Chapter 20
Seraphina
We spend the rest of the drive in silence.
I stare out at the window, a tangle of contradictory emotions boiling in the pit of my stomach. But none of them is fear. At least, not fear of Damien. The strange thing is, I don’t doubt him anymore. I know he doesn’t want to kill me. And I know he loves me.
I guess it’s kind of fucked up to make the jump from accepting someone doesn’t want to kill you to accepting that they love you. But I’ve never been particularly sane.
Ever since he spoke those words in church—not I do but she does—I realized I did, after all, belong to him.
He owns me. I’m his possession, and people don’t kill their possessions. They take care of them.
I never thought I’d be happy to be taken care of. I’ve always considered myself independent. But I don’t want to be independent with Damien. I want to be powerless. I want him to claim every single part of me.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Where’s the quiet, angry girl who killed two men? I’m turning into a pathetic sap, and the weirdest part is that my mind has finally accepted what my body submitted to a long time ago.
So then, why do I resist him? It makes him furious, and it’s almost as if I want to make him furious.
Just like he wants to make me angry.
I don’t know why he likes making me angry so much, but I know what drives me. And it’s terribly embarrassing.
I defy him because it turns me on.
The thought makes my face flame, and I turn away just as Damien notes my expression with a bemused look. But for once, he doesn’t pry.
Just thinking about the switching he gave me on my hands and breasts makes me wet.
I want to be punished. Not only the floggings during sex. They may be vicious, but that kind of pain has always heightened my arousal. This is something else. I want him to keep me in line. I want to push away, and to be forced back into his arms.
I want to feel that I have no choice. I’m his, no matter what I say. Because I know I’ve built up walls my whole life, and I need him to bring them crashing down.
I sigh, twisting my hands together to feel the burn from the switching. It soothes me, almost as much as his hands stroking my back and my hair.
__
“We’re here.”
It’s dusk by the time Damien opens the car door and helps me out.
I take in our new home, breathless. Against the backdrop of an orange-red forest sprawling over acres of hills stands a large white house, and behind it, a smaller red structure.
A velvety green lawn stretches out toward us, welcoming us in, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m taking a step forward, irresistibly drawn to the place.
“Hold on,” laughs Damien, and he lifts me up effortlessly in his arms. “Let’s do this the right way.”
He looks very different from the man who whipped my hands and breasts earlier for refusing to tell him my secret. He’s cheerful and smiling, and makes no comment about my disobedience. It’s like he’s forgotten it in the happiness of discovering our new home.
I’m aware, as he crosses the lawn holding me snugly, that I can’t smell dirt.
All I can smell is his cedar cologne, his own deep musky scent, and the fresh, clean breeze.
My heart flutters the way it used to, back when springtime rolled around and I was too little to let my hopes get quashed by life.
I’m suddenly full of those hopes again, because now, I know.
He loves me. He wants me. And he’ll never let me go.
I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the delicious feeling, but as we draw nearer to the house, curiosity gets the better of me and I open them again.
The red shutters around the windows match the red roof.
The front door is also painted red, and Damien fumbles in his pocket for the key before unlocking it.
Then he plants a deep kiss on me and crosses the threshold.
I gasp as I take in the house. Not because it’s anywhere near as luxurious as the apartment he once kept me in. But because it feels like home.
The front entrance gives off to a mudroom on one side. On the other, it opens onto a cheerful living room. There’s a brick fireplace, a mantelpiece with a pile of books and unlit candles.
Comfortable-looking couches and chairs surround the fireplace, and thick sheepskins cover the floor.
The door at the back is open just enough to allow me to see rows of bookcases lining the walls, some of them already filled with books, many others empty.
Still carrying me in his arms, Damien gives me a quick tour.
“The kitchen,” he announces, designating a pale-yellow room with shelves lined with pretty blue China and wooden bowls.
“It’s… very different from your apartment,” I comment.
“What can I say?” he chuckles. “You’ve turned me into my worst nightmare. A family man.”
I nestle my head in his chest, wondering if I’ll manage to turn into a family woman.
“Upstairs, the bedrooms,” he adds.
He climbs up a polished wood staircase and gestures to no less than six doors.
“Are we going to have guests?” I blush, already knowing the answer.
“No guests,” he says gruffly. “But kids. Enough to fill all this floor, at least.”
He mounts another set of stairs, and we arrive on the third floor. A small entrance leads into the largest room I’ve ever seen. A bed, which has to be king-sized at least, is set on a raised platform that looks out straight onto a deep blue lake.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I spy a wrap-around balcony with lounge chairs set up facing a lake.
“What do you think?” grins Damien.
I look up at him, speechless.
His smile widens, and he kisses me again, before depositing me on the edge of the bed. Then he begins to explore the room. He tests the sturdiness of the furniture, studies the jacuzzi in the bathroom, goes out to the balcony and looks down.
“Railing’s nice and thick,” he says with an evil smirk.
“Damien!” I gasp.
I still remember the time he punished me while dangling me over the railing of the apartment in Devil Tower. Clearly, he does too.
He returns to the room and kneels down before me. “Let’s play a game,” he teases.
My heart picks up as I look into his eyes. I know that glint of danger. In a past life, I might have been scared, but now, my heart skips a beat.
“What game?”
He straightens up with a grin. “Heads or tails. Heads, you choose where I take you and what I do to you. Tails, I do.” He glances back at the balcony. “And I think I already have my place all picked out.”
I turn a deep red. But before I even have time to answer, he’s taken a quarter from his pocket, and lays it flat on his palm.
The sight of his hand stretched out like that makes me remember what he’s done to mine. I rub my palms, and his eyes follow my involuntary movement, but instead of the twinge of guilt I would expect a normal person to feel, his smile widens.
“If it’s tails, I’ll make your tail smart twice as much as your hands,” he threatens, still grinning.
The coin flips high in the air and lands on the back of his hand. He traps it with his other one, before showing me the coin.
“Well, well,” he says. “Looks like it’s your lucky day.”
My eyes widen. I’d somehow just expected that Damien would be the one to win. He always wins. But the coin has landed on heads.
I haven’t even thought of what my choice would be. My mind draws a blank.
On the bed, missionary style? No, that’s too boring—he’d make fun of me. In the bathtub, standing up? Slippery. And equally boring.
More than anything though, it’s the thought of having to decide that turns me off. It’s like an unwelcome weight on my shoulders. Just as I’ve reached the uncomfortable conclusion that I like my choice being taken away from me, Damien lets me decide.
Reluctantly, I meet his eye. He’s waiting for me to make an impossible decision, his lips twitching as if to say: I know exactly what you’re thinking right now.
“The balcony,” I blurt out.
He raises an eyebrow. Clearly, he hadn’t exactly expected that.
“The balcony,” he repeats. “And what do you want me to do to you?”
“Uhm… what you want.” I flush hotly. “Can you make it hurt?”
He throws his head back and lets out a bark of laughter.
Embarrassment turns to anger, and even though I should really be getting used to his mocking, and learn to repress my reaction, I just can’t help but lash out at him. “And you’ll take off your shirt,” I say.
But that only makes him laugh harder, and I clench my fists as fury seethes in me.
“Anything else?” he says, still shaking with mirth.
Suddenly, I remember his words when I woke up after the fever, and thought he was just a dream. Punch me and find out.
“I want to punch you,” I add, my voice cold and brittle.
His laughter vanishes, and he holds my gaze for an uncomfortably long time. But I never waver, and he seems just as determined as I am.
“Well, come on,” he says, turning toward the balcony door.
“Come on?” I echo, my anger disappearing as fast as his laughter did. Fuck. How the hell am I supposed to punch him? I’ve never punched anyone before. I only know how to… well, stab them.
I chew on my lower lip as I watch him slide open the door.
“Come on out to the balcony. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
His voice is hard, and I follow him out numbly.
“Now,” he says, once he’s closed the balcony door behind him. “Do you want to punch me while I’m dressed or naked?”
“Damien,” I begin, but his face is set in a neutral mask, and I know him well enough to realize he’s angry. And not the kind of anger that leads to a sexy punishment. “Dressed,” I mutter.
“Okay. Go ahead.”
I keep my hands at my side, turning my face so I’ll look anywhere but at him. But he takes a few steps toward me, standing over me threateningly.
“Go ahead,” he insists.
I can tell it’s a command, and I have a feeling that disobeying won’t get me anywhere. Swallowing my anxiety, I lift a feeble hand up and land such a weak punch on his chest that it’s barely more than a caress.
He snorts. “Is that the best you can do?”