Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
DAMIEN
My body feels glorious when I wake the next morning. Humming with excitement for the day ahead, all traces of my internal friction gone.
After yesterday’s wrangling, Ophelia probably needs breathing room, but I’m too impatient. I drive to her house, waiting outside until Bryan leaves and I can let myself in with my new key.
I’m quiet as I can be, spreading my weight on the linoleum tiles, adjusting my schoolbag so it doesn’t bump against the wall.
When I hear movement from her room, I slowly mount the staircase, drawing it out for as long as I can, taking one step at a time. My feet stay near the wall, lessening the noise, and I pause at every creak, ear cocked for sounds from the room above.
Two steps short of the landing, Ophelia strides into view and freezes. A beat passes, then she spins back into her room and slams the door.
I launch upwards, shouldering open the door, and kicking it shut behind me. My schoolbag drops with a thud, barricading the entrance. “Morning, Snowflake. Sleep well?”
Her eyes widen. “You can’t be in here.”
Slowly I advance, my fingertips trailing along the wall, rasping against the embossed wallpaper.
“Don’t see anyone that’s going to stop me.” When I’m a foot away, I drop my arms to my sides, ready to grab hold if she lunges. “How’re you feeling this morning?”
Her throat works, the delicate column of pale skin contracting as she swallows. Conflict flashes across her features. Defiance battling with something softer, more vulnerable. She finally settles for a wordless shake of her head.
My forearms prickle, hairs rising. Super sensitive. Aware of every dust mote in the room.
I slide my fingers around her wrist, pressing a welcome kiss against the delicate shadows of her veins before walking her backwards. Her knees hit the bed, my eyes never breaking away from her face.
“You don’t look pleased to see me,” I say. “And after I travelled all this way.”
“No one asked you to.”
She scowls when I push her down onto the mattress, then bounces straight back up, finger pointing at the door. “Leave.”
“Why?” My voice turns low, mocking. “Is Bryan calling the police?”
Her expression is stricken, and it sours my mood.
I steal her glasses, setting them on the dressing table before I twist her away from me, fingers threading through her hair, forcing her cheek flat on the mattress. “I thought a quick morning delight would be a great start to my day.”
It’s so easy to hold her in place. The more frantic her struggles grow, the less effective they are.
I kick her legs apart, keeping them spread with my knee when she immediately tries to slam them shut again. I flip up her kilt and tug down her panties, leaving them stretched between her thighs, caressing the full curves of her lovely arse.
She wriggles when I administer a light spank on each cheek, the pink outline of my hand clear against her pale colouring.
“Damien, please. I… I’m still sore from yesterday.”
Apart from our confrontation outside the community hall, this is the first time my name has been on her lips and the sound’s more enjoyable than I would’ve believed.
“Say my name again.” I spin her, sliding my hand around her throat and gently squeezing. A shiver trembles across her shoulders. “Beg me again.”
Her eyes flash, their movement increasing. “Beg you to be a decent fucking person, you mean. Bit late, isn’t it?”
I increase the pressure, not hurting her, just testing how deep her stubborn streak goes.
“Damien… please.” Laden with sarcasm, her lip curls even as she obeys.
“Please what? Spell it out for me.”
The tension in her jaw increases, tightening under my palm. I can read what she wants to say in her eyes. Please fuck off and die.
But some of her fire dims. “Let me help you another way.” Voice soft, hesitant. “With my hand?”
I release her throat. She gave me what I wanted.
But instead of pleasure, there’s a pinch of friction. It doesn’t match at all with what I had in my head.
Breaking her down suddenly seems like a mistake.
“Okay.” I retreat a step to give her room.
Her hand tentatively stretches towards me. I shake my head, then remember her vision, and say aloud, “No. Undo your blouse. If I’m accepting your compromise, then I’ll need a show.”
Her cheeks flush, so pretty against the subtle blue of her eyes.
“Go slowly. Button by button.”
I drag the dresser chair closer and sit, the tremor of her fingers making the work harder than it should be.
“Would you like a hand?”
Before she can answer, I hook her waist, spreading my legs so she can stand between them.
My eyes lock with hers and I bend forward, slowly, deliberately, taking the first button between my teeth, and tearing it free, my incisor biting through the worn thread.
I spit it to the side, and it bounces off the wall with a tiny plunk.
It’s only one button, but I feast on the revealed skin, fastening my mouth on the knob of her collarbone and sucking. Salt and the clean floral taste of her body wash.
When I sit back, her chest heaves, fingernails biting into her palms.
“Next.”
“I’m not doing anything until you show me the optometrist’s appointment.”
“Fair enough.” A few taps and the confirmation Gregorie sorted for me dings on her phone.
A tinny voice reads, “Dr Rothschild, Wednesday—” before she silences it with her trembling thumb.
“I had him bring it forward to tomorrow.” I take the device from her shaking hands and pocket it, prompting, “Your button.”
She still doesn’t move.
“Or would you prefer I do everything?” My hands settle on each hip. “And punish you for the lapse.” I press my face into the fabric of her blouse and inhale.
Yesterday’s memory surges. The press of her body against mine, our intimacy, then the conversation after, a connection deeper than I’ve felt with girls before. One that sparks a craving for more.
I seize the next button down and give a vicious twist, pulling it free. Tossing it over her shoulder, it bounces on the plump duvet.
“Prick.” She slaps away my hand. “You think it’s easy for me to sew those back on?”
The friction is gone. This is the girl I’m after.
“Then next time, obey me.” Another button twists off in my fingers, flicked into the corner. “At this rate, you’ll be going to school naked.”
The sides of her blouse sag open, and the tease is too much. Grabbing a fistful either side, I pull until every button tears apart, then ruck the kilt to her waist in one movement, exposing the tender skin of her thighs.
I pull her low, nuzzling into the curve of her neck, scraping my teeth on the tender skin. Marking her for everyone to see.
I’ve never been possessive, never cared enough for that level of claim, but with Ophelia, it’s absolute.
“If you keep being disobedient, you’ll just keep making things worse for yourself. Panties, now.”
When she doesn’t respond, I drag them to her ankles, twisting them so she’s off balance and tumbles forward, palms landing on my shoulder and chest. “Bra or I’ll bind your wrists as well.”
“Let go of me. I’ll be late for the bus.”
“It’s already long gone.”
She bites into her lower lip, blood flowing to the indents.
“You asked for special treatment. The least you can do is follow orders.”
She reaches behind her, releasing the fastening with a snap. I drag it lower than her belly button, licking my lips as her nipples tighten in the cool air.
Reaching inside my zipper, I begin stroking myself. “Stretch your arms above your head.”
Her eyes stare at nothing as she cups her elbows above her head, drawing her pert little tits upwards.
I hold my hand beneath her pouting lips. “Spit.”
She does… straight into my face. The moisture rolls down my cheek, hitting my smile lines. “That works, too.”
I scoop it onto my fingers, smearing it across my cock, adding precum as my fingers curl over the head, pumping rhythmically. My cheeks burn hotter the longer I palm myself, already close.
And my balls tighten, a groan erupting from my throat as my release spurts, slashing ropes of cum across Ophelia’s breasts.
I scoop my arm around her waist before she can think of escape, working the creamy droplets into her skin, massaging across her ribs, into her belly button, across her breasts.
When I’m finished, I pull her onto my lap, the same buzz as yesterday filling my body. A satisfied hum in my bones.
“Why are you holding me?” Ophelia’s voice is a cracked whisper, and the question seems bigger, encompassing more than what she specifically asks. “Why did you yesterday?”
“Probably Oxytocin.” I hug until her soft curves melt into my hard chest, giving her the only reason I can think of because I don’t understand it either. “It makes me want to wrap around you so tight; you’ll be absorbed into me and can never ever get away. It’ll wear off in a minute or two.”
Even that admission feels perilously close to the bone, and my arms hold tighter, pushing aside the inevitable moment we’ll have to part.
It’s not just relief from my emptiness.
Cradling Ophelia in my arms feels more like healing.
“Can I ask you something?”
Her voice is tremulous and when I nod, she chews her lip again, the pinkness deepening into red.
“Are you doing this because I didn’t report Craig?” There’s a sheen in her eyes that reappears the moment she blinks it away. “Is that—”
“Craig’s going to wish you’d reported him.”
The menacing words aren’t enough; my throat constricts at the self-doubt on her face.
“And I’m doing this because you fascinate me. You appear so innocent, so pure, yet you committed blackmail and fraud without a hint of regret.” I snort. “Then you sprayed my eyes with poison when I suggested you had the hots for me.”
“When you propositioned me about becoming your sex slave, you mean.”
The defiant spark is welcome.
“Same difference.” I softly cup her shoulder. “You know you smiled when I accused you of blackmail that first day, right? I’m not the only one who’s a fucking psycho.”
“Five minutes after you threatened to kill me!”
“I don’t know what stories you tell yourself up here”—I tap her brow—“but you’re not Miss Sweet and Pure, and your actions show you’d be a terrible reporting risk… if I’d actually done something you objected to.”
“Right. I’m gagging for it, am I?” Her lips twist like she tastes something sour.
“Those aren’t my words. They shouldn’t be yours, either.”
The high fades, leaving behind a different emptiness than usual, achingly soft instead of fiery sparks and shards.
When I stretch, yawning, Ophelia scrambles free. “I need a shower.”
“No, you don’t.”
“But I smell—”
“You smell of me and that’s exactly what I want.” I capture her wrist and kiss a line down her naval, inhaling the scent of us both, then kissing each inner thigh.
Standing, I collect my bag and withdraw the clothes stashed inside. “Luckily, I bought a new uniform for you. I think your blouse is beyond saving.”
“Why do you care what state my uniform’s in? It’s not like you’ll be anywhere near me.”
Her eyes flick towards my face, and I reach for her glasses before she sees my pleasure at her sniping. Keeping company with Chelsea obviously bugs her, and the jealousy is delicious.
“Are you asking me to spend more time with you?”
“No, thanks.” She snatches the glasses from me. “And I told you I wanted money, not a new uniform.”
“Why don’t you ask your mother? She’s rich.” I’m genuinely curious about their relationship. “How about I give you cash if you give me answers?”
But her lips tighten, and the stress lines deepen on her face. Too much, too soon. I’ll have to revisit that angle later.
I unpack the top from its plastic, pushing it against her hand. “If you don’t wear your new blouse, we’ll have to stay right here. No one’s allowed to see you like this but me.”
“No.” She adjusts her bra and threads her arms into the sleeves, buttoning it to the collar, hiding my marks. “I want to go to school.”
“Want.” I snigger. “Guess they’re right about opposites attract.”
She rolls her eyes, snagging her underwear from the floor and pulling them on. “I’m not attracted to you.”
“Okay. Whatever you say.”
“You’re the only one high on OxyContin.”
“Tocin.” I grab her arm and pull until she falls back onto the bed. “If you don’t mind being late for class, I could give you your own dose.” I flip up her kilt, hooking her waistband. “Just need to get past the world’s largest underpants.”
“Get off me.” She struggles away. “I’m going to school even if you’re not.”
Ophelia switches her old kilt for the new one, tidies her hair, then frowns at me from the doorway.
“Are you giving me a ride or what?” All hard angles and jutting bones.
“Sure, but you’ll have to get out around the corner. Like you said, I can’t be seen with you in public.”
“Wouldn’t want your girlfriend getting the right idea,” she says in a tight voice.
“She’s not—”
But Ophelia’s halfway downstairs. “Lock up after us, will you? I presume you have your own key.”