Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
DAMIEN
The hired ballroom has floodlights mounted either side of the entrance, their beams aimed along a red carpet, balloons and streamers decorating each side.
We’re still twenty minutes out from the official start time, and the only people hanging around are venue staff, one of the supervising teachers, and the professional photographer, lining up his equipment for a series of perfect shots.
Cam’s positioned out back, patrolling the back entrance.
I’m doing the same from the front.
Ophelia could pull up to the curb any moment, and despite my threat, I doubt Chelsea altered her plans. She’s not the type.
My phone vibrates against my ribs.
CAM
got a guy with a squirt gun
alleyway behind the hall
I pocket my device and walk around the building’s perimeter, nodding at the security guard stationed by the staff entrance. Cam stands over a figure dressed entirely in black, curled on his side, cradling his wrist.
I pull a pair of leather gloves from my inside pocket, making a show of smoothing the black calfskin over each finger, flexing both hands when I’m done.
Cam nods to me. There’s dirt on his rented tuxedo and a satisfied gleam in his eye. “Saw him lurking near the side, looking twitchy. Then he pulled that.”
He points to a squirt gun lying a metre away. A cheap plastic thing painted matte black.
“Good job.”
I crouch next to the boy, studying him, letting the silence grow. His balaclava has slipped, revealing a weak chin covered with acne. “What’s your name?”
He doesn’t answer, just hunches tighter.
I pick up the squirt gun. It’s heavier than I expected, the reservoir full of ink, the fragrance of low-tide estuary rot.
The boy’s breathing becomes shallow, and I nod to Cam. “Grab his phone.”
He frisks the guy, pulling out a phone and dragging up the balaclava. He’s our age but I don’t recognise him. The phone unlocks on the view of his face.
“Yeah,” Cam says. “She’s here.” He shows me the screen, then continues scrolling. “Just this prank, nothing else.”
“Okay.” I nod again and he drops it on the asphalt, slamming it with his heel a dozen times for good measure.
The boy whimpers when I crouch beside him. “You’re getting off easy. If you’d followed through, that wrist would be broken, not bruised.” I stand back, satisfied at his fearful expression. “Now get out of here.”
He clambers to his feet, and staggers away, favouring his injured arm.
“Thanks for that.” I clap Cam’s shoulder, then nod at his tux. “You should clean up before the crowds arrive.”
Once he’s through the door, I test the squirt gun, then store it in my inside pocket. The ink sloshes quietly as I walk back around the building.
A few students have arrived out front now, some still posing, taking advantage of the lull. Others are joking around on the steps, waiting for friends or dates. There’s no sign of Chelsea’s distinctive dark curls and designer dress.
I take my previous position at the side of the steps.
Soon enough, a limousine turns the corner, long and black and ostentatious, the Impaglia company logo discreetly embossed on the side.
I step forward the moment it pulls to a stop, yanking the door open before the chauffeur can emerge, pulling out the gun.
Chelsea is mid-laugh with Alyssa, then her eyes abruptly widen. “Damien? What are—”
“You just don’t listen, do you?” I empty the entire thing into the backseat.
Ink sprays across Chelsea’s dress, her hair, dripping down her impeccably make-up like black tears. It splatters Alyssa, sitting next to her, some spray even hitting the two boys in the facing seat.
The smell fills the car, amplified in the enclosed space.
I plant my foot inside and grab Chelsea’s chin, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “I warned you. I told you what would happen if you went ahead with your plans.”
The fake gun bounces off the footpath behind me, and her very real switchblade is now in my hand.
Alyssa screams, fumbling with the door handle.
The limo lurches forward, and the knife jolts from my hand as I jump clear, the vehicle speeding smoothly away. Probably for the best. A public murder won’t help me right now.
I peel off my gloves, dropping them into the nearest rubbish bin, then tug down my cuffs and straighten my tie.
A sense of calm suffuses me. The threat to Ophelia is gone. Now it’s time to enjoy the evening.
Students stare, but I’ve already paid the security guard to look the other way, and the next most official person is the photographer. When I glance over, he jerks his attention back to his lens, concentrating on the job at hand.
At the door, I hand across my ticket, and head inside.
The ballroom is festooned with the same colour streamers and balloons as outside, blue, black and white. A waiter circulates with a tray of wine glasses, and after an envious stare at the cheap bubbles on offer, I choose a sparkling water instead.
Half an hour later, I’m still waiting.
My gaze continuously sweeps across the tables, searching for a flash of white hair among the sequins and suits. Ears tuned for the low melody of her voice.
It’s Basil I see first, taller than most of the room, his swim-team shoulders awkward in a tuxedo. Then the crowd parts, allowing me a view of Ophelia.
Midnight blue silk clings to her body, the neckline plunging between her breasts, held with a clasp. When she turns, the back is non-existent. She’s not wearing her glasses, and her exposed face is somehow worse than the copious amounts of bare skin.
I set my glass down, water sloshing over the rim. I need the bathroom.
I follow the signs, resting in the corridor outside with my head back against the wall, hands clenched while I wait.
Sure enough, there’s soon the distinct tap-tap, tap-tap of Ophelia’s cane, even though she doesn’t really need it. Not with half the guests still to arrive.
She turns the corner, and the bulbous cane tip swipes the side of my shoe. She stops, head tilting until her eyes temporarily stabilise, then smacks it against my shoe again, deliberate.
“Excuse me. Could you move out of my way?”
My eyes devour her, lingering on the handbag that dangles from her shoulder on a silver chain. “Tell me something. Did you leave off your glasses because you wanted to drive every boy crazy with your beauty or was your cane an excuse to bring along a larger handbag?”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“Fuck, yes, Snowflake. Inside and out.” I touch the side of her wrist. “Now stop deflecting.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A tap against her bag returns a dull clink, and my eyes briefly burn. “The supervising teachers here, they’re not Phillip. They’ll call the police.”
“Luckily, I have a clean record and a sob story.”
She tries to push past, and I grab her wrist, swinging her into the disabled cubicle, pressing her flat against the door the moment it closes.
It’s larger than its counterparts but still cramped. The sink and countertop take up one wall, the oversize stall fills the other, barely a foot of free space around them.
“Damien, I’m here with Basil.” The jut of her chin has never looked so adorable. “Go back to your table.”
“You’re my date tonight, and we both know it.”
Her eyes roll. “What do you want?”
I laugh softly, tracing the line of her collarbone, enjoying the coolness of her skin under my fingertips. “You know what I want. You want it too or you wouldn’t have followed me.”
Gripping her hips, I lift her onto the counter, and sink onto my knees, burrowing into the voluminous transparency of her skirt until I find the base fabric and shove it higher, staring at her cheap cotton panties.
“Mm. Fancy knickers for a special occasion.”
Before she can spout her indignation, I press a kiss to her inner thigh, grazing my teeth against the tender skin, resisting the urge to bite deep into her flesh, to devour her whole.
“Let me down.”
“Never.” My fingers curl over the elastic waistband either side, dragging the skimpy fabric down her legs, leaving it hanging from one delicate ankle.
“Stop,” she whispers, but the hands that push against my shoulders have no strength behind them. Her body is already responding, a tremor running through her limbs.
I stare up into her face. Her eyes are closed, the lashes paler than her delicate lids. “Open your eyes. I want you to watch.”
She does, and the vulnerability in her pale irises undoes me.
“You know you’re just a blur,” she says, then gives a soft moan as I ease her legs wider and lower my mouth.
Her body opens to me, already wet, the taste of her utterly addictive. My tongue sweeps along her folds, working at her entrance before I suck her swelling clit, loving its subtle throbs.
My fingertips dig into her thighs as I hold them apart, tracing patterns that make her body jerk, unleashing a soft moan. Her hands tangle in my hair, not pushing me away but holding on, guiding me as her hips gently roll, allowing easier access.
I love the control, the power to reduce her to this, a shaking, pleading mess.
But I’m also devouring her like she’s an antidote for the rest of the world, a medicine that can finally save me.
Her hips buck harder against my mouth and I intensify my efforts, balancing the softness of my mouth with the hardness of my fingers until her movements become urgent, her whimpers growing louder.
The grip on my head turns into a vice, fixing me in place as her orgasm shakes through her.
New sweetness releases onto my tongue, and I continue, sucking, licking at her tender flesh until the last tremor fades.
I tuck her panties into my pocket and rise; my cock painfully constricted in my tuxedo pants.
Ophelia’s face is flushed, her lips swollen pink. She looks wrecked and beautiful.
“Now,” I say, my voice rough. “Against the wall.”
I settle her on her feet, and she spins, bracing her hands against the cool tiles, her back lightly arched. I carefully lift her skirt, inch by inch, exposing her completely, my palms rubbing smooth circles on her round arse until the urgency grows.
Freeing myself, I enter her in one thrust, feeling her sweet wet warmth surround me, walls gripping me tightly. Pleasure wipes my mind clean of all thought.
My pace is frantic, desperate. My body pumps into hers with an intensity that borders on violence, my hands gripping her hips so tightly, I’ll leave marks. But I’m still aware, careful not to hurt her, not like that.
This is about possession, about connection, and my lips find her ear, whispering, “You’re mine, Snowflake. Only mine.”
She comes again, muscles fluttering around me with a shuddering release that pulls me over the edge with her, my cum filling her as my teeth sink into the side of her neck, claiming her inside and out.
For moments after, we stay locked in position. My forehead rests against her back, breathing in her scent, panting in the clinical light.
Then I withdraw and turn her so she’s facing me. Her eyes are dazed but the same distrust I’ve seen in them since Monday lingers there. A shadow I still need to erase.
I fix myself then help her adjust her dress, fluffing out the gossamer fabric so it falls correctly. Making sure the front clasp is secure, untwisting the straps so they lie flat atop her shoulders.
She smooths the skirt with trembling hands. “This doesn’t change anything. We’re still not together.” Her voice is soft but firm.
A haunted expression flickers in her eyes, there and gone, then she pushes past me, unfolding her cane again before the pneumatic door closes off my view.
My breath is uneven, ragged with exertion. I splash some water on my face, finger combing it through my hair, then exit in her footsteps. Rather than head back inside the main hall, I step through the rear exit.
Thin drizzle turns the asphalt reflective, lights sparkling like gemstones from the dark surface.
There are other students out here, some braving the light rain to puff on vapes or cigarettes, others kissing, swapping pills from tongue to tongue.
The light rain is refreshing, and I stay outside for a minute longer, different concerns turning in my head. Ophelia doesn’t trust me and I can’t blame her. My thoughtlessness over the camera left her exposed.
I can’t alter my nature, but I can do better than I have until now. I can show her no one else in the world matters more. I can put control of my life into her hands and accept the consequences.
I inhale a long breath, fragments of smoke and vapour mixing with the scent of rain on warm concrete.
My eyes close, searching for the emptiness that dominated my life until a month ago. There’s nothing left of it but the memory, and I open my eyes and head inside, ready to fight for my girl the only way I can think how.
Hoping it’s not too late.