Chapter 20
DAMIAN
Ipark down the street from the gambling recovery center, the December dark creeping in early. Some Christmas carol singers walk by on the sidewalk. A whole group of them with Santa hats on, laughing, letting a few notes peel into the late afternoon as they disappear around a snowy corner.
The Family has set up guards around the center. People designed not to look like guards, dog walkers who linger too long, a man working on a car that was there the last time I swung by, before the attack.
Before my best friend betrayed me.
I grind my teeth, an ache splitting down the middle of my skull. Maybe it’s hypocritical. But there’s a big difference between giving in to lust and planning a hit.
My world feels like it’s burned to the core. All good things razed. More than my face is scarred now.
I stare at the center, wondering if I should just make a move, go in there packing and ready to kill. But without knowing what I’m walking into, it’s too dangerous. Not just for me, but for any innocent in there caught in the crosshairs.
Even sitting in my car is a risk. One of the Family members might spot me. I might’ve missed a guard when I approached the building.
Whatever is in there, it’s the reason my best friend was hired to kill me. It’s the reason several men are now in the dirt. It’s the reason I’m the Beast in more than nickname.
I start my engine. Drive away.
It’s been hours since Julian and Celine left. I told her to go because she’s the only one who can make me feel any better about this. She’s the only one who can shine a light on this expanding darkness.
I don’t want that. Don’t need it. That’s what I tell myself.
It’ll just make me weak.
There’s something else too.
I feel bad about Julian. I hate it. This feeling twisting through me, the word traitor whispered darkly in my mind. I shouldn’t give a damn about him after what he did. But I do. He’s always been there for me. Kept me sane and safe after my parents died.
If Celine comes back, I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist her. I won’t be able to stop myself from feasting on her.
She’s too damn perfect.
I drive through the city, wishing I had a contact to hunt down. Someone to fight, someone to hurt, someone to kill. But I’ve run out of options. I’ve learned nothing useful except that the gambling center is at the heart of it all. Even Rico wouldn’t spill its secrets.
That means it comes from the Don. I think about calling Agent Thomas Keane, the man who’s helped me several times before. Without him, I never would’ve had back-channel access to witness protection for the people I’ve saved.
But I have nothing concrete.
Parking out back, I look at my house, the grimy windows, the dilapidated looking exterior. Just like me, except I’m broken on the inside too.
I’ve never been one for self-pity. Guess there’s a first time for everything.
I go inside. Stop the moment I’m through the door. Something’s wrong… it’s not anything specific, more like a shift in the air, my subconscious alerting me to something my conscious mind isn’t fully aware of.
I take out my gun and stalk through the house, instincts alert, ready, hungry even. If they’ve finally found me and chosen today of all days to hit me, they’re in for a world of hurt.
At the bottom of the stairs, I pause. A floorboard creaks upstairs.
I move silently, gun ready. Head tilted to listen for the smallest change in the sound.
It’s coming from Celine’s room…
The guest room, I correct myself. Not her room.
She screams when she sees me holding the gun, throwing her hands up. “Damian – it’s me!”
“What are you doing back here?” I growl, lowering the gun.
She flinches, looking wounded. And I feel like an ass. “Hello to you too,” she says. “What does it look like? I’m getting my stuff.”
Her suitcase is open on the bed.
“Does Julian know you’re here?”
She chews her lip guiltily. “When we got to his apartment, he drank himself into a stupor.”
“How did you even get in here?”
Another guilty look. “On the way out, I swiped the spare key from the bowl. Are you going to put that thing down?”
I place the gun on the dresser. Celine has changed into a pair of torn jeans and a form-hugging sweater. We only had sex for the first time around seven hours ago, but my body aches just looking at her.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she murmurs, sitting on the bed.
I lean against the wall. As far from her as I can get without leaving the room. My body aches for her closeness, her comfort.
“How are you doing?” she murmurs.
“Great,” I grunt.
“Don’t close up on me,” she says.
“Closing up is the only way I’m going to be able to deal with this, Celine.”
“No more nicknames?”
I grit my teeth. My jaw throbs. “We let it go too far. You know we did.”
She stands and walks toward me. The closer she gets, the flimsier my defenses feel.
“I know,” she whispers. “But I still want to check if you’re okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat, shaking my head. “Not sure what that means anymore. If I’m ever going to be ‘okay’ again.” I sigh. “But dammit, it doesn’t matter. You don’t need to listen to me whine.”
“You’re not whining, Damian,” she whispers, placing her hand on my chest. “You’re feeling, and that’s okay.”
I touch her hand, telling myself it’s to push her away. But then I feel her warmth, and my body grows weak. My resolve shatters.
I tug on her wrist, pulling her against me.
“This is why you can’t be here,” I snarl, taking her shoulders and spinning her so she’s against the wall. “I can’t resist you, Snowflake, can’t even try.”
“Then stop trying,” she whispers.
Somehow, I take a step back. I’m shaking all over.
“You need to leave,” I tell her. “You shouldn’t have come here alone. If they find you—”
“We don’t even know if I’m a target, Damian. You’re being too careful.”
“There’s no such thing as too careful when it comes to you,” I snap. “If something happened to you…”
When my voice breaks, she rushes across the small distance and presses her body against mine. Everything inside me implodes, all my resolve melting away, hunger rioting inside me as though we didn’t have sex less than a workday ago.
I grab her again. Harder this time. More possessive. Push my lips against hers and feel her heart pounding against me, lust burning inside of her. I lift her off her feet, her legs wrapping around me like we choreographed this.
She bites my lip. Moans. It’s the bite that stops me. She tugs at the place Julian hit, drawing me back to that moment, the memory punching with an impossible-to-ignore significance.
I put her down, pulling away. This time, I take more steps back, retreating to almost the other side of the room.
“I just want to make you feel better,” she murmurs. “Is that so bad?”
“It’s the opposite of bad,” I snarl. “You’re…” I shudder. “Before you, Celine, I didn’t think I’d ever experience anything like this. Maybe for other men, normal men, some decorating and a Christmas flick wouldn’t mean much. To me, it means…”
Everything.
“But there’s too much standing between us.”
Her shoulders slump. She turns away, giving me a view of her thick ass in those jeans. Giving me a view of the sad twist of her mouth.
I rush toward her again, driven by something I can’t control, don’t want to control.
We kiss again, with more passion this time. She pushes me back against the bed. I collapse heavily and move to pull her into my lap. Even if I know it’s wrong. Even if I know I have to stop.
But before I can pull her into my lap, she slides between my legs. Kneels on the floor and looks up at me with those perfect pouting lips.
“What are you doing?” I groan, my voice a rasp.
The confidence in her eyes is stunning. She slides her hands up my legs. “I want to make you feel better, Damian…”
“Oh, fuck.”
Tell her to stop, man.
I need to.
I can’t.
She tugs at my jeans and my briefs, freeing my cock. Thick, hard urgency springs up, my shaft swollen with desire, my balls aching. She strokes her hand up and down my base, twists her palm in a warm motion. My end is already leaking hot precome.
She moans as she strokes.
“Rub yourself,” I snarl.
“Like… this?”
She slips her hand between her legs. Rubs at the outside of her jeans. Soft at first, but then harder, moaning as she brings her mouth to kiss my head.
Stop her, stop her, stop her—
She has all the power here. More power than anyone has ever had over me.
She brings my tip to her lips and sucks it softly, swirling her tongue in tempting circles. I groan as I stare down at her, hair messy, cheeks red, confidence blazing from every inch. She bobs her head up and down, making beautiful muffled moaning noises as she goes as deep as she can on my shaft.
She strokes the rest of me. Eyes open the whole time, staring up, seeing the effect she has on me. Even with my dick in her mouth, she’s smiling like she knows who’s the boss in this moment.
I grip the sheets as her tempo grows faster, her hand working so fast I can already feel the release swelling up inside of me. It’s like I haven’t erupted in days, not hours.
She slows down, kisses my tip. “Is it wuh-working?” She moans, her hand still busy between her thick, glorious thighs. “Do you feel better?”
“Hmm,” I groan, the only noise I can produce. I make more effort. “Fuck. Yes.”
She goes fast again, pumping her hand on my base, sucking my head. I stare between our bodies at her hand, busily rubbing between her legs. As my seed rushes up inside of me, she gasps and creams in her jeans. Her whole body quakes as I explode into her mouth.
There’s a moment of hesitation. Is she going to swallow? Then she slips her hand into her jeans, finds her wet pussy, and draws more pleasure out of herself as her throat shifts in time with the flow of my release.
Afterwards, I fall back. Breathing hard. World spinning like it’s never going to settle.
She stands, wipes her mouth, and looks at me with confusion in her eyes.
“I didn’t plan on doing that,” she whispers, as if she can’t believe the effect we have on each other.
“I know the feeling,” I snarl, standing and walking around her. I give her a wide berth because, even though my manhood has wilted, I know I’ll be ready to take her again in no time at all.
“Get your things,” I go on. “Then I’ll give you a ride home. After—”
“Don’t say anything we can’t come back from,” she cuts in.
She’s right. I sigh, nod. “Tomorrow can take care of itself. But we need to respect Julian’s wishes. This is already messier than we ever should’ve let it get.”
She sighs… and then nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess we should try.”
Neither of us wants to.
Both of us have to.