Chapter Thirty-Five
Alana
I don’t hear the door open when Damion arrives, and my nostrils don’t flare with the woodsy spice of his cologne that already lingers here and there and almost everywhere. This place envelopes me in him, and that alone is enough to call it home.
It’s the essence of Damion, but nothing is better than the real-life man.
I’m standing at the kitchen island, stuffing a chocolate éclair in my mouth, when he’s suddenly in view. Butterflies overwhelm my belly and flutter about, as if I’m a schoolgirl in the presence of her crush. I’m suddenly acutely aware of both my mouth full of donut, and him looking gorgeously male in a pinstriped suit, an air of arrogance and hotness clinging to him, far more delicious than my breakfast. If I were trying to impress him, of course, a mouthful of pastry, as well as the smudge of chocolate I feel on my face would not be the way to do it. But then, I’m not, I don’t have to impress him at all. This man has seen me with my hair standing on end and no make-up many times over, and he still wanted to marry me.
“Hi,” I say, grabbing a napkin to wipe the dollop of chocolate away. “How’d it go?”
He glances at Candace and says, “Hi, Candace. Nice to meet you, and I appreciate what you’re doing, but can I steal my future wife for a few moments?”
“Of course,” Candace says quickly. “I’ll go.” She eyes me and points at the door. “I’ll check on you later, Alana.”
“I’d love that,” I say. “Thank you for everything, Candace.”
She leans around the counter and hugs me, whispering for my ears only, “I do believe he wants to eat you, not the donuts.” Her smile presses against my neck, while heat rushes to my cheeks. “Savage will give you my number,” she adds, releasing me, and then she’s gone, heading toward the door.
Damion closes the space between me and him and captures my hand. “Come with me.”
He’s already walking, tugging me behind him, and toward the bedroom. “Don’t you have to go to the office?”
“Later,” he replies, and the next thing I know, we’re in the bedroom, and he’s shutting the door, planting me in front of it as if he expects intruders.
As if reading my mind, he explains, “Savage knows no boundaries. I don’t trust him not to walk in on us.”
“I think Candace has him under control. She’s his wife.”
His hand plants on the wall next to me. “Like you control me?” His voice is a low rumble from deep in his chest, the words seeming to vibrate with far more than their obvious meaning.
My brows dip. “Do I?”
“In ways no one else ever could.” He pauses a beat. “You said you loved me earlier.”
“Ah, yes. Because I do, silly man. What is this?”
His hand slides to my face and then under my hair to cup my neck, curling me into him. “I failed to tell you how damn much I love you. So much that it practically hurts at times.”
The warmth of his body seeps through our clothes, and my lips curve as I tease, “I hope that means it hurts so good.”
His mouth closes over mine, his tongue a silken swoosh of seduction mixed with the distinct taste of desperation, as if he feels he’s losing me. As if he feels he has to walk away. I tear my mouth from his, panting with the demands of my body and his, fighting for rational thought, and point at his chest. “No. You are not leaving.”
“No,” he says. “I’m not leaving.” He loosens his shoulders and shrugs out of his jacket, almost as if he’s answering my fears and telling me he’s staying. He reaches for my mouth, his lips brushing mine, but I press against him. “Why did that kiss just taste like goodbye? Why, Damion? ”
His free hand slides up my lower back and molds me closer, hip to hip, the thick pulse of his erection throbbing against me. “Do I feel like I’m going anywhere ever again?” His mouth closes over mine, devouring me, my toes curling with the impact, but I still feel the tug of fear of the unknown.
“Damion,” I whisper against his lips.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby. It’s you and me against the world. It’s always been just you and me, even with an ocean between us. I didn’t want to leave this morning. I want a redo. I want to make love to you the way I should have before you ever got out of bed. Yes?”
My heart squeezes with the rough intensity, and the gravity of his emotion etched in his voice. “Yes,” I whisper.
His lips caress mine. Soft, then firm. Then crushing, mouth to mouth, passion sizzling in the slice of tongue that follows. I sink into the kiss, the heat of his body locked beneath his clothes, and I tug at his shirt, pulling the front of his waistband. He yanks his tie free and tosses it aside, and it’s a matter of moments before his shirt follows.
Mine goes next, and in an instant, I’m free. I wrap my arms around him, warm skin and taut muscles beneath my touch and against my skin, my chin tilting to meet his stare. “Even the four-year-old me knew you’d be hot when you grew up.”
A low rumble of sexy masculine heat in the depths slides from his lips, and he leans in and kisses me. “And the sixteen-year-old me had many thoughts about the girl next door, and all of them involved you and me with nothing between us.” He toes off his shoes and presses me against the door, deft fingers unhooking the clasp between my breasts, his hot gaze a rasp over my breasts, my nipples. His fingers tease the stiff peaks, and I feel that touch between my legs, my sex clenching, wet and slick, aching for him. “You have no idea how many fantasies I’ve had about you over the years,” he continues, the look in his eyes pure wicked, as he ponders, “I wonder what you fantasized about?”
“You,” I admit easily. “Of course, you.”
His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Tell me.”
I laugh nervously, not about to reveal all, though I wasn’t experienced enough to be too exciting. “I was young. A kiss was a fantasy back then.”
He accepts that answer far easier than expected. “And now?”
“I’m already living the fantasy.”
“Oh, come on, baby. You know that’s not what I mean. What—”
I push to my toes and kiss him. “Everything you can possibly imagine.”
“That’s a lot, baby. You sure about that?”
I grin and don’t mind a challenge one little bit. “Try me.”
He scoops me up and carries me to bed, planting me in the center, and comes down on top of me, the weight of him deliciously erotic. His elbows plant on either side of me, and he says, “I’ll be gentle.”
My lips curve. “Don’t be.”