Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Blair
Iwait until everyone is asleep before sneaking out.
It isn’t exactly the first time I’ve sought the refuge of literally anywhere that isn’t occupied by my family, and I consider myself something of an expert at slipping away undetected.
Even before he’d set his sights on politics, my father was a wealthy, ambitious man.
We always had some degree of security presence hovering in the periphery of my childhood, which tends to be a fairly significant obstacle for any underachieving teenage rebel to get past. I was creative, though, and learned the key to not arousing suspicion was to not appear suspicious.
“Good evening,” I murmur, smiling wearily at the pair of NPS officers standing in the kitchen when I move through the room, already pushing my arms into my coat.
“Good evening, Miss Porter,” the older of the two replies, nodding respectfully to me as I pass, and I hear them continuing with their conversation as I close the kitchen door behind myself.
Even if my gut tells me nobody is watching, my evasive maneuver isn’t complete.
I walk off across the grounds, moving in the opposite direction of Damien’s cottage, or any of the estate’s outbuildings. My pace is leisurely, and I make a point to stare up at the full moon, which is clearly visible through the scattered clouds, amidst an impossible number of stars.
If anyone happened to be watching me, they’d suspect I’m headed for the path which winds along the cliff’s edge, perhaps hoping to clear my head with a walk before bed.
As far as most would know, there is nothing in this direction but wilderness.
It’s only from nearly two months of running through these woods that I know of a tiny trail which loops back around the edge of the grounds, ending only a hundred yards from Damien’s cottage.
The night is so still that the waves crashing into the cliffs sound like a roar, and for once, I enjoy the reassuring predictability of it. Even the smell of this place steadies me now, and a part of me wishes I could hold onto it, wherever I go.
My memories will have to do, however, because something tells me when I leave Thornhurst, I will never, ever come back.
Damien’s cottage is dark, with only a few lines of firelight escaping through the gaps in a few curtains.
I’m careful to be quiet as I step up onto the porch and reach for the handle, not wanting to wake him if he’s gone to sleep, unburdened by the same urgency which possessed me to walk through the cold to come here.
He must be expecting me, however, because the door is unlocked.
I inhale deeply as I step into the cozy, warm space, which is lit only by the fire burning away in the hearth and a single lamp beside the bed. Damien is nowhere in sight, but the bathroom door is closed, and the muscles in my belly tighten as I hear the sound of water running from beyond.
Suddenly unsteady, I drift toward the table, unbuttoning my coat.
Even the material brushing my arms as I slip it off my shoulders makes my skin tingle, and no sooner have I laid it over the back of a chair than I’m drawing toward the closed door, acutely aware of the slow, deep rhythm of my own heartbeat.
I don’t pause to consider whether I should be here or wonder whether he’ll regret what happened earlier.
Not when instinct—overwhelming, undeniable instinct—bellows it will be the opposite.
The hinges on the old door groan softly as I open it and am hit at once by a wall of steam and the scent of Damien’s soap. The shower curtain wrenches back.
He’s naked.
Obviously, I knew he would be, but the air seems to vanish from my lungs as we stare at one another through the hazy, yellowish light.
Water drips from the ends of his hair and runs down his body, caressing parts of him I’ve never had the chance to touch myself, and something inside me burns as I watch it.
Jealousy. Over water.
Damien doesn’t speak or make any attempt to cover up, as, slowly, I close the door behind myself.
I don’t say anything, either.
It’s only been seconds, but already, steam is clinging to my skin, and my core body temperature is rising. I can barely breathe as, holding the wordless gaze of the naked man in front of me, I begin to remove my clothes.
Damien has gone unnaturally still since I entered the bathroom, but as my top hits the bathroom floor, I see his pulse leap and, lower, his cock begin to grow hard.
It’s a heady feeling to watch the effect I have on him grow stronger with each article of discarded clothing and every new piece of skin exposed.
Knowing very well what my intention was for tonight, I’d dressed carefully, and the quiet groan which punctuates the rhythmic rush of water makes my efforts more than worth it.
“Leave it,” Damien hisses suddenly, as my thumbs loop beneath the waistband of the same thin white lingerie I’d worn for him in the department store, preparing to push the panties over my hips.
I nod slowly, not lowering my gaze from his. “The bra, too?” My fingers brush over the blue ribbon which lines the material.
Jaw tight, he inclines his head in the tiniest, jerkiest of nods.
It’s not surprising to find my pussy is already wet with arousal when I step out of the jumble of fallen clothes, drawing toward him. Damien only moves when my foot finds the shower floor, shifting to the side so I can fit inside the tiny, enclosed space with him.
The sound of my breath catching is lost in the metallic rasp of him pulling the shower curtain shut behind me.
“You came,” he mutters, his eyes on my body as the hot water washes over me, turning my flimsy undergarments transparent in a matter of seconds,
It’s difficult to swallow my moan as he crowds me into the shower wall, his massive hands coming to hold the curve of my waist. “I was careful,” I promise, running my hands from his chest to cradle his face. “Nobody saw.”
A low grunt meets my words, and I get the sense that he wouldn’t care, even if everyone saw.
“What about what I can see?” he asks as he drags his palms over my wet skin to my breasts, cupping them through the sodden material. A peek down confirms that what he can see is everything, and desire twists low in my core at the sight of his large, rough hands squeezing me greedily.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips. “I can leave, if you’d rather not.” The offer is like ash on my tongue, and though I’m teasing him, a tiny part of me braces for him to agree. I would go, of course I would go, but he doesn’t let me worry for long.
A low, disbelieving laugh rumbles in his chest, and I whimper as he backs me more securely against the wall, his rigid cock pressing—hot and urgent—against the softness of my belly. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather be looking at, princess.”
And before I can respond to that or do more than recognize the way my heart expands at his words, Damien is lowering his lips to mine, and it isn’t possible to think of anything else. Nobody has ever kissed me the way he does now, slow and savoring, as though he wants to make it last.
He’s patient, controlled, but there’s something else simmering beneath the surface, something that’s mirrored inside me, but I still can’t name. It surges through my veins as large, callused hands press flat to my back, one over the other, and drag me closer as our kisses become more urgent.
My bra falls away, and I’m so turned on that even the friction of his chest hair against my heavy, tender breasts makes me gasp. The sound seems unnaturally loud over the ringing in my ears and the heavy drum of water over us both, but it’s nothing compared to Damien’s throaty noise of approval.
My hands fall to his shoulders as he stoops, dragging my panties down until they fall with a wet slap to the shower floor. I look down, watching as he presses his lips to my mound, the curve of my thigh, the place below my belly button, leaving worshipful kisses every place he encounters.
His nose brushes the sensitive skin along the jutting curve of my pelvic bone, and my knees might have collapsed if he hadn’t wrapped his hands around the back of them at that exact moment. My belly swoops as he stands, taking me with him.
I’m lifted right off my feet, and my back hits the cool shower wall, my body pinned open like a butterfly by this giant, confusing, perfect man between my legs.
The water, the tile, his skin against mine, and the way my body responds to it… It’s sensation overload, bordering on too much, but as Damien reclaims my lips with a deep, satisfied groan, all I want is more.
I groan, too, my arms looping back around his neck to hold him so close that even the water can’t find a way between our bodies.
His shaft is pressed into my slick seam, and as we kiss, he rocks against me, coating himself in my arousal, which is slicker and more lasting than the shower pouring over us.
It’s intoxicating to get so lost in someone that you forget the outside world even exists. Years and years of running from myself, my family, and the expectations that I could never quite meet… None of it ever made it fade quite as much as it does now.
Oh god, I’m falling for him.
I’m really falling for him.
That’s bad. So, so bad.
The realization sends a rush of hot panic through me, but it still isn’t enough to end this. Especially not as Damien shifts my weight, angling my body back just a little, and allowing himself room to press the crown of his cock to my slick core.
Our kisses falter, but we stay close, lips brushing as he breaches my entrance, and the sound of our ragged breathing fills the tiny space.
Unlike the first time we did this, he goes slowly, easing his way deeper with each pump of his hips.
He doesn’t stop until his hips are pressed to mine, and I’m fully impaled on him, my inner muscles struggling to adjust.
Fuck, he’s everywhere.