Chapter 13 Viviana
I wake up alone.
The bed beside me is cold, which means Damon's been gone for a while.
I can hear the shower running in the attached bathroom, and for a moment I just lie there, processing the fact that I'm naked in his bed, sheets tangled around my legs, and everything between my thighs aches in a way that's entirely new.
I had sex with Damon Lombardi.
The thought should probably terrify me. Instead, it sends heat racing through me that I try very hard to ignore.
I sit up carefully, wincing at the unfamiliar soreness, and look around for my clothes. They're scattered across the floor where we left them last night, my shirt by the window, my shorts near the door.
I need to get dressed and get out of here before he finishes his shower. Act like nothing's changed. Maintain the casual attitude we agreed on last night.
Even though everything feels different now.
I'm pulling on my shirt when the bathroom door opens and Damon emerges, hair damp from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. He stops when he sees me getting dressed, and his eyes do that thing where they take inventory of my entire body.
"Leaving already?" His tone is carefully neutral.
"Just getting dressed." I try to match his tone. "Didn't want to make things weird by hanging around."
He moves to his dresser, pulling out clothes. "What would you expect if you stayed?"
"Nothing."
"How are you feeling?" he asks, pulling on a shirt.
"Fine. Ready to get back to normal."
I take a step toward the door and can't quite hide the wince when pain shoots through me. Damon notices immediately.
"You're hurt."
"I'm just sore," I say, heat flooding my cheeks. "It's normal."
"Bullshit. Did I hurt you last night?"
"No, of course not."
"Then why are you walking like someone who's never been fucked before?"
The crude words hit me like a slap. "I'm fine. Anyone who has sex gets sore sometimes."
He leans against his dresser, arms crossed, studying me with those dark eyes. "When's the last time you had sex before last night?"
I scramble for something believable. "A few months ago."
"Who with?"
"Does it matter?"
"Hell yeah, it matters. Because if you're this sore after a few months, then either he was doing something very wrong, or you're lying to me."
"I'm not lying," I insist.
"Then what's his name?"
"I'm not giving you a name! It's none of your damn business."
Damon pushes off from the dresser, moving closer. "I think there was no guy. I think you made him up."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? Because everything about last night told me you'd never been with a man before.
" His tone is matter-of-fact, like he's stating an obvious truth.
"The way you tensed when I touched you. The way you gasped when I pushed inside you.
The way you looked at me like you'd never felt anything like that before. "
My face burns with embarrassment and anger at being called out. "Maybe you're better than he was."
"Nice try. But we both know there was no other guy." He steps closer until I'm backed against the wall. "I know you were a virgin."
The words hang in the air between us like an accusation.
"That's not true," I whisper.
"Prove it then. Tell me one thing this guy taught you. One technique, one position, anything that would prove you learned about sex from someone else."
I stare at him, my mind completely blank. Because what could I possibly say? I don't have enough experience about sex to make up a convincing lie.
"I don't have to prove anything to you," I say finally.
"You're right. You don't. But the fact that you can't tells me everything I need to know."
"You're being an asshole."
"Yeah, I am." He places his hands on either side of my head, trapping me against the wall. "You want to know why? Because you lied to me. Because you let me think you knew what you were doing when you didn't. Because I could have hurt you."
"You didn't hurt me."
"I was rough with you, Viviana. I fucked you like you were experienced. If I'd known you were a virgin..."
"What? You wouldn't have touched me?"
"I would have been more careful. Gone slower."
"I didn't want you to be careful."
"That's not the point. The point is that being someone's first means something. Whether you want it to or not."
"It doesn't mean anything," I shake my head. "It's not a big deal."
"It means you're mine now."
The words are said so simply, so matter-of-factly, that it takes me a moment to process them. When I do, my stomach flips.
"I'm not yours."
"Yes, you are. In my world, taking a woman's virginity makes her yours. Especially when that woman is Roberto Bonacci's daughter."
"I'm not a prize to be claimed."
"Aren't you. You gave me something you can never give anyone else. That makes you mine."
"That's archaic and possessive—"
"And true," he interrupts. "If this was just casual sex, if being with me doesn't mean anything, then why are you still here arguing with me instead of walking away?"
I open my mouth to respond, then close it. Because he's right. If this really meant nothing to me, I would have left already.
"That's what I thought," he says quietly.
"This doesn't mean I'm yours."
"Then prove it. Leave. Walk out that door. Go back to your room and pretend this never happened."
We stare at each other, and I sense the challenge in his dark eyes. He's calling my bluff, making me prove that I can walk away from him.
The problem is, I don't want to walk away.
"I can't," I whisper.
"Why not?"
"Because it did mean something."
"Not good enough, princess. If you want to stay in this room, if you want to keep playing this game, you need to be honest with me. About why you lied. About what last night really meant to you. About what you want from me."
I take a shaky breath. "I want you to want me again."
"I already do, but you can barely walk."
"Then why are you being such an ass about this?"
"Because you lied to me, and I don't like being lied to. Because if we're going to do this again, we're doing it honestly."
"Do what again?"
"Fuck," he says bluntly.
The crude word makes heat pool low in my belly. "Is that what you want?"
"Among other things. I want to find out what else you haven't done. I want to teach you things. Everything, slowly, taking my time. I want to be the only man who ever touches you."
"That's possessive."
"Yeah, it is."
"I should hate that."
"But you don't," he states with certainty.
"No," I admit. "I don't."
"Good. Because like it or not, Viviana, you're marked as mine now. And I don't share."
The possessiveness in his voice should probably scare me. Instead, it sends a thrill through me that I can't deny.
"So what happens now?" I ask.
"Now you stop lying to me."
"And then?"
His smile is dark, dangerous. "Then I show you what it means to belong to someone like me."
And despite everything, despite the possessiveness, despite the fact that this is probably the most dangerous thing I could do – I want to find out.
I want to belong to him.
Even if it destroys me.