Surviving the Merge

by C P Harris

  I silently passed through the dining room on tiptoe, slipping upstairs like a thief in the night. Foreboding churned away at my intestines.

  I crept down the hall to his office, using my palm to push the partially closed door open while I stood out of the line of sight.

  Empty.

  Treading lightly over to the desk, my arm was racked with tremors as I picked up the notebook and read the two words scribbled repeatedly on the legal-sized sheet of paper…

  He’s mine…

  He’s mine…

  He’s mine...

  In slow motion, I watched the written proof of his obsession float from my fingertips to the floor. I chose not to examine the true reason for my shiver.

  Where is he?

  The bedroom.

  Empty.

  Sweat beaded at my temples.

  Rooted to the spot, I closed my eyes to focus on any potential sounds, but the blood swishing through my ears got in the way.

  Backtracking to the stairs, I saw him before my foot breached the top step. Damon sat casually at the head of the dining room table, his back to me as he stared outside.

  Our sanctuary had been breached.

  My legs didn’t feel like complying as I trudged down the stairs. I worked on leveling out my breathing, but that became impossible when I noticed that he sat there completely naked. Making it from the bottom landing to the opposite side of the table was equivalent to climbing the steepest mountain. And he wasn’t only naked—he was hard.

  Damon made no acknowledgment of my presence. I ended the silence. “Where’s Blake?” I winced as soon as the words escaped my lips. He lounged in his chair, one arm strewn over the back of it, like this was simply a typical day. Like him being there didn’t raise many implications.

  He sat forward and entwined his hands on the table before addressing me. “Just. How I’ve missed you so.”

  Anyone hearing that would think him a romantic. But I knew those eyes better than I knew my own soul. I recognized the rage barely leashed.

  How should I play this? I asked myself. From the looks of it, I had only seconds to decide before he made the decision for me. With my priorities in order, I made the first move.

  “I’m not having sex with you. Let’s get that straight right now. Not here, not without Blake’s consent.” Damon may have been a dominant dictator on a good day, but he would never take it, if he truly believed it wasn’t what I wanted. Even if it appeared like he did the opposite. The trick? Making myself not want it.

  “Come here.” The air thickened with those two words. How he managed to make two insignificant words such as come and here sound as violent as they did right then was anyone's guess.

  “Damon―”

  “Come here!” His palm met the table, and I flinched from the deafening sound.

  You can do this; you can do this... I chanted in my head as I went to his side. Pushing his chair back, he tugged me between his legs. My ass hit the edge of the table. Cock still hard despite his anger―maybe even in spite of it―he caged me in. An intimidating force even seated.

  Damon’s arrogance added inches to his height and breadth to his width. I paled as all the blood in my body took a trip south.

  He noticed.

  A cruel smile tugged at his plump lips, and his black-as-night eyes darkened further. Creamy smooth skin rippled on top of muscles. Satan himself.

  “Take your hair down,” he ordered.

  I did his bidding; my hair tumbled around me like a veil. He began to leisurely rub me through my sweats. I needed to do something to get out of the position I was in.

  I twisted around and climbed onto the table, crawling on all fours to the other side. Strong hands encircled my hips, and my chest hit the surface beneath me as those hands dragged me back to where I came from. I peered over my shoulder to see him standing with a look of triumph on his face as he gazed longingly at my ass, now bare since he’d pulled my sweats off in the time it took me to catch my breath.

  Facing forward again, I made it back to my knees and started my escape once more. Again, my chest met wood. I held onto the edge of the table for dear life but ended up back where he believed I belonged. We played this futile game a few more times, but in the end, I lay there panting uncontrollably, face plastered against the table. With my hair wild and my body slicked with sweat, I managed a weak, “Damon, I said no.”

  “Oh, but your cock says, yes, lover.” He raised my hips and took his seat in a fluid move. Before I could get another word out, he jerked me onto his face, eating my ass like a man possessed.

  “Arrggghhhh, God... no…” The anguish in my voice did nothing to deter him.

  With one hand holding my hip in place, Damon took a break from tongue-fucking me long enough to spit in his palm. He returned to his business while roughly jerking me off. He sought retribution by using my pleasure as a brutal weapon against me. Fast and hard, my cum coated the table within seconds.

  Fighting for oxygen, I sensed when he reached below me to steal my semen. From the sounds of it, the purpose was to slick himself up. Coming to the conclusion of what that suggested, I raised up so quickly my vision swam.

  Damon stood poised at my entrance. I pushed against his chest, but I’d have had better luck moving a block of concrete.

  “Damon, I said no,” I repeated.

  He observed me with his head cocked, trying to figure out if what I said lined up with what I meant. I could just imagine the crimson that surely stained my cheeks and the wideness of my already wide set eyes, paired with my hair in wild disarray. A sight Damon had never been forced to resist.

  And then his tip breached me.

  “Damon…” The begging quality of my tone ultimately gave him pause, and he appraised me with a new set of eyes. With only this slight bit of him inside me, my resolve began to weaken. The sensation of his smooth crown swelling within caused my breath to hitch.

  A siren’s call.

  And I badly wanted to spread my knees wider, arch my back, lower my chest, and push in his direction, bearing down and sending him right through me like a missile seeking heat. In the final hour, I located my strength, “Get out—now.”

  Reluctantly, he stepped away, and I mourned the loss of that bulbous part of him. I faced forward and dropped my head between my shoulder blades.

  “Turn around. If my only option is to finish myself off, then you’re going to watch.”

  I can’t do this, I thought. I’m weak…

  Situating myself appropriately, Damon stepped so close between my legs that I could smell myself on his lips. I had to will my turncoat cock to not make a move.

  With one hand wound tight around my hair and the other lubricated with my cum, he got lost to his own gratification. He moaned and grunted, his head rolled from side to side, and the slowness with which his tongue lapped at his own lips was at odds with the speed with which he hand-fucked his own cock.

  His harsh breathing and the sticky sounds reached a fevered pitch. I struggled to not be affected.

  Any attempts I made at looking away or closing my eyes saw me yelping out in pain as he tightened his grip on my hair.

  His pupils dilated further, and his arm worked harder. After a few minutes, he reached completion with a full body shudder, and the smell in the air was a heady mix of his natural woodsy scent and his viral musk.

  “Is this how it’s going to be?” he asked lazily, painting my lips with his spill. “How long do you think you can keep this up, Just?”

  “How long do you plan on staying?” Opening my mouth to speak caused a small dollop to hit my tongue. I dug my fingers into the meat of my thighs.

  “Ready to get rid of me so soon?” He didn’t quite manage to keep the hurt out of his voice.

  I sighed. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Damon was an oversized child. That, in between the anger, lay a deep need to be loved and wanted.

  “We’ll get cleaned up, order some food, and talk. Okay?” I asked. He nodded
sharply and gestured for me to lead the way. Once out of view, I nearly ripped the skin from my lips in my attempt to suck off every drop of what he’d left there for me.

  I let Damon take the master bathroom, and I used the guest room. I finished first and while waiting for him to meet me in the living room, my resentment over the past tried to rear its head. I had to keep reminding myself: first things first. Getting him to agree to try for integration.

  “The place looks nice.”

  I turned at the sound of his voice to see him descending the stairs. He wore Blake’s low-riding gray lounge pants. The sway of the heaviness between his legs told me he had nothing on underneath.

  “It’s good to see that our styles are aligned when it comes to decor.” He was referring to him and Blake. “But the bed’s gotta be replaced.”

  “The bed is perfectly fine,” I said, a little offended. I’d picked it out myself.

  He came to a halt in front of me, which put me at eye level with his crotch. “It’s nice enough, but it won’t last a day once I get you in it. We’ll need something that’s nailed down.”

  Lifting my head sharply, I gritted out, “I am not having sex with you, Damon. Definitely not in Blake’s bed. And couldn’t you find a shirt?” I waved my hands at his exposed chest.

  “You’re lucky I put on pants. Don’t push it.”

  I hated being off balance, so I moved the conversation to a safer topic. “I ordered Chinese. I wasn’t sure what you would want, so I picked a few options. It should be here soon.”

  He watched me closely, still hovering above me. “You love him more than me, don’t you?”

  “Damon, please don’t be ridiculous,” I said with more than a touch of exasperation.

  “I don’t feel wanted here. You’re not the least bit happy to see me. I thought…”

  Vulnerability and insecurity were rare traits to see on Damon’s surface. Whenever feelings such as those were required, he would usually retreat. Damon did have his moments, though, however rare and short-lived they may have been. I held my breath and offered a small nudge. “You thought what, Damon?”

  Lowering himself next to me, he said, “I thought you returning to the club meant you wanted me back.”

  “I want much more than you back, Damon. I want you whole.”

  Wearing a confused and dubious expression, he issued a terse, “Explain.”

  I told him everything. About Julie, the group therapy, Blake’s independent therapy, what had already been discussed, the treatment plan, the medication. Everything. At the end of my litany of information, his response was—

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean no?”

  “No to therapy, no to medications. No to it all.” He marched to the window, resting his palms against the glass and leaning into the touch.

  Patience, I reminded myself, was the key to dealing with Damon. “What are you afraid of?”

  He laughed. “Did you pick that line up from the good doctor? Ask me what I’m afraid of so I’ll want to prove I’m not afraid of anything and give all that crap a try?”

  “I legitimately want to know why you see this as something harmful to you.”

  “At best, I sit there and have someone dissect my past and force me to relive things I’ve long ago forgotten. At worst, I fade into a black hole for good, and I lose you. Again.”

  In other words, you’re afraid. “What if you lose me anyway?” I whispered.

  He faced me then; his eyes darkened, but before he could answer, the bell rang. Our food delivery had arrived.

  We ate in silence, but every time I raised my eyes, I caught Damon unrepentantly staring at me. I waited until we were both done then decided to get some answers. “How are you here right now?” I busied myself with clearing away our dishes and empty containers from the kitchen island while waiting for his reply.

  “I’ve been waiting for an opening, and one presented itself. Blake’s exhausted, stressed, and something’s been eating away at him. His guards were lowered after he entered the parking garage and cut the engine. Almost as if he decided to give up the fight. I’ve only felt him do that at Elite.”

  “Of course he’s stressed and exhausted. He’s got a constant battle raging in his mind.”

  He gave a pensive look. “No, it’s more than that. Whatever it is, it’s hidden from me. Things have changed in five years.” The last part said to himself. It surprised Damon that Blake had the ability to hide from him.

  Convinced it wasn’t anything more than what we were currently dealing with, I pressed on. “When he’s acting as host, you can’t see or hear what’s going on. Nor can you force a transition. Unless his guards are down?” I tried to wrap my mind around it. The rules kept adjusting.

  “Yeah. Like at Elite. Or tonight, down in the garage. Don’t worry, I’m working on a more permanent hostile takeover.” He popped a fortune cookie into his curved, smug mouth.

  I ignored the bait. “Can he see or hear what’s going on when you’re present?”

  “No. Think of it as a revolving door. On the other side, it's black and vast. When one of us swings through”—he gestured around us—“the other swings into the dark. We’re not conscious that we were there until we come back through and realize we’ve lost time. But with enough stressors at play, we can become alert—”

  “Cognitive.”

  “What?”

  “Cognitive. That’s the word Julie uses.”

  He tried out the word. “Which is when we struggle to break free. The one that is physically present—”

  “Sentient.” I supplied, and he gave me a look. “Sorry, go on.”

  “Can willingly allow entrance or hold that revolving door in place. It takes a lot of mental energy to do that for long periods of time. There was a time when I held sole control over when the pendulum would swing. As I said, things have changed.”

  “It wasn’t always like this, though. I remember Blake always had your memories and was aware of everything that had taken place in his absence. Unless you didn’t want him to. Which I recall was only when we were... you know.”

  “Fucking?”

  “Yes,” I snapped. His brashness during such a serious discussion irritated me. He did it for shock value. Damon wanted me off-kilter. I tried my best not to let him get to me, but there was only so much a person could take.

  “What? You stopped saying fucking since the last time I saw you?”

  “Focus, Damon!” A breath. “Blake had your memories, and now?”

  “Yes, well, that was before Blake hated my fucking guts.” He smirked at his own cleverness. My fingers itched to wipe it off his face. “We were on the same side. It was also when I maintained full control. My mind was open to him, and we came and went as needed. Always capable of shutting him out or deciding how much access and freedom he had. But you’re right. It was rare that I needed to be authoritative with him.”

  “He doesn’t hate you. You were out of sight and mind for five years, and now here you are. Blake’s leery of your intentions.”

  And so am I.

  “Well, he should be. I want you back, completely.”

  “What about what I want, Damon?” My question didn’t make sense to him.

  “I know what you want.”

  “Not if you think doing away with Blake is a good idea. Have you thought this through?”

  I leaned against the countertop and crossed my arms over my chest. “What are you going to do with Blake’s business? Are you going to run it for him? Do you even know how?”

  “Are you forgetting it’s my degree and my brain that helped him get to where he is? I could spearhead the company with no problem.”

  “What about the staff? They don’t know you. Business contacts? The banks that are involved? You haven’t thought this through, Damon. We aren’t kids anymore!”

  “I know that! You know, we sort of look alike, he and I, so it won’t be the hardest thing to do,” he added sarcastically, and I resort
ed to an eye roll. “I’m not saying it will be easy, but you’re making it sound like I’ll have to figure it all out on my own.”

  “You will. If you push Blake out for good, I will not stay with you,” I said, hoping he didn’t pick up on the slight tremor to my voice.

  “Is that an ultimatum?”

  “No, I’m being honest with you. I’ve learned a lot over the past month. I want a life that’s bigger than our drama, Damon. I want friends. I want to try new things: travel, volunteer, cook, garden. I want to inspire and be inspired. I need to grow. I don’t think I can do or be all that with only you in the picture. You won’t allow me to give myself to anything but you. You’ll fight me every step of the way.”

  My speech left Damon puzzled. Sitting forward on the barstool, elbows resting on the counter, he said with a pinched brow, “But, Just, you are not yours to give.”

  I moved from mildly irritated to infuriated. “I’m going to bed. You can sleep in the guest room or on the couch for all I care.”

  “What did I say wrong? And we’re sleeping together―”

  “No.” I whipped around, pointing my finger in his direction. “We are not. Don’t push me, Damon. Enough is enough.” Fuming, I took the stairs two at a time.

  Something jarred me out of my sleep. I felt around the nightstand for the alarm clock, knocking it over in the process. A flash of three-something crossed my vision. A hand landed on my hip, startling the last dregs of sleep from my mind. “Damon, damn it, do you ever listen?” I went to shove him away, but the touch that seized my wrist was gentle.

  “Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s me.”

  A kiss was placed on my palm. I rolled him over and sat atop him. “Blake?”

  “Yes, I’m here.” He blew a tired breath. “I’m sorry, love,” he said, stroking my lips with the tips of his fingers.

  His remorse was a tangible thing between us in the dark. The weight of it threatened to tow him under our moment of reunion. I took his mouth aggressively and grabbed onto his hair with no care for his pleasure or pain. Anchoring him. I managed to squeeze a couple words out in between peppering him with kisses.