by Tempest Phan
When reality set back in, I was safely ensconced in his arms, my head against his heart as he softly stroked my hair. I could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart. I loved him. Always had. He made me feel cherished in a way that was completely indescribable.
My mind ran back to all the times he’d been there for me, all the times he’d protected me, stood up for me, in ways big and small.
How could this not be love?
“Thank you for giving me your first time,” he said finally, breaking the silence.
“I didn’t give it to you. It was always yours,” I said softly, surprised by the truth in these words. Of course it—I—had always been his. To deny this had been futile.
He averted his eyes.
“I never knew I could feel like this,” I continued.
He kissed me on the head. “Yeah, me neither.” His voice was soft, so soft.
I turned my head. “Really?”
He smiled his lopsided, self-deprecating smile. “Really. Not with a single one of them.” He rubbed his eyes with the heel of the hand that wasn’t holding me, caressing me. “Not ever, Bella. I don’t know how to explain it, but with you, it’s like coming home.”
I shifted up on my elbow to look down at him. His eyes were no longer a turbulent blue. While his lips were set in a grim, resigned line, his eyes had lost the desperate edge I’d glimpsed in them earlier. It was as if he had come to terms, with this, with me. With us.
But I knew better.
I traced the ornate B on his chest, my heart seizing at what this meant, had always meant.
His voice was whispers and crushed silk. “My first tattoo.”
I tilted my head. “Your very first tattoo was a B? Your first tattoo was for me?”
He smiled. “Yes, you were my first, Bella Davenport.” He winked at me. I smiled back, loving his silliness, but also, secretly loving what that meant even more.
Then he exhaled loudly and slowly before he pushed himself up.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, bending to grab his boxer briefs on the floor before walking toward my bathroom. I heard water running and when he came back, he’d put his boxers back on and was carrying a damp washcloth. Gently, so gently I could cry, he wiped all traces of my virginity from me. He set the cloth down and laid next to me under the covers. He pulled me back into his embrace.
“I won’t be there, so be careful how many you let close to you, ok? Guys can be such pricks. They’ll do and say anything to get into your pants,” he choked out. His voice sounded funny.
I didn’t want anyone else inside my pants. I just wanted him. The sorrow and loss of it all hit me with a force. But there couldn’t be a him and me. Even now, I knew I hadn’t broken through his wall. Dame and me, it wouldn’t, couldn’t work because he wouldn’t let it. And I was running out of time. I started to cry again, tears silently streaming down my face.
He must have felt them because he hugged me closer, kissing my hair, and then raining kisses on my face as if he could kiss away all my tears.
“Please don’t cry, baby girl. I can’t stand seeing you cry. Especially not over me, especially not because of me. Please, baby.”
I looked up into his eyes, unable to stop the tears. “I’m sorry, Dame. So sorry. I can’t help it. I’m going to miss you so much. Just let me cry a little, and then I’ll be ok.” I buried my face into his chest and continued to sob. Stupid, stupid girl. Falling in love with the guy who was too broken to see that he was meant to be with you.
I cried myself to sleep. When I awoke, Damien was looking at me.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” I replied, reaching out to run my fingers lightly down his cheek. “What time is it? How long was I out?”
“It’s one in the morning.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“No. I just watched you sleep. You’re beautiful, baby girl. So damn beautiful.”
He softly brushed back the hair from my face. I caught his hand and pressed it to my cheek.
“Do you remember that night when you came back, Dame?”
“How could I forget? When I saw you come down those stairs, I forgot how to breathe. You were everything I’d imagined you’d be whenever I thought of you all grown up, but somehow, more. And I was so worried you’d push me away, punishing me for my silence all those years.”
“I never stopped caring for you, Dame. There wasn’t a day when I didn’t think of you. I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”
He shook his head, like my words made absolutely no sense to him, and so I grabbed his neck and pulled him into another kiss. It was long and deep, and suddenly, I wanted him again.
“Make love to me, Dame,” I whispered against his lips. The words seem to electrify him and I felt him thicken. With a low growl, he grabbed me, as he started to kiss my neck, his hands exploring every inch of my body. As with everything else, Damien was a generous lover. I pushed him away from me slightly until he was on his back. I wanted to take care of him, for once, to have him receive instead of always being the one to give. I straddled him and my eyes never leaving his, I started to kiss him on his chest, taking my time sucking on his nipples the way he’d done to me. He moaned and I reveled in my newfound power. I traveled down, kissing his six pack, my hand caressing the chiseled V disappearing inside his boxers. I pulled down on them as he raised his hips to help me.
His cock was huge, straining against my hand. I caressed it gently, as his breath became shallower. Such fascinating strength, length. Such power to give pleasure.
I took him into my mouth and he groaned.
“Oh, fuck baby. Fuck.”
I didn’t really know what I was doing, just took my cue from his moans. I sucked on him, up and down, before taking the length of him deep into my mouth.
“I can’t, baby girl. I can’t . . .” His voice was a shade darker, and he suddenly grabbed me off him. He put on a wrapper and then grabbed me by the waist to pull me on top. Impaling me in one swift move. The suddenness of the invasion, the hint of pain amid the intense pleasure, made me gasp and I shut my eyes.
He stayed below me, nearly motionless save for his trembling. There was a tremor in his voice when he said, “Oh God, Bella. Bella, Bella. You’re everything. My fucking everything.”
I felt him reach up to sweep the strands of stray hair that had fallen over my face, tucking them tenderly behind my ear. “Open your eyes, baby. Open your eyes for me. I want to look at you when I make you come, this time,” he growled softly as he lost himself in me, as I lost myself in him.
“I love you, Dame,” I whispered as I began to grind and rock against him, slowly at first, until he took control and thrusted upwards in rapid strokes into me, my own hips pushing back toward him, as I followed his new rhythm and rode him frantically. My eyes held his in a stare like he’d asked me to, looking, looking until we both broke wide open in a burst of raw emotions.
No, there will never be anyone else for me, my Damien James Mortensen.
***
The alarm went off at eight. Damien was still slumbering next to me. I looked at him, at his beautiful face, the chiseled planes softened by sleep. He looked so young sleeping almost peacefully next to me, his ridiculously long and lush lashes fanned out against his cheeks. I ran a finger along his full lips, fighting the urge to kiss him. He moved slightly.
Why wouldn’t he accept that we were meant to be? I wanted to fall asleep in his arms and wake by his side—just like this—every single morning of every single day for the rest of my life. But he wouldn’t let us be. I felt the tears fall again and angrily wiped them away.
And how would I ever be able to change his mind, with thousands of miles between us?
Gently, as to not wake him, I got out of bed and headed to the shower. I paused to look at myself in my bathroom mirror. I noticed the love bites, small pinkish red bruises he’d left on my neck, my breasts, my thighs. He’d marked my whole body as his.
B
ecause it was.
Because I was.
Would always be.
Heart heavy, I realized this was it. I let the hot water pour down over me, hoping it would wash away my heartache. I heard the bathroom door open, and Damien stood before me, his hair an adorable mess, his eyes bleak. Without a word, he stripped off his boxers and stepped into the shower with me.
“Baby doll, I need to taste you one more time,” he whispered, his voice dark and breaking. “One last time.”
He didn’t give me time to answer as his mouth came down to claim mine hungrily. His tongue sought mine, tasting, teasing. Suddenly, he knelt down and started to lick me, sucking on my clit before his tongue found its way in. I whimpered in pleasure but this wasn’t how I wanted it. I wanted him in, filling every space and gap inside of me, but he wasn’t listening. Instead, he continued eating me out until I came hard, my hands gripping his hair, tight, my knees buckling under me, until he caught me and gently held me in his arms.
But I wanted more, and he still hadn’t found his release. “I want you deep inside of me,” I gasped.
“I can’t, baby. I don’t have any protection.”
“I trust you,” I said simply, knowing full well that I was throwing caution to the wind. But at that point, I didn’t care. I just wanted him, all of him, to be mine for however many minutes of heaven I could find in his arms, before I left him behind. I saw indecision fighting in his eyes, saw the exact second when his steel-eyed judgment won over mine.
He shook his head. “I love you too much for that, Bella.”
And just like that, the spell was broken, leaving pain and reality in its wake. We sank down onto the floor of the shower, exhausted.
“Baby girl, this can’t, won’t happen again,” he said, looking at me, broken skies reflected in his eyes.
My heart was rending in my chest. He’d never let this be. No matter that we’d had the most mind-blowing, soul-affirming sex multiple times over the last few hours. He couldn’t deny that. But he’d never let us be. I sat there in his arms, flooded by my pain, hoping the warm spray of water, the surety of his embrace, would mend my broken heart.
Stupid, stupid girl.
I don’t quite recall what happened next. It was all a blur. Me locking the door behind us as Dame placed my suitcases into the trunk of his car. Driving off to the airport, I stole glances at him.
“You’re staring,” he said, forcing the humor in his voice, taking me back to that time, nearly a year ago, when he’d said the same thing.
“No, I’m just reacquainting myself with you,” I responded softly, right on cue.
He turned to me and gave me one of his crooked smiles, and I felt my heart shatter all over again. Gently, he placed a hand on my thigh and left it there. We continued in silence.
Finally, I said, “When will you be able to visit?”
“Late September, maybe?”
“So in a month. Something for me to look forward to!”
“You’ll be so busy awing them all that you won’t even notice the time pass.”
I hoped he was right but knew in my heart that however quickly or slowly time passed, time without him near me was hell all the same.
We pulled into the departure parking. Dame parked and stepped out of the car, coming around to help me.
“It’s almost goodbye, my Damien James.”
“Kisses and bites, Bella.” He then drew me in for a deep, deep kiss, a kiss that broke my heart all over again and left us breathless and wanting more, as we reluctantly pulled away, looking deep into each other’s eyes.
Is this what you meant when you said that this couldn’t, wouldn’t happen again, Dame, my love? But I didn’t say these words out loud as it seemed cruel to dig, to twist that knife.
He tore himself away and opened the trunk to grab the suitcases. We walked into the airport, knowing that we were leaving behind the old, and that before us, the unknown stretched ahead. Call it premonition, or my own fatalistic streak, but deep in my heart, I feared he would not be in it. My father had made damn sure of it.
Damien
The locket, the one I’d had engraved with her name, the one that spelled out I love you in a hundred languages, the one I’d gone back to buy shortly after we’d picked out her dress, that locket was burning a hole in my pocket. I’d wanted to give it to her as a parting gift, but I hadn’t found the right moment. And then I’d given up. There would never be a right moment, since I shouldn’t love her, in any of the hundred languages. And so I left it in my bag where it stayed for eight months.
Eight months. Yes, it had been eight months since that night. Eight months until I saw her again. She hadn’t even come home for the holidays, with Davenport taking her instead to celebrate in New York. And for her birthday earlier in the month, they’d gone to the Maldives.
Eight months.
I’d told her to wait just one. I couldn’t even keep that promise.
In the last eight months, I’d tossed and turned, trying to figure out all the puzzle pieces. I’d spent most of last year fighting myself to keep our relationship platonic, protecting her relationship with her father so she wouldn’t lose hers like I lost mine. Because in the end, Bella and I, we loved each other. That was as clear as day. Knowing that if we ever did cross that line, I wouldn’t be able to come back from it, either. It would be worse than a drug, and I’d keep coming back for more, even though now was not the time for it. And allowing myself to touch her that day had heightened everything. The pain, the dark, the uncertainty.
I had my mom to deal with. So much fucking baggage that would make it nearly impossible for baby girl to come out of my shitstorm unscathed.
I had to let her go. At least for now.
But still, I headed to the airport, because a promise is a promise. My phone rang. I glanced down.
No name was attached to the number that popped up, but this time, I recognized it. I pulled over to the side of the freeway and picked up.
“Mr. Davenport,” I said, unable to keep the dryness from my tone.
“Mortensen.” There was zero inflection in his hard voice. “I know she’s planning on seeing you.”
There was no need to hide it. “Yes. I’m flying out this afternoon to San Francisco.”
He breathed out and said, his voice still hard at the edges, but somehow suddenly softer in the center, “Clearly, you didn’t listen to me last time. But I hope you will listen now. You profess to care for her . . .”
Care. What an inadequate word to describe how I felt about her. I loved her beyond words. I loved her beyond love.
Pause. He continued, “You profess to care for her. If that is indeed the case, you will let her go. You cannot give her what she needs. Think about what her life would be like with someone like you. Think about it. Bella is soft. She needs safety. She needs stability. She needs more.” He laughed dryly. “And she deserves more. You know this. Do the right thing. The girl won’t let go unless you do.”
I didn’t say a word.
“She needs more than you could ever give her, boy. So let her go.”
Silence.
Of course she needed more. Not someone like me.
To hear each and every single dark thought I’d ever had about myself, about the ways in which I had and would always come up short, to hear them spoken out loud . . .
I knew he was right about me.
But he was wrong about Bella. Soft? I’d never met a stronger soul than hers. Why couldn’t he trust her to make her own decisions?
I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply. It wasn’t worth a response. I hung up and started up the car.
I had a flight to catch.
***
She waved at me at arrivals and my heart skipped a beat. How could I have deluded myself into thinking that distance would make me forget? She ran to me and I dropped my bag to catch her as she threw herself into my arms.
“Bella baby,” I whispered into her ear as I spun her around. I held her tigh
tly against me, wanting to absorb every inch of her. Being near her again, I felt whole and so alive. She looked at me and smiled. Before I could stop her—or myself—she leaned in to kiss me, a long, deep kiss. A kiss that I returned. One that said this is wrong but I missed you, I can’t live without you. Everything. Everything and more.
Finally, I pulled back and set her down. “This isn’t a good idea, baby girl.” Of course it wasn’t.
She deserves more.
Her eyes fell and she whispered, “I’m sorry, my Damien James.”
She stepped away from me, her face shattered. My heart twisted in my chest. I never wanted to be the source of her pain. I reached out to gently touch her cheek, and she smiled, a forced smile filled with longing and pain. And then she turned away as we made our way to a cab. The trip to her apartment was silent, our hands still clasped together.
I watched the rows of colorful Victorian houses pass by, vaguely taking in their beauty. I couldn’t concentrate on scenery when she was next to me, dripping pain that I could feel deep inside my bones. It was raw and sticky. It coagulated against my blood and nearly suffocated me. I didn’t know what to do.
Finally, we arrived and made our way to her apartment. She opened the door and then turned around to throw herself into my arms. I held her tight against me, my heart tumbling down to the floor, my love for her undeniable. Finally, she let go, and we made our way to her couch in the living room.
We sat there for what seemed like hours, eating Chinese as she told me all about her new life, which was full to the brim. Yes, we’d texted and FaceTimed near daily. But it wasn’t the same as sitting here with her by my side. She’d forced herself to radiate happiness and energy as she told me all about it. The new friends and places. How she was tutoring kids in math even though she’d always hated math, how she was giving them free music lessons, too, to offset math’s cold logic. Yes, music lessons, whether they’d wanted it or not, she’d laughed.
