Chapter 24
The room is quiet, but still humming with sexual energy.
Damien backs away, placing a soft kiss on the right side of my ass, and a lazy smile curves my lips. He strokes his palm there next, before running a finger down my pussy, catching a drizzle of his cum as it seeps from my slit.
“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful,” he groans, and the compliment turns my smile into quiet laughter.
“My used, cum-soaked vagina is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
It startles me when he pushes the finger into me this time, but I don’t pull away, feeling inclined to let him touch me however he pleases.
“I’d never lie to you,” he promises, but it feels loaded. Like these words apply beyond this moment.
I lie there lazily, still with my ass pointed skyward as I think on his declaration. He stands and removes his pants the rest of the way, but pulls his boxers back to his waist before returning to bed. He playfully topples me onto my side, then pulls me close as his tall frame curves to fit perfectly behind me. My eyes settle on his wrist where he’s still wearing my hair tie, and I don’t realize I’m smiling until a kiss warms the back of my shoulder.
“I should probably shower,” I say, lacking any real motivation to do so, but being covered in both our bodily fluids makes at least a quick rinse necessary.
“Don’t even think about it,” he protests, kissing my shoulder again. “I want you filthy.”
When he squeezes tighter, it becomes clear I’m not allowed to leave. My finger trails the back of his hand where he holds me, remembering the scar when the heat of his chest warms my back.
“You said something before that I didn’t really think meant much until tonight. I can’t remember your exact words, but you implied that… we knew each other. Before this.”
He’s silent behind me, offering no clarity.
“Was that true? Did I misunderstand?”
He hasn’t let me go, but I’m aware of the vibe shifting a little.
“You understood perfectly,” he says, but that’s it. He doesn’t offer anything more.
“So, what’s it all mean?”
My question lingers in the air so long I’m not certain he intends to answer, but when he takes a breath, I hold my own.
“It means there was an ‘us’ before now,” he says, and I feel tension spreading in my brow. “Which is why I didn’t need directions here tonight.”
I swallow deeply and my heart races, listening as he finally opens up.
“Years ago, when your dad used to see patients from the house, I was here almost weekly.”
The tension I felt spreads as I rack my brain, trying to jog my memory. Back then, I was living in the main house, and it wasn’t uncommon to cross paths with my father’s patients on occasion. So, if Damien visited weekly, I feel like I should remember him.
But then, as my eyes flit to the bottles on my nightstand, awareness sets in.
I don’t remember him because his memory faded into the abyss of my dark years, the years an ill-fitting med plan stole from me. Years I’ll likely never get back.
“I don’t… I can’t remember,” I admit, noting the hint of shame in my voice. “I wasn’t well back then, and—”
His fingers lace with mine. “You don’t have to explain. I know.”
I’m both surprised and relieved to hear this.
“Did you meet my mother?”
The question is twofold. On one hand, I’m trying to nail down the timeframe in which our paths crossed, but I’m also trying to see just how fucked up he knows my life is.
“I did,” he says with a sigh. “Although, I only met her twice, and both times, it was brief. She seemed kind from what I recall.”
I nod against the pillow, hiding that I’m crying a little, which seems to always happen when I engage in any sort of deep conversation about my past.
“She was, mostly. That is, until she wasn’t.”
I’m taken back to that night, remembering how she danced and sang with that wicked smile on her face as she twirled in my father’s blood.
My eyes slam shut, and Damien’s arms tighten around me. Like he senses that I’m not quite as okay as I’m pretending to be.
“So, we knew one another,” I sigh, discreetly swiping more tears away. “But that doesn’t explain why you carved your skin like that.”
He hesitates again, so I lie still, completely silent while he thinks.
“We were young. I was twelve at the time, and you were maybe ten, but we were good friends,” he says. “Which was a big deal for me. Believe it or not, I was kind of a weird kid.”
I smile when he laughs, enjoying how his body moves against mine.
“But I suppose just saying you were a good friend isn’t entirely accurate. You were actually my only friend,” he admits. “You were the first girl who saw the real me and didn’t run in the other direction. And… I think that’s why I fell in love with you.”
I arch a brow. “You think you knew what love was at twelve?”
“Maybe not, but whatever it was, it turned into more over the years as I thought about you, as I remembered how you made me feel seen. Accepted.”
“What made you come back?”
A flash of one of his victims startles me, so I close my eyes, hoping to blink it away. Eventually, it works, and I’m able to focus on him again.
“That answer is a bit more complicated and should probably wait for another day.”
“Why?”
His silence returns, and I get the feeling he didn’t expect me to pry, didn’t expect me to dig quite so deep.
“Because my wellbeing isn’t all that’s at stake,” he says. “There are others who depend on me, and if I say too much…”
“Others?” I ask, cutting him off as my brow gathers.
I expect him to elaborate, but his only explanation is, “Yes. Others.”
There’s a chill to his tone that wasn’t there before, and I get the sense that he’s protecting something, or maybe just these others he speaks of. I’m reminded of conversations I’ve overheard at the station, where the detectives have been suspicious the killings aren’t the work of just one man. Perhaps, this is a hint that those theories weren’t completely wrong.
“A conversation for another day?”
His chin brushes my shoulder when he nods. “I think that’d be best.”
“Okay,” I sigh, sensing that he might shut down if I push too much. So, I inch closer, curving my body deeper into his. For now, what he’s shared is enough.
Despite what he may be thinking, my declaration still stands. I’m not afraid of him. Realizing we’re more deeply connected than I knew only adds another layer of comfort. No matter who’s run away from him in the past, this is different.
I’m different.
His assessment of how I felt as a child wasn’t far off from the present. It still rings true that I see him—the real him—and it changes nothing. Saying this, accepting him as he is, I’m aware of what it means. That traces of the blood on his hands has now transferred onto mine.
My soul—which has always been a touch darker than most—is now a reflection of his, the beast who, as of tonight, has sworn his unwavering devotion. And through my actions over the past several weeks—my silence, my protection of his identity, despite all he’s done… I’d unknowingly done the same.