of Damon all these years, but this, I feel this might actually break her.
Arrie’s had enough betrayal and deceit to last a lifetime, especially with a mother like Kerry-Anne, and I don’t want to add to her pain.
“Dottie.”
His deep, gravelly voice snaps me from my mini breakdown, and I glance up to find him looking down on me. I wish he didn’t pull these kinds of reactions from me, and I hate I can’t stay poised and in control like him.
My eyes wander lower, ripping a growl from his throat, and my eyes flick up to meet his dark pair. Damon still has his arms folded over his chest, but I can see the white knuckling of his fists.
He’s tense.
Struggling.
Because of me?
“Want to finish that sentence from earlier, Little Dottie?”
My tongue darts out and coats my dry lips with moisture, and Damon’s eyes follow the motion, his jaw clenching. I’m under his skin, whether he admits it or not, and maybe I should be appalled. I’m anything but.
I need to get my head read.
He chuckles again, and this time it sounds dark, sinister, and it does something to my pussy. Leaning a little closer, I swallow hard, his cologne enveloping and not helping my current situation.
“Did we fuck?”
It sounds so dirty. So filthy coming from his mouth. It unnerves me and sends excitement bucketing through me, and before I realise what I’m doing, I’m up on my knees and we are inches apart.
Violet hues to stormy blues, the only thing that can be heard in his room is our quickening breaths. I lick my lips again, the magnetism pulling us closer together like a magnet to metal, and I try to pull back, honestly, I do, because this can’t happen between us.
Damon’s smirk lingers—he knows what he’s doing to me. It’s as if we are in a trance, there is only him and I in this world of ours, even though we are both acutely aware this is wrong, and we shouldn’t be in this position.
Lost in this lust induced fog that suffocates us, I can’t seem to find a reason to stop what’s about to happen.
“Wench! Where are you?”
Damon’s eyes go wide. She can’t find us in his room like this.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Damon stops abruptly, his eyes moving between me and the bathroom. I see the relief in his face, and I know it’s because he’s found a way out of this for the pair of us.
“Dottie?! Dad?!” Arrie yells again .
“The bathroom. Move your sweet ass, Dorothy. Flush the toilet or start the shower, do something, but you need to move. Now!”
Jumping up, I race toward the bathroom, glancing over my shoulder at Damon to find him looking at me with a look I can’t decipher. It makes me hesitate, but when he shakes his head, I dash in and close the door quietly. With my back against the door, I hear Arrie’s voice.
“Morning Dad, do you know where Dottie is?”
“How in the hell would I know? I’m not her keeper.”
“Sheesh. Get up on the wrong side of the bed or what?”
I take that moment to flush the toilet.
“Don’t use that tone with me, Arriana Louise.”
“Dad!”
Damon chuckles.
“Sounds like Dottie is in the bathroom. I’ve got to get to the workshop.”
I hear some mumbled words while I’m washing my hands, and then the door is open. “How’s your head, Wench?”
At the mention of my head, it starts throbbing again. I guess the adrenaline had suppressed the insistent ache before Arrie arrived. Perhaps I can blame it for what might have happened if she hadn’t barged in.
The smile falls from her face, and I follow her eyes.
Damon’s shirt.
Her dad’s shirt.
Shit!
She doesn’t have to ask the question, because it’s spilling from her green eyes, and I quickly throw her an answer, a lie for why I’m wearing Damon’s clothes.
“When I got in last night, I was so fucking sick. I spewed up all over my clothes, so I just grabbed whatever I could find.”
She cracks a smile.
“Haha! I knew it. You were so fucking drunk last night. What did Harry say to have you hightailing it?”
I groan, remembering the conversation.
“He had too much to drink.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, whore.”
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“How did your night end?” I deflect.
“Uh no! You are not getting out of this. Talk.”
“Gah, I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
I return her smirk.
“Not even a little bit.”
She rolls her hand in a hurry up motion.
“Argh. He said he could see my nipple ring through my top. It went downhill from there, and he turned into a depressing and desperate Harry.
“Oh my God,” Arrie laughs, and I glare at her. “How do you find these guys?”
I grin at her.
“Just lucky, I guess.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it, girl, and you know it.”
“Alright, you’ve had your fun. Did you get nasty last night?”
“Dottie!” she whisper yells, glancing over her shoulder. “What if my dad is still in his room?”
“We both know he’s not.”
“Still.”
“Well?”
“We’re taking it slow.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I will tell you more when I have something to tell you.”
“If you say so, but your cheeks say otherwise. ”
Arrie’s hands move to her cheeks, and I know she can feel the heat.
I give her a knowing grin.
“I’ll let you keep your secrets for today, but right now, you need to fuck off so I can get ready for the day and hopefully kill this headache in the process.”
I spend the entire day trying to keep my mind occupied.
The visit to my parents is a raw, festering wound, and I don’t know what I’m going to do about the situation.
Do I put my shit behind me, and try and approach them again, mending whatever our fractured relationship holds?
Or do I sulk home, with my tail between my legs and more trauma, guilt and pain weighing me down?
I’m not sure what I’ll do, but for now, I focus on what I can control. I finish working on some sketches and finalising the mural.
Staring at his message for the umpteenth time, the door bangs open and an angry Damon walks in. He doesn’t look at me, but he does throw his keys on the entry table, kick off his boots, and walk toward the kitchen.
After a few minutes of him banging, clanging, and cursing, I find him leaning back in a chair at the small dining table with no shirt on and a glass of whiskey. His legs are stretched wide, and he’s taken off his socks, as well.
As if sensing my arrival, his eyes find mine.
My breath catches from the intensity, and any smartass thing I was about to say, dies on my tongue. Swallowing, I step back, and he stops me with one word .
“Dorothy.”
I suck in a lungful of air, but it proves fruitless. I feel my throat closing in. I step back again. I’m waiting for the blow I know is coming, one that has to come.
“What happened this morning can’t happen again, Dorothy.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. It. Can’t. Fucking. Happen. Again. If Arrie had walked in on us like we were, it would have meant disaster for us all. And let’s not forget about what Kerry-Anne and the rest of the fucking town would say if they caught wind of this. Fuck, I can see the headlines now.”
“I said I know,” I snap, feeling the anger, frustration and deceit toward Arrie singing me from the inside out.
“Don’t you take that tone with me, Dottie, this is fucking serious.”
“I fucking know!” I scream, and he pushes up from his chair and it scrapes along the floor.
He’s in front of me in an instant; his hand wrapped around my loose hair and pulling my head back. My breathing ratchets and I hate the spark that ignites in my belly. His breath fans against my face, and I smell the heavy scent of alcohol. He’s had more to drink than the one sitting on the table.
“I don’t lose control. Ever. But you are jumping down on my last nerve and I’m fraying at the fucking ends.”
“How is this my damn problem, Uncle Damon?!” I hiss.
“Stop it.”
“Or what?”
He laughs low and dark, and it sets off fireworks in my stomach, and then his face his inches away from mine like this morning. He tugs on my hair, and I wince, but I can see it in his eyes.
The loss of control .
The wildness in his dark blue eyes.
He’s barely hanging on and I feel myself feeling sorry for him.
“Don’t do that, Dorothy.”
“Do what?” I breathe.
“Pity me.”
Then his lips are on mine. and I find myself opening up for him, my tongue lashing at his and matching his ferocity. I grip onto his chest, feeling the muscles tense from my touch as I moan into his mouth, and all rationality flies out the window.
As soon as it begins, it finishes.
Damon releases me, staggering back, his fingers touching where my lips just were. He brings those shaky fingers level with his face, and then he looks at me from between them.
“This,” he tries, choking on his words. “This can’t happen, Dorothy. You can finish the mural downstairs and then you need to leave. I ─ I can’t do this, and I need you to stop whatever you’re trying to do.”
Anger resurfaces, dousing the earlier lust in acid.
“What I’m trying to do? I’m pretty sure you just kissed me, not the other way around, asshole.”
Damon’s jaw works, but when I think he’s going to say something, he doesn’t. He shakes his head, grabs his drink and the bottle sitting beside it, before he walks toward his room.
As he reaches the door, his steps falter as he holds onto the doorframe with the bottle in his hand. I hear him draw in a couple of breaths before he finally speaks.
“Do the mural, and quick, Dorothy. I won’t be responsible for my actions if you keep this shit up.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left reeling, my heart splintering, and my mind in shambles. My breathing comes in short bursts, and I feel the anxiety attack coming on. Folding in half, I rest my hands on my knees and close my eyes, forcing myself to stay in the moment and just be.
Anger, rejection, abandonment, insecurity and frustration over the situation weaves their sickly web throughout my body. When I feel the attack subside, I open my eyes.
Stomping out of the kitchen, I stalk to Arrie’s room and slam the door like a child. I know it’s immature and I’m playing with fire, but I grab my Satisfyer Pro from under the bed and situate myself on the bed.
An orgasm will help relieve some of this pent-up frustration. Switching it on, I position it over my clit, not bothering with keeping quiet like I normally would.
Fuck him.
The rejection is fierce within me, and so is the brat, so when I’m close to climax, I do another reckless thing, one I might regret once the post orgasmic bliss has left my system.
I type a message to the Tin Man.
I’m free. Where do you want to meet?