Chapter 18
MAE
“Sweetheart, it’s time.”
Damon’s soft lips trail down my neck, his grazing stubble delighting my sensitive skin, bringing every raw sensation to life. Smelling fresh out of a shower, I breathe him in.
“More,” I moan, needing to take things further.
Lips smile against my cheek. “My sweet girl, I want nothing more than to please you, but alas, time is not on our side. Not yet, anyway.”
He kisses me tenderly, our tongues caressing. We both groan, wishing that time is now, but with deep regret, he pulls away when there’s a faint knock at the door. Damon sighs, his forehead resting against mine. “Give me a moment.”
When he moves off the bed, I don’t waste the opportunity. Propping myself up on my elbows, I admire the way his crisp white business shirt hangs open, contrasting beautifully against his tanned, ripped torso. In answering the door, he rolls the sleeves to his elbows, revealing the finely detailed ink on both arms.
It’s a quiet interaction with whoever is on the other side and is over within a few moments. Damon returns to me and sits on the bed’s edge. The smile from moments earlier has been wiped clean, and a frown mars his brow. He’s annoyed and burdened .
“I’m needed on the tarmac. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I whisper because it pains me to see him this way.
He cups my cheek and grazes my bottom lip with his thumb. “Very soon, it will just be us.”
“Promise?”
“With all my heart.”
~
DAMON
“What the fuck do you want?”
I slide into the back seat of the Mercedes, where Peter sits. He winces against the pain of possibly fractured ribs caused by Marco’s steel-capped boots. For appearances sake, he’s already cleaned up the fresh blood from a split inner lip, and the gash inside his hairline is only noticeable in the light. The beating was mild. Just enough for us to vent some rage but keep him somewhat functional for the contract signing. Afterward, there will be no reason to hold back.
“Don’t tell her,” he says, not near enough contrite.
Impatient, I raise a brow. “You have an exhaustive list of offenses, Peter. What am I not to tell her?”
“Don’t divulge the details of what happened on those videos. Or about Carlson.”
“And why wouldn’t I?”
“Because if you agree not to, I’ll sign all the contracts you need. You get what you want, and so do I.”
“You’re an insidious disease, Peter.”
“Maybe so.” He rolls his tongue over his swollen lip. “But I can cut you a deal you’d be stupid to refuse.”
“What makes you think I need anything from you that I’m not already getting?”
“As you said, there’s an extortionate amount of money to be made, but if you keep quiet about what you saw, you don’t have to give me a cent of it.”
Inhaling deeply, I stare out at the jet, rubbing my jaw in contemplation. Mae will be getting dressed and ready for our first night together in Dubai, and soon, she’ll be wondering what or who is taking up my time. “So, what you’re saying is… you and your cunt of a brother repeatedly drugged and raped your wife, and you want a free pass for the both of you? You want me to keep your fucked-up little secret under wraps so there’s no personal repercussions or judicial prosecution?”
“I guess if that’s—”
“Is that what you’re saying, Peter? It’s a simple yes or no question.”
“Yes.”
“And in return, you’re offering me your full cooperation from here on out with contractual obligations spanning the next decade and without payment. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
Satisfied, I meet his hopeful stare. “I’ve got to say, Peter, with each interaction I have with you, you never cease to surprise me.”
~
MAE
“So effortlessly beautiful.”
Butterflies swarm in my stomach as Damon meets me beside the conference table. My long hair now falls in soft waves down my back, just like the night we first met—the way he loves. “And you’re so effortlessly charming.”
Inching closer, his lips brush my ear. “Only to you, sweetheart.” With a lingering kiss on my cheek, I shiver with the certainty he’ll indeed show me just how charming he can be later.
“Boss,” calls Marco from the top step. “We’ll be leaving now.” There’s a silent exchange between the men—one too challenging to decipher—before Marco turns his cheerful smile to me. “Enjoy Dubai, Mae. Perhaps it might inspire your next collection.”
“Perhaps! We’ll see you soon?”
“You sure will.” With his characteristic wink, he leaves.
Damon pulls me into his arms, and I hook my arms around his neck. “You guys seem rather lively after such a long flight with no sleep.”
“We’ll rest when certain matters are resolved.”
There’s an unsettling distance to him that wasn’t present ten minutes ago, and it feeds into my insecurities. “Are you nervous?”
“About?”
“Meeting with the prince or getting the contract signed?”
The words earn me a small smile, but the distance grows. “No, I’m quietly confident.”
Sensing my uncertainty about everything , spurred on by the kink in his resolve, Damon attempts to convince us both. Cupping my face, he draws me close, tenderly kissing my lips until I melt into him. “My concern is only ever for you,” he murmurs. “You know that, right?”
“I do.”
“Good.” Taking my hand in his, he leads me to the exit. “Now, while the night is still young, let me show you what I love most about Dubai.”
As soon as we step onto the stairs, we’re met with a blast of dry desert heat. It’s almost six in the evening, yet it could be the middle of the day under the scorching LA sun. I watch Marco climb into a Mercedes, presumably with Peter already inside. And further away, Jason—apparently a luxury-car man—revs the engine of his rose-gold Bugatti.
“You and Marco seem to have formed quite a connection,” Damon says, helping me off the last step and onto the tarmac. His observation is not out of jealousy but curiosity.
“He’s kind and for no other ulterior reason. That’s hard to find these days. Plus…” I bite my bottom lip to suppress a smile, “… he doesn’t discriminate against me just because I have a ‘pretty pussy .’ ”
Damon’s gorgeous, untamed smile reaches his eyes when he laughs, seemingly enjoying having his creative words—once used as a witty threat—thrown back at him. “I deserved that.”
I walk two steps ahead and turn to face him. “You really think it’s pretty?” I tease.
Damon lunges forward, and I squeal when he effortlessly hauls me caveman style over his broad shoulder. He grips my ass, holding me firm while I dangle upside down.
“Sweetheart, I could write a book about how perfectly pretty your pussy is, but I prefer to show you.”
~
MAE
“It’s been too long, my friend,” Faheem, the sheikh’s adviser, warmly greets Damon with a shake of hands, their friendship extending beyond business acquaintances.
Less than half an hour after leaving the jet, we land on the helipad on top of the Burj Al Arab, and the city view is just spectacular.
“It’s good to see you again,” Damon says before Faheem turns his attention to me.
“And you must be Mae. Welcome to Dubai.” He bows his head the slightest degree, and I return the greeting. Another man, this one wearing a tuxedo and not the traditional thawb Faheem wears, approaches with a gold tray holding two champagne glasses.
“I am Nour Al Deen,” he introduces himself. “Your personal butler. Should you need anything, Ms. Ellison, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You must excuse us, Mae,” Faheem apologizes. “The sheikh would like to see Damon before the ball tomorrow night. Nour will show you to the Royal Suite, where I trust you’ll be most comfortable.”
I thank them both again as Damon turns to me, wearing a look of regret. “I’m sorry, Mae. This won’t take long.”
He needn’t apologize.
“It’s okay,” I reassure. “Do your thing. I’ll entertain myself.”
He cocks an eyebrow and fights a smile. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulls my body against him, and the two men turn away, granting us privacy.
Damon glances down at me, and I up at him, my hands resting on his hard chest. He whispers, “I’d very much like to watch you entertain yourself, Ms. Ellison.”
The low, delicious rumble of his voice fills me with anticipation. “That can be arranged.”
A kiss grazes my mouth, my eyes fluttering closed at the teasing touch. Damon’s teeth drag over my bottom lip before reluctantly pulling away, leaving me somewhat unsteady on my feet. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart. Don’t start without me.”
~
“To your liking?”
I’ve only ever been in one palace, and that’s the Palace of Versailles during my time abroad studying under Francois Dupont, but the Royal Suite is much on par, just with an Arabian flair.
“It’s stunning and opulent.” I have no doubt I’ll be up close and personal with every corner of the suite when Damon returns, but until then, I feel a little like a fish out of water.
Nour senses my hesitation. “There’s a grazing platter complete with traditional Arabian delicacies.” He points to the large round wooden table, which could comfortably seat all the knights from the realm.
“This is truly incredible, Nour. But I might go for a walk around the hotel so I can enjoy the suite when Damon returns.”
“I understand. Mr. Faheem tells me you’re an artist, and at the moment, we have Dubai’s Art Festival finalists on display on the ground floor. It’s very much worth the visit.”
The only way Faheem would know I’m an artist is if Damon has been discussing me with him. After spending years having my craft and career mocked, it makes my stomach giddy knowing Damon seemingly enjoys talking about it, even to someone I hadn’t yet made introductions with.
“Say no more. That sounds exactly how I’d like to spend the next hour.”
We travel by the private lift, and after bidding farewell, I make my way to the sectioned space for the pop-up gallery, which has at least fifteen paintings exhibited. Ignoring the niggling in the back of my mind hurrying me to finish my own collection, I distract myself by reading a fascinating didactic entitled Repent . Before I can finish delving into the depths of the rotting human psyche, there’s an atmospheric shift. My blood runs cold, and the small hairs on my arm stand on end when I find myself caught in a crosshair.
A face appears in the reflection of the framed glass—Peter’s soulless eyes boring straight into mine. Turning on my heel, I attempt to flee, but his hand circles my wrist, pulling me to a stop and dragging me close until I feel his warm breath irritating my skin.
“What the hell do you want?”
Teeth barred, he inches closer. “For you to come to your fucking senses.”
“I should have come to my senses the day I met you.” I glance down at his death grip, then back to the face I loathe so much. “Now, let go of me, Peter.”
“Not until you and I have had a little discussion.”
I match his aggression. “I’m not ready to discuss anything with you. And I don’t want you touching me. Now … Let. Me. Go.” I yank my arm, but his fingers dig to the bone.
“Get the fuck over yourself for just one second and realize the danger we’re in. The danger you’ve put us in.”
“The only danger right now is you .”
“I swear to God, Mae, now is not the time to be acting the dumb bitch if you want to come out of this alive.”
“You’ve got a funny way of convincing me to talk with you. Insult me some more and see how far you get.”
Peter’s step forward forces me backward until I hit the framed artwork. “You don’t know what these seriously fucked-up men are capable of. I do .”
“I, and most likely the women you paid for sex, didn’t know the seriously depraved shit you were capable of either. Now, get the hell off me.”
“Then heed my warning…” He jostles me back into position, where I’m blocked from seeing past him. “Your boyfriend’s got a mean streak, Mae.”
“Sounds like you’re describing yourself.”
He ignores me, determined to get his point across before it’s too late. “He’s got some pretty fucked-up acquaintances he keeps on payroll to do his dirty work, and I’ve got ten stitches in my asshole to prove it.”
While a part of me is genuinely horrified by that piece of information, it does provide some answers, and I’m forced to bite my bottom lip to stop my satisfaction from showing.
“You find that fucking funny, do you?”
“I do, actually. Because I’ve never been able to hurt you back, Peter. So yeah, you experiencing some pain and discomfort for a change makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy, especially knowing it was Damon who orchestrated it.”
If this conversation were taking place back home, there’s no question about it, I’d be dead. “I look forward to seeing that smile wiped off your face when you realize just how gullible you’re being.”
“The only time I’ve been gullible was in meeting you for the first time.”
“Yeah? Then where’s your passport?” When I can’t answer, my smile is replaced with his. “Just as I thought. He’s also got mine. So do us both a favor, Mae, and find them, so we can get the fuck out of here before we disappear somewhere out in the fucking desert.”
“Damon’s not going to hurt me, Peter. And while I’m shocked at your state, I don’t like you enough to care. So, no, I’m not going to help you in any way, shape, or form. I’d rather he did kill and bury me out in the desert than send me straight back into being your prisoner again.”
“That’s real nice. When did you become such a cunt?”
“Perhaps the time when that’s all you treated me as.”
The way he smirks sends a shiver up my spine, as if the words on the tip of his tongue could inflict a world of hurt. He decides better of it. “That man doesn’t give a flying fuck about you.”
“And, you’re lying to me like you always have. Not one word that’s ever come out of your mouth has ever been the truth.”
“Really? How’s the collection going, honey? Why are you down here looking at art when you should be doing your own? Already resigned yourself to not finishing? Just like I said you wouldn’t. That’s some truth for you.”
“We’re done here.”
Peter’s grip tightens, and he smirks when I wince. “The fuck we are. This is a case of better the devil you know , Mae. Find our fucking passports, and whatever bullshit you wanna discuss can wait until we get home.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. Now, get the hell off me.”
Playing his last card he knows will trump all others, Peter leers with gleeful pity. “ Ten years , Mae.”
“Ten years what? What are you talking about?”
“Your fuckboy cut a rather interesting deal with yours truly on the tarmac. Now, he owns me for ten years.”
Peter’s a destructive force who gets off on watching me navigate the landmines he artfully scatters. But there’s something about his torment this time, which has my blood running cold, particularly because of how notably different Damon was when he returned to collect me from the plane. “Ten years in exchange for what ?”
After reeling me partially in, I’m left to dangle. “Ask him. If he’s man enough, he’ll tell you.”
“You have a real fucking short memory.” An icy tone cuts clean through my husband’s threats, but for Peter, he’s already done. He achieved his objective, and now, as his smile fades, he stands nose to nose with Jason. “The only thing saving you right now is that we’re in a public space.” He points to the foyer couch where Marco sits stony-faced. “In case you made the mistake of thinking we didn’t have eyes on you.”
Despite everything, Peter remains cautiously defiant. “Talking with my wife is my right.”
“Actually, it’s not.” Jason lowers his voice. “As much as I’d love to see Marco serve you another beating, I’m really fucking tired. You know why I’m tired, Peter? I’ll tell you. Because I’ve been up all night delving into your freak show of a life, wondering how a grimy piece of shit like you hasn’t yet been castrated with your tiny, fucking insignificant balls being fed to the dogs.”
Jason is a man of few words, and while I have no idea what he’s referring to, he isn’t holding back in driving his poetic condemnation home.
Marco approaches and takes Peter into his custody. “Are you okay, Mae?”
I nod, unsure what to do or say. There are so many acts at play here, yet I’m stuck somewhere in the interval.
Marco escorts my husband toward the elevator when the fool bravely turns and yells across the busy foyer, “Think about what I said, honey . Think real fucking hard.”
~
DAMON
“Organize extra men to guard outside his door.”
Jason and Marco, wearing matching frowns, have joined me in the living room to discuss the role our extra security team will play. I’d much rather join Mae in the shower upstairs, but this takes priority.
“He’s room-bound until the contract signing tomorrow. He doesn’t step beyond the door before it’s time to leave,” I continue.
“That’s the smartest move,” Jason agrees. “Give him an inch, and the prick will take a mile. He proved us right within seconds of thinking he’d been granted freedom.”
“He’s unstable,” Marco adds. “On the plane, he was muttering to himself for hours. Some incomprehensible gibberish. The only words I could make out were cunt and whore . It took all the strength I had not to crush his windpipe.”
Despite the heavy weight of retribution on my shoulders, I laugh. Marco has taken more lives than I care to count, but he has a heart of gold and the patience of a saint. It’s taken scum like Peter Cooper to bring him to his last nerve. “Perhaps it had something to do with your steel-cap boots.”
“He’s clearly a sucker for punishment. The dumb fuck is too stupid to realize the contract is the only thing keeping him alive.”
Jason clears his throat in warning, and I glance up to find Mae almost at the bottom step. Barefoot and wrapped in a robe, she pads over to us, trepidation in her beautiful big eyes, her pale skin flushed from the hot shower. With three men watching her, she’s nervous. That fucking piss-weak excuse for a husband, without fail, obliterates her confidence whenever he gets close enough.
“Mae?” I prompt, softly.
Faltering, she replies, “I, ah… I need to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
Her gaze flicks between the three of us. “Alone, please.”
I turn to Marco and conclude our discussion. “Have it settled within the hour.”
He nods before passing Mae on his way out. “Sleep well, Mae.”
“You too. Goodnight, Marco.” She manages a beautiful smile for him. They’re like kindred spirits, and I now realize why the two closest people I choose to have in my life, besides Jason, are so similar in nature.
I hold Mae’s gaze as my brother leans in, his voice hushed. “Damon, the next twenty-four hours are crucial for us and her. Make sure she comes out of this alive because it’ll be on your head if she doesn’t.”
My jaw tenses.
She notices.
Jason stands and, with a pointed stare directed at me, he buttons his suit jacket and heads for the door. “Night,” he mutters to Mae, unable to look her in the eyes.
“Goodnight,” she quietly replies, nervously twisting the rope of her robe.
When the door closes for the final time, I stand, hands in my pockets, casually closing the space between us. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” The heavy rise and fall of her chest betray her. She looks torn between wanting to fall into my arms and running far, far away. I wouldn’t blame her if she did.
“It’s about what you said in the car before we boarded the plane.”
“Okay.”
“Were you being truthful?”
The pain in her voice is difficult to hear. “Without a doubt.”
She’s visibly relieved but not yet convinced.
“So, there’s no more blackmail?”
“None.”
“I’m not a bargaining tool?”
“No, you’re not.”
“And you were truthful about the other stuff ?”
“About me wanting you in my life?”
She nods.
I study Mae’s ashen face because she doesn’t know who to trust. I’ve certainly contributed to her insecurities, and only time can heal those wounds. Peter’s interference on the plane and hotel foyer has awakened recent traumas, and in real-time, I watch her regress the way she always does when he opens his damn mouth.
I want the girl who challenges me to be a better person and brings Jason face-to-face with his demons.
I want the girl who held a gun to her husband’s head and desired with every fiber of her being to pull the trigger and end his reign over her fragile life.
I want that girl back.
“Without doubt, Mae, I mean every word.”
She swallows hard. I watch the movement, wanting to run my fingers over her slender neck. Instead, I tilt her face to meet mine. “He’s just trying to get in here,” I say, gently tapping her temple. “To have you question your own thoughts. To have you second-guessing what’s in here .” I tap her chest over her heart. When she doesn’t reply, I continue, “Don’t let him in, Mae. He can no longer control you. You know that, right?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
I brush my lips against hers, feeling the tension ease. She wants more, and I take it as a win that she’s willing to trust. I kiss harder, reinforcing my need for all of her, tasting salty tears and licking her wounds.
Stroking her wet cheek, I regret having to pull away. “Give me ten, sweetheart.”
She mouths, Okay, as my entwined fingers slip through hers, the last point of contact before our lifeline to each other is severed.
I’m ten steps away when I turn to find her back to me, standing as still and silent as a lost ghost. “And Mae?”
With hesitation, she barely turns her head. “Yes?”
“Don’t run from me.”
~
MAE
The moon settles over the vast Arabian Gulf with luminescent streaks spanning the ocean. In the distance, the Adhan sounds, signaling the last call for prayer.
It’s reminiscent of the night he found me on my balcony, watching the impending storm, feeling the whispers of rain. Except this time, there is no storm. At least not on the outside.
“There is nothing on earth more exquisite than what’s in front of me,” his velvety voice rumbles from behind, although I felt him long before because even without saying a word, Damon Shaw consumes every breath of space. He presses against my back, lips traveling a sensitive line down my neck. My head lolls, all thoughts and fears relinquishing to the sensation of him .
Damon unties the robe’s cord and slides it over my shoulders, letting it fall into a heap on the floor. As he pulls away, I’m exposed to his wandering gaze—a gaze of worship and adoration.
“Turn around,” he commands. His tone is synonymous with his desire, and my nipples harden in response. I oblige, meeting his dark, ferocious eyes. With his chest’s heavy rise and fall, his hardened jaw, and his giant cock’s throb, he appears bigger in every way, and it steals my breath. “On the table.”
The knights’ round table.
I imagine them in their full armor, feasting after victory, but not in the same way Damon is about to feast on me.
I climb on top, and when he cocks a brow, I lean back on my elbows and spread my legs.
A low, satisfied growl cuts through the night. “Without a doubt, the prettiest.”
I bite my bottom lip to stop my growing smile.
“But words mean nothing if I can’t show you just how pretty.”
I feel a ripple of delight as Damon kneels before me. His hungry mouth claims my pussy, gliding through with an insatiable appetite. The impact is instantaneous and fierce, and I cry out something incomprehensible. He wraps his arms around my thighs and pulls them against his ravaging mouth, holding me in place when my writhing threatens to pull us apart. I take it all like the wounded animal he’s made me until I feel the climax about to spiral out of control. Sensing my impending release, Damon replaces his mouth on my clit with his thumb and slides in his cock, pushing hard to break through despite how wet I am for him. With a broken scream, I collapse onto my back as the pain of the rough entrance amplifies the pleasure. The rush is immediate, and I come hard over his throbbing cock, gripping the table’s edge as he pounds into me with no remorse.
I’m a quivering mess when he begins a long, slow grind. “Now that there…” he murmurs against my mouth, “… was fucking beautiful.”
With frightening ease, he picks me up off the table, and I wrap my legs tight around his waist. Still inside me and fighting against the gentle roll of my hips, he hisses through his teeth when he takes to the stairs. “Sweetheart, that’s an unfair advantage you have there.”
I kiss his mouth, languidly stroking his tongue with mine. “Maybe I’d like a taste of control.”
Damon’s low growl reverberates between us when he lowers me onto the bed, an enormous, gilded mirror above. “And yet I’ve never felt so out of control since I’ve had you, Mae,” he says as if it’s true, collecting my wrists and pinning them down.
My back arches the moment Damon grinds into me, filling me with his thick cock, but I remain transfixed, watching the ripples of his arm and back muscles in the mirror, his ass flexing the harder he takes me.
“Are you watching me fuck you?” he rasps, biting down my neck.
“Yes.”
“Do you like what you see?”
“God, yes!”
Damon pulls out, flips me onto my stomach with one hand, and brings me to my knees. “Time for me to watch you, sweetheart.”
My eyes meet his in the large wall mirror, perfectly aligned to capture all the wicked things he’s about to do to me. I watch his cock disappear inside my pussy. He groans, deep and guttural, pushing until he can’t go any further. One hand on my hip, the other caressing my back, Damon fucks slow at first, listening to my pained moans until he knows he’s expanded me enough. Each purposeful thrust has me teetering on the edge, and I see his smile form with the sound of my hitching breath.
This man loves to fuck. More importantly, he loves to fuck me.
“Whatever you’re thinking, sweetheart…” he says, reading my face. “You’d be right.”
Then he doesn’t hold back, slamming into me and pulling my hips against his, fucking me senseless. My fingers tear into the bedsheet until my hands become rigid fists. I come without restraint, my pussy gripping his cock so hard, he falters, growling my name while battling with his own orgasm. He recovers but drives harder until I’m a shuddering mess beneath him.
“Jesus, Damon. No more,” I beg, and he laughs, knowing I don’t mean a single word of it.
While kissing a path down my spine, his teeth sink into the flesh of my ass. It hurts only enough to earn my gasp, then a moan when he slides two fingers inside my sensitive pussy, encouraging the roll of my hips in time with each slow thrust.
“More,” I plead, and he obliges by pushing deeper when I fold onto my legs, my face buried into the bed. It’s a vulnerable position to be in, like I’m in heat for him to do as he pleases.
In appreciation, the man behind me grows animalistic, his throaty “Good girl!” sending me just as crazy.
“I want all of you, Damon,” I say, not short of begging. Again, he indulges me, and I’m pulled upright onto my knees, his hand snaking around my throat, holding me in place. This is his favorite position, more so now that he can see me in the mirror. His abs move against my back with every roll of his hips, his cock plunging into my pussy over and over again. Damon sinks low so I’m practically sitting front facing on his lap. His thickly veined arms hold me in place, forcing me down hard on his every thrust until he’s so deep inside me, and I gasp for breath each time I’m filled.
I feel exposed this way, but I’ve never felt more turned on by his control.
By his power and dominance.
Or, by his need to have me .
Two fingers run rhythmic circles over my clit, eager to feel another of my orgasms before he grants his own. The sensation flares goose bumps across my sensitive skin, a warmth spreading inside me when I’m pushed over the edge.
“Damon, I can’t …” The broken scream is of a desperate woman, clawing her nails into the arm of a man who’s determined to be her ruin. “Oh God!” My thighs shake and I come, violently, gripping his cock so hard, he sinks his teeth into my exposed neck to distract himself until I’m done.
When he reduces me to a trembling heap in his arms, Damon expands even thicker and stronger. “Fuck, Mae,” he groans, his lips pressed to my cheek before pumping me with his release.
It’s the most magnificent sight. The sheer desire of someone who will momentarily relinquish all control but only for the right person.
We collapse on the bed, but still, Damon remains inside me, his hard cock going nowhere fast. It throbs, and I writhe against him, enjoying the kisses he trails over my shoulder.
“Sweetheart,” he says, voice deliciously raspy, “I think you’re going to be the death of me.”
~
The sun is starting to rise over the Gulf, and we’re yet to close our eyes. Orange and pink hues slash the sky and filter into the bedroom, coating everything and us in its magnificence. While wrapped in Damon’s protective arms, the rumpled sheet sits loose around our hips. My head rises and falls with his chest, his heart rhythmically beating beneath my ear.
After the second round, I disappeared to clean myself, and when I came back out, pillows and blankets had been arranged by the floor-to-ceiling window. There, and under the hedonistic glow of the moon, Damon Shaw made love to me. He worshiped my body differently than before, his proclamations stirring something profound and inescapable within us.
“I adore you,” he’d said, his mouth traveling from between my thighs, over my stomach and breasts, to my waiting lips. “Every inch, inside and out.”
With every thrust and roll of his hips, I believed him more and more. He kissed the tears from the creases of my eyes and said the one thing I didn’t know I needed to hear. “You’ll have the life you deserve, Mae, I promise.”
That frayed tether tentatively connecting us over the last few weeks is now knotted and uncompromising.
“I’ll fix everything that’s broken,” he murmurs as my nails dig into his shoulders, and I climax.
After years of physical and emotional abuse at the hands of my husband, Damon’s affirmations bind my heart with the same rope Peter would sooner noose around my neck.
“You should get some sleep,” he says, fingers trailing a slow caress over my arm.
“Will you stay with me?” I ask, wanting a few more hours of him all to myself.
He pulls me in tighter against his warm body and kisses the top of my head. “Sweetheart, I’m never leaving your side.”
With his heart rate now slowing like a sigh of contentment, I know he’s all mine, at least for now.