Raw Heat

by Cherrie Lynn

  “I know,” she said, but that happiness had dimmed a little. “It’s so hard to watch.”

  Emma couldn’t imagine seeing someone she loved taking that kind of physical punishment. She would want to jump in the ring and claw the other guy’s eyes out for daring to hurt her man.

  Both girls were a little pensive after that exchange, and Emma knew it was shared trauma from their loss. Savannah’s brother, Rowan’s first husband. At least both of them had been able to find happiness in the wake of a horror like that.

  She hadn’t been paying much attention to where they were walking—the place was like a maze—but they passed under an archway and suddenly the Forum Shops surrounded her. She stared around in dumbfounded amazement at the ceiling with its bright blue sky and realistic wispy clouds, at the Romanesque architecture, columns and statues, the brand names that topped the doorways into the shops as they walked the length of the mall. Coach. Longchamp. Tiffany & Co. Gucci. Louis Vuitton.

  “I need to live here,” Emma said, and the other girls laughed.

  “I’m actually surprised Damien doesn’t live here.” Savannah steered them into Sephora, giving Emma a teasing glance. “Maybe you’ll get your chance one day.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. Well, I don’t doubt that he might move here one day. He should.”

  “You work for him?” Rowan asked her, eyeing some lipsticks. “What in the world is that like?”

  “He really is a good boss.” Until he wants to own you for a month. She chuckled to herself.

  “Can’t imagine him, like, yelling at you or anything.”

  “Oh, he can yell,” Emma said. “Believe that.” His comment about her playing the victim had shot her straight through the heart. Every bit of this could be laid at her feet as much as his. She should have told him to fuck off from the very start, quit her job, and moved on. Now she couldn’t imagine doing any of those things.

  Savannah and Rowan were looking at her with something like sympathy and concern. She shrugged it off. “Yeah, we had that big fight last night. He left for a little while.”

  “Okay, I’m going to be nosy,” Savannah said, “so tell me if I should shut up. What were you fighting about?”

  “Mainly because I told him I have feelings for him. And whatever he feels about me, he doesn’t think us being together is a good idea. I guess. I didn’t take it very well.”

  “Wow, I wouldn’t have, either,” Rowan said. “What’s his problem?”

  “If there’s no one in his life, then there’s no one he has to bother caring about.” The explanation rolled off her tongue so easily it was as if it had been there all along, but it was still something of an epiphany. Maybe it was the right answer, maybe it wasn’t, but it made more sense than anything else she had come up with.

  “I’m sorry,” Savannah said. “He’s always kept everyone at a distance. I was hoping he wouldn’t do it to you, too.”

  “Do you want me to get Zane to talk to him?” Rowan asked. “Mike can be like a drill sergeant with them sometimes. He’s the daddy role. Zane’s always felt like he and Damien were more on the same level.”

  Emma shook her head. “No, please don’t do anything like that. I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate everyone getting in his business like that.”

  “That’s probably true.” Savannah gave her a compassionate look. “Well, we’re always around if you need us.”

  She felt better having new friends to confide in who were a little closer to the situation. They had lunch, shopped until Emma’s legs ached, then headed to the casino for some drinks and slot action. Emma would ordinarily be opposed to such behavior knowing Benjamin’s same blood ran in her veins, but as soon as she’d lost twenty dollars, she was fucking done. So much for that. She didn’t get the appeal.

  Hopefully Damien was faring better.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  He’d knocked out a mouthy asshole on an all-heart flop that eventually gave him a flush on the river. The guy hadn’t had much to say as he’d gathered his shit up and left. And he’d almost felt bad about the starry-eyed kid who’d gushed as soon as he sat down at the table about how much he admired Damien’s play. But then the kid had tried to go for a straight flush and busted to Damien’s pair of queens. With more than five thousand players converged here for the tournament—though not all were playing today—the first day often was like taking candy from babies.

  Somewhere around late afternoon, his bad mood began to lift and he started to enjoy himself. The sound of clinking chips was like white noise to him, one of the most soothing sounds in the world. The familiar movements, the buzz of conversation, the shutting down to all else so he could figure probabilities or read his opponent. More than a few of them squirmed under his stare. Some tried to hide behind sunglasses, under hoodies or caps, but he never wanted to make himself appear invisible. He wanted them to know he was there, waiting, calculating, seeing all. Tension and intimidation were a part of his strategy. Players made dumb moves when they felt pressured or desperate.

  Once three blind levels had passed, play was suspended for dinner, and he hadn’t even realized that much time had passed. He could’ve kept going all night, and was used to doing so, but the need to see Emma burned brightly in him. If he’d known they were going to have such a huge fight last night, he never would have made dinner plans with friends. He would’ve spent the entire ninety minutes making it up to her.

  He saw her in the lobby, wearing a knockout black dress, her red hair loose around her pale shoulders. When she turned her head and saw him, there was no mistaking the way her eyes brightened. She came to him, long legs eating up the distance, and he lifted her feet off the floor as he took her in his arms.

  “I had fun today,” she told him. “Thank you so much for sending them over.”

  “They were happy to do it,” he said, burying his face in that fragrant sea of red. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this all day.

  He introduced her to Jeff and Roger, who’d also brought their wives along. As soon as the six of them were seated, he put a possessive hand on the inside of Emma’s smooth thigh under the table, feeling her pulse accelerate under his fingers, her muscles tensing. And he saw the subtle pink creeping up her neck as she swallowed a sip of water.

  Right there was where he kept her while being an active participant in the conversation, keeping an eye on her responses when he gave the slightest shift toward the apex of her legs, where he could practically feel the heat emanating. Jesus. She must have downed two glasses of water before their food came, and now a fine tremor worked through her. Under his hand, her leg eased farther open, inviting him to move higher. He did, but not to where she needed him most. He wanted her on the edge of madness.

  When it was time to head back to the tournament, her eyelids were heavy, her heartbeat sluggish, and she clung to him when he tried to leave her. “Damn you,” she murmured into his ear. “I need you so much.”

  “Go back to the room,” he said, holding her chin up to make her look at him. “Do not touch yourself. When I get back in four hours, I want your plug in and ready for me.” Her hands clenched on his shirt and she buried her face in his chest, breathing hard. “This time I get what I need, remember?”

  “Oh God . . .”

  “See you soon.” He kissed her forehead and pulled her arms from around his neck, looking deep into her eyes before he turned and left her.

  * * *

  She paced the bedroom like a caged animal, a hand fisted in her skirt, the need to shove her fingers into her pussy and get herself off burning undeniably. As per his instructions, his plug was nestled between her cheeks, but that maddening fullness only made things worse, not better.

  Emma glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty. He should be getting back soon. He would take care of her then. God, please let him get back soon. She’d been trying to walk herself to orgasm by rubbing her thighs together. It wasn’t technically cheating; she wasn’t touching herself with her hands. B
ut it wasn’t working, either. Even if it did, it would be nothing near the level of ecstasy he would give her when he got back.

  She heard the door open.

  Scuttling across the room, Emma dove on the bed and put her ass up, wiggling it at him as he came into the bedroom. She practically felt the burn of his gaze on her exposed skin.

  “Now there’s what I’ve fucking needed to see all day. Good girl.” Tossing the key card on the desk, he strolled casually over to her and smoothed a hand over her hip while Emma’s eyes closed. “Pretty,” he said softly. “There’s just one thing missing.”

  What now? From her position, it was difficult to watch him, but she was able to see that he went to his bag and pulled out a long silky scarf. Her groan was a rumble in her throat. He brought it to the other side of the bed, and she watched breathlessly as he tied each of her wrists in turn, leaving a few inches slack between them. She pulled her hands apart, testing the band of fabric linking them, satisfied at its durability. A little smile clung around his lips as he watched her do it.

  Then he walked around behind her, and she could no longer see him. That was always when her heart rate soared—that was when he was at his most dangerous. When she didn’t know what the hell he was up to.

  “Damien,” she said weakly as she felt his left knee come down next to hers on the bed.

  “Yes?” His right knee came down.

  “Are you going to fuck me in the ass?”

  “Yes. And I’m going to hold you down while I do it. I need you to stay with me and remember your word.”

  But first he slipped inside where she’d needed him since dinner—or hell, all day, who was she trying to kid—and the sensation of fullness in both her holes drove her through the roof.

  “You get me so fucking hard,” he groaned, coming down over her and closing his fist around the few inches of scarf between her hands, holding her captive while he thrust into her.

  “You get me so fucking wet,” she returned, feeling how easy those thrusts were; she was so slick and ready for him. Still they stretched her just to the point of pain, keeping her on an edge of insanity she couldn’t fall from. There was no safety on either side. Her hands fisted, tugging involuntarily against his grip on the scarf, and he chuckled hotly in her ear.

  “Are you trying to get away?”

  God, if she had any sense, she would. She wouldn’t let him do this to her, wouldn’t let him bury her any deeper in the grave she’d dug. “Yes,” she moaned. “But I can’t.”

  “No, you can’t.” He slowed his rhythm, pulled back and gave her little shallow thrusts that barely penetrated a couple inches of her. Massaging her G-spot with the thick, delectable ridge of his crown. He knew how to use each and every part of himself to give her maximum sensation. When his free hand came underneath and circled her clit slowly, she tried to close her legs, unable to bear everything at once. Filled in her pussy, filled in her ass . . . He only kneed her legs farther apart again, holding her captive to it.

  “Damien, something’s . . . I’m gonna . . .”

  “Yes, you are,” he said devilishly, keeping up his movements until she felt something give inside her. Something wet and wonderful that made her squeal and jerk against his hold, and he groaned as he fucked her through the wetness she’d created. It was dripping from his fingers on her clit; she could see it when she looked down.

  “Oh my God.” She buried her flaming face in the mattress. He pulled back and buried his teeth in her ass cheek. They remained locked there while he gently tugged her plug out, while she squirmed and cried out.

  “I don’t think you even need lube, Emma,” he informed her in that darkly sardonic way he had. “I’m dripping with you.”

  Her bound hands fisted on the duvet, the heat of her body threatening to incinerate her. Was she going to let this happen? It had always seemed so taboo. It was never something that had factored into her darkest fantasies. But it was something she wanted to give to him if he needed it.

  When she felt him back there, thick against her impossible tightness, she almost stopped him. But when he pushed, she gave, her plug having eased his way. Her mouth opened so wide her jaw ached. Her stomach clenched up; everything else did, too.

  “You have to push against me,” he said, sounded as ragged as she’d ever heard him. “You can fight me. You can tell me ‘no’ if it makes you feel better. But give me your word and it stops.”

  She didn’t want it to stop. She felt like two different people: practical Emma who was aghast that she was allowing this, and wanton Emma who’d sold herself for money and wanted him to have her every which way he could. And while it hurt, it was a pain she craved, because it was for him, all for him. He split her so wide she wondered if she would ever be built the same again.

  But she knew he’d be up for a little fight.

  “Stop it.”

  “No. Take it.”

  She gave a halfhearted squirm, trying to get away, so he would grab her hips fast. “I feel you pulling me in, doll. Dirty little tease. You want it. You know you want it.”

  “I don’t want it! Get it out. You’re a filthy bastard, Damien.”

  His hand came up under her throat, the grip just hard enough to restrict her air a little. “I’ll gag you with your own panties if you call me a bastard again.”

  It was so, so fucking tempting, but she couldn’t exactly speak with him pressing this way on her vocal chords. And he punished her in other ways, pushing so deep the breath left her lungs in a keening cry. “That’s what you want, right there. You want a thick cock in your ass, don’t you? You always have. You want to be wrecked. Broken. You came to the right place.”

  Tears slipped from her eyes. She didn’t know why; a pink euphoric fog had suffused every corner of her mind, so why should she cry? He licked one of them away. “Mmm. Sweet.” A slight snarl on his beautiful lips, he began to pull out, which made her mouth fall open in utter bliss. He took the opportunity to fill her there with his tongue, hungry, thrusting kisses. “You’re so tight I can barely move,” he murmured against her lips. But then he left her when she needed the reassurance of his mouth on hers the most, then he pushed back in, forcing through, shoving her forward. Wincing, she let her face fall back to the mattress, let her helpless tears leak into the duvet. He gifted her with the reassurance of his fingers on her clit, though, rubbing calming little circles, building her need for release.

  “Damien?” she said, seeking him out as the fog in her mind began to eclipse everything else. She didn’t want that to happen, she wanted to be here in the moment with him, but he took her so far away . . . “Damien, I love you.”

  That brought everything back in focus. He groaned, rough and guttural, trailing nipping kisses up her spine, nibbling at each vertebra. “Emma . . . Jesus Christ.”

  He wouldn’t say it back. She hadn’t expected him to. It was okay. She would love him enough for both of them. But she felt his physical reactions, the way he throbbed inside her, swelling, the way his movements quickened as if the words had inflamed him. When at last he came, he held her down and made her take it, his growls of pleasure music to her as she felt him flood her deep inside. His pleasure triggered her own, his circling fingertip homing in perfectly and sending her flying. Emma had never realized how much she contracted there during orgasm before, but he grunted and cursed with her tightened grip on him. She bit his hand where he was holding her wrists down by the scarf. He didn’t seem to mind, so lost in his own euphoria, breathing heavily, shakily. She loved that she did this to cold, calculating Damien Larson.

  Little by little, their bodies relaxed. He untied her hands, not speaking at first, and carried her to the Jacuzzi tub where he cranked on the water and climbed in behind her. She snuggled into him, for once utterly content, even if she knew the feeling wouldn’t last. It would probably be gone the first time he opened his mouth. But she would remain safe inside it for as long as she could.

  Once the tub was full, he washed her fr
om head to toe while she simply relaxed, letting his fingers knead and caress and almost put her to sleep. Then he helped her out, wrapped her in a robe and put her hair up in a towel.

  She felt scoured raw, and not from anything he had done in the tub. She felt shaken and vulnerable and open. He’d been to places inside her she’d never allowed anyone else.

  She didn’t know how she was ever going to get him out.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Emma hadn’t been to an event in an arena in a long time. Not to a concert, or a ball game, and certainly not to an MMA fight. She and Damien arrived just as the main card was about to get underway: Mike’s title defense. They were seated close to the front of the cage, where they would be able to see the blood and smell the sweat. Savannah was there looking worried, and Emma’s heart went out to her. She couldn’t imagine thinking she was about to watch Damien take such physical punishment in front of tens of thousands of people and millions more watching at home . . . never mind that she wanted to punch him dead in the face sometimes.

  Damien gave Savannah a reassuring kiss on the cheek and greeted Rowan similarly. It wasn’t exactly easy for her to be here either, having lost her husband after going a few rounds with Mike Larson. Then he introduced her to his brother Zane, the rock star.

  Wow. He was officially the most famous person she’d ever met, and he looked it. Not so much that he was flashy or arrogant, but he exuded confidence and charisma. His long black hair was pulled back in a bun, his T-shirt was ratty and his jeans were baggy—he looked like any other dude on the street, but in his speaking voice she could hear the singer from the radio. Rowan hung on to him as if he might disappear if she let him go, and he did the same to her.

  Emma’s heart ached. Even despite the attachment she felt thrumming between her and Damien, he only kept a light hand at the small of her back. She wanted to be all over him, all the time, but in front of his family, he was keeping her at a distance.

  The lights went down and the roars went up from the crowd. The challenger came out first, bass from his rap thumping through the arena, looking hard and determined as he walked through the crowd with his entourage. At cage-side, they did the official checks of his mouthpiece and cup, then sent him up into the cage.