by M. Robinson
His jaw hardened, distorting his pretty boy face into an expression that I couldn’t read. However, it surprisingly hurt me in ways that made it hard to breathe.
Was it anger or pain hidden in his stare? Is that why he’d been drinking? Did something happen while tying up those loose ends?
He narrowed his eyes at me, growling, “If I wanted you to know I was coming home, then I would have fucking told you.”
My head jerked back, instantly noticing there was no humor, teasing, or playfulness in his tone. No grin or smile on his face. No sign of what was usually directed at me when he was being a smartass. I swallowed the hard lump in my throat, trying to play it off and not read too much into it.
“You just missed me that much, huh? Couldn’t stand to be away from me for another day, eh? It’s okay, you can admit it. I couldn’t stop thinking about you all afternoon, I missed you so much too.” With a smile, I went to wrap my arms around his neck, but he gripped onto my wrists, holding them in place on the counter beside my legs. “Damien—”
“Did you miss me while you were spreading your legs for Roman?”
I grimaced with wide eyes, blown away by his question. A resemblance of a grin stirred on his lips, and it was enough to silence the mixed emotions and questions soaring through my mind.
“Did he make you come like I do? How many times did he touch, kiss, or fuck you with his fingers, tongue, or cock? Tell me, Amira.” His grasp tightened on my wrists to the point of pain, digging into my clammy skin. “How many times did you scream his fucking name, wishing it were mine?”
His questions were like a slap in the damn face, one right after the other. “Are you drunk? Why are you asking me these hurtful things?”
He leaned in until his face was inches away from mine, his body looming over my frame. Making me feel smaller in his dominant and possessive hold he had over me.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Mentally.
The smell of whiskey overpowered his cologne, bewildering my senses.
“I just want to know,” he breathed out against my lips. “How many times he touched what’s mine.”
“It’s none of your goddamn business, that’s how many times.”
He smiled, big and wide. Confusing me even further. I couldn’t keep up with his interrogation, like I was on trial, and he wasn’t helping the situation when he rasped, “There’s my girl.”
The whirlwind of emotions lingered in the air, in the room, in my fucking soul.
“Did you love him, Amira? Did you love him more than me?”
“You already know that answer.”
“If I knew the fucking answer, then why would I be asking you?”
I didn’t hesitate in replying, “That’s what I’d like to know.”
He narrowed his eyes at me as if he was searching for all the evidence to back up his accusations and questions. The ones he asked and the ones that were obviously plaguing him through my tormented glare. It didn’t matter how many times I racked my brain for a response. Nothing made sense. Nothing was right. For the next few seconds we both just stared at each other, going through the motions that were running mercilessly through our minds.
Until he stated, “Is that right?” Breaking the silent barrier between us. “Well then, here’s a question we both know I have no answer to. What were you to one another?”
“Damien, what’s going on?”
“That isn’t a fucking answer. Why is it so fucking hard for you to respond to one goddamn question? What do you need from me, huh? Why can’t you just fucking listen to me for once in your life?”
Seeing this side of him emerge was like being dragged back in time to when I was a young girl, and he was trying to push me away. I thought we were long past this, there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to let him do this to us again. Proving something had happened wherever he took off to today. I leaned in closer on pure impulse, never taking my focus off his vacant, hollow eyes, looking for anything to hold on to. Seeking out the man I loved more than anything in this world, and silently pleading for him to come back to me. Putting an end to whatever he hoped to accomplish here.
I felt him lightly suck in a breath before I brushed my lips against his, kissing him. Anxiously waiting to be kissed back. My mouth moved against his for a few moments, trying to break through to him. Knowing he was in there, somewhere behind the vicious monster. Hiding from me.
“I love you,” I muttered along his lips.
He groaned, somewhere in between comfort and agony from hearing me say those three words that always helped repair what was broken within us. It was the first time I’d ever heard him make that distinctive sound, and I swear I felt him shudder shortly after. But I didn’t have much time to dwell on it because he finally started kissing me back. Except, even that gesture felt different, softer, sweeter like he was desperately trying not to break me.
Hurt me.
Punish me.
Make me suffer.
A sensation like nothing I’d ever experienced from him before. For a few fleeting breaths, I lost myself in that kiss.
In him.
In us.
It may have been the sweetest kiss of my life.
I didn’t want to open my eyes, too worried of what I’d see. Of who I’d still see. My heart was pounding, my mind racing, my body yearning for him to touch me. To be with me. To love me.
I had nowhere to go.
I could barely move.
But my body felt as if it was on fire.
Like I was about to discover something that would change our relationship. Something that would change our future. Catapulting us onto a path that we would be unable to veer away from.
Why did I feel like this from just a kiss?
I was at his mercy, just the way he loved me to be. Damien was all about control, and I willingly handed it to him. Though he was teetering on the edge. I could sense his resolve shattering against my mouth with each stroke of his tongue. I could tell his thoughts were raging a war in his mind, right beside mine. Battling for who would come out on top. Both of us lost in the way he was treating me. Speaking to me. Feeling me. It wasn’t until he released my wrists and forcefully clutched his hands onto the sides of my face that I truly felt his anger and pain.
I whimpered.
He growled.
His assault turned heated, aggressive, and carnal, almost like he was trying to hurt me with his actions just as much as he did with his words. I ignored the smell and taste of whiskey radiating off his breath, allowing him to take what he so dangerously wanted and needed from me.
His presence.
His hands.
His lips.
His everything was aiding and disastrous.
Afflicting and healing.
All or nothing.
He kissed me as if he was trying to suck the life right out of me.
“Damien,” I breathed out along the very thin line of pleasure and pain.
He instantly ripped his lips off mine and tore his body away from me before dropping to his knees. In one hasty movement he had my jeans unbuttoned, champing at the bit to devour my pussy, exposing my heated skin. He kissed along my hips, sucking his way across my abdomen as he aggressively tried ripping down my jeans. Looking up at me through the slits of his now heady eyes, he twisted the seam of my panties in one hand and tugged them to the side while the other pulled the seam of my jeans further down and away from my pussy. Adjusting his seated position, he yanked my core closer to his mouth, taking a second to inhale my arousal.
Groaning, “I came home to get me some of this right here.” Not wasting anymore time, he lapped at my pussy. Continuing to try to jerk my pants down my thighs.
I shook my head unable to take anymore. Not like this. Never like this. “Damien… wait… just wait…” Grabbing ahold of his face, I made his gaze snap back up to mine. There was a familiarity in his stare, and for a second I saw him.
My best friend.
My savior.
My lover.
My monster.
THIRTY-SIX
AMIRA
Someone who needed me as much as I needed him. I watched with a captivated regard, wanting to know what the hell he was thinking. What the hell was going through his mind…
Love proved to be blinding and, at times, cruel. You only saw what you wanted to see. What you so frantically desired in life. Only picturing the good and never the bad. I knew Damien would always have demons lurking within him, waiting just around the corner to take him under. His internal struggle was written clear across his distressed expression. It was evident in his handsome face, marring into villainous features. He was trying to show me something he couldn’t say with words.
I knew something was brewing.
Something big.
Important.
Life-changing.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Did something happen today? Is that why you’re home early? Is that why you’re trying to push me away? Damien, talk to me please. Don’t shut me out like this. Not after everything we have overcome and built. Please, just talk to me.”
He scoffed out, taken back, “What the fuck do you think I was doing before, Amira?”
He was the first to break our connection, as if he could no longer bear to see the woman staring back at him. He abruptly stood and left, taking my rapidly beating heart with him.
My eyes widened as I shook off the haze from what the fuck had just happened. Jumping off the counter, I pulled my pants back up, buttoning them into place to follow him.
“Damien! What the fu—” He sharply turned around, and I halted in the entryway.
“Answer my fucking questions!”
I jumped out of my skin, taking in his disheveled hair that he must have been running his hands through, his loosened tie, and untucked shirt. Noticing for the first time since he got home, his appearance resembled a man who had been through Hell and back. A place we’d visited together often.
“Oh my God,” I voiced, feeling as lost as he looked. “What do you want me to say? What can I possibly tell you that will make anything easier for you? Why are you trying to hurt yourself? Why now?! What the fuck happened today?!”
He was over to me in four long strides, backing me up into the wall with a hard thud. Caging me in with his arms. The expression on his face read nothing but love, while his words were filled with nothing but hate when he growled, “You are what happened to me. Then and fucking now.” Taking one last look at me, he spun and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.
My body jolting from the impact. I stood there for I don’t know how long, utterly speechless and confused. Staring at the door like he would magically reappear. My heart, my mind, my sanity couldn’t take it anymore. For the rest of the evening, I moved in an autopilot state of clarity, not knowing which way was up or down. In or out. My thoughts swinging back and forth along with my emotions. I was suffocating in them. It didn’t help that I still felt him there with me, gripping my soul like a fucking vice.
The condo was eerie and silent, his scent masking the air all around me. Working my nerves into a frenzy. Feeling the anxiety for what was to come thriving, living, breathing inside of me. It soured in my veins, producing a splitting vibration at my temples. I did my best to ignore the looming suspicion in the depths of my core. Waiting for I don’t know what.
I sat on his chair in the dark living room, lost in his actions, in his words, in his questions, in everything that happened in such a short amount of time. The only light came off the moon shining from the floor-to-ceiling glass slider in the back of the room. I grabbed my stomach, suddenly feeling nauseous.
This wasn’t right.
I needed to make it right.
“Jesus, fuck this,” I said out loud to myself, grabbing my cell phone from the coffee table. About to dial his number, but it rang instead. I didn’t pay attention to who was calling, answering, “Damien?”
“Amira, I’m sorry to call so late.”
I instantly recognized the man’s voice as my eyes shifted to the clock on the wall that read ten-fifteen. “Yeah. It’s not a good tim—”
“This can’t wait. I just received confirmation that your shipment is arriving at midnight.”
“What?” I replied, caught off guard. “I thought it wasn’t—”
“You thought wrong.”
“No, no, no… I rescheduled! You must be mistaken. Listen to me, the shipment can’t arrive tonight. Do you hear me? I will have whoever’s balls that fucked this up!”
“Technically, Amira, midnight is tomorrow.”
“No shit, but… fuck…” I murmured. “I can’t… I mean… what am I… fuck… I gotta go.” I hung up, peering at the clock again which now felt like it was a ticking time bomb.
Would Damien come back home tonight?
There wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it now, the plan was already set in motion. As much as I didn’t want him to find out this way, I needed to remain calm. All I could do was pray Damien would understand I did what I had to do.
He had to understand.
My life fucking depended on it.
This was the only way, it was my only choice. After the ball dropped, there would be no more shadows between us. I’d step back. I’d leave this life behind, for good.
My home was with him.
Only him.
I took a deep breath, making my way into the master suite. Deciding to take a shower to try to loosen the tension continuously building in the forefront of my mind. I grabbed a cream silk nightie with a matching robe from the closet, and walked into the en suite bathroom, closing the door behind me. Turning on the shower, I set it on the hottest temperature possible and slipped out of my clothes before stepping inside. Welcoming the heat against my tensed frame and allowing the hot water to burn into my pores. Hoping it would relax the strained muscles on my back and neck.
I pressed my hands against the shower wall and leaned my forehead against the cool stoned tile. Closing my eyes, still feeling his strong, callused fingers all over my flesh. His body on top of mine, hearing echoes of his reassuring words and his hurtful ones. No matter how much I tried, how much I wanted to push away the unrelenting questions with no answers, it was no use. My mind ran wild. I couldn’t get it to stop playing image after image from today in front of me.
“I just want to know how many times he touched what’s mine.”
I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold over my aching body and got out. After drying off, I threw on my nightie and robe, wrapping the ties around my waist and knotting it off in a bow. I finished brushing my damp hair, going about my nightly routine, and opened the door. Shivering when the cool air hit my warm skin. Immediately walking over to the bedside table to turn on the lamp. Instantly, sensing I wasn’t alone, I rapidly spun back around. Shrieking as soon as I saw him sitting at the table by the sliding glass door in his room.
Placing my palm on my chest, I yelped, “Jesus, Damien. You scared the shit out of me.”
Even though he was intently staring right at me, he didn’t say a word. He just sat there in the shadows with his elbow leaning against the armrest, rubbing his fingers back and forth across his lips with a drink in his hand. Once again, lost in his own purgatory in a way I’d never witnessed before. His unruly hair draped over his face, obstructing his view, only being able to see through the slits in the strands. It didn’t matter, I could still see his dark, cold, beady eyes penetrating deep into mine, igniting a profound reaction within my heart. The alcohol he’d been drowning in only fueled the way he was glaring at me. It was then I realized he wasn’t looking at me.
He was looking through me.
I don’t know why, but I found myself wanting to stay lost in his eyes, raptured in the blaze that was searing into my skin. Like a snake slithering its way toward you, drawing you in with its sinful dance and hypnotic movement before it unexpectedly swallowed you whole. As much as I was terr
ified by what could happen, I couldn’t look away because there was so much beauty in his catastrophic pain.
He was luring me in with his dominating stare, pulling every sentiment from my body as if it belonged to him. Like we were the only two people in the world. Time just seemed to stand still. It felt like every passing second between us was another thought, another emotion, another memory for him. He was physically there with me, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
Making me question what or who he was truly seeing in front of him.
“Damie—”
“Come here,” he ordered in a stern tone through his index and middle fingers, which hadn’t let up on rubbing his lips. Almost like he needed something else to keep his focus on besides me, and what he was overpoweringly struggling with.
I wanted to move but I couldn’t get my feet to step forward. My heart screaming for me to go to him, although my body declared war, determined to ultimately win the internal battle erupting inside me. Awakening every last demon that had laid dormant and had always bowed down to my heart, swaying my decisions since I was a little girl. Once again protecting me from the man who had always been my everything. I clenched, locking up, staying firmly rooted to the place I stood. I surrendered to my hesitation for however long I could, seeking refuge within myself. Though I was still willingly held captive in his haunted composure, and he knew it too.
He cocked his head to the side, reading me like the back of his hand. “You scared of me, baby?”
“Of course not.”
“You will be if you don’t come over to me, now.”
I stood taller, angling my chin up. Challenging him. A hint of amusement passed through his eyes, but he blinked and it was gone. Making me think I possibly imagined it, needing to cling onto some sort of connection with him. Until I finally chose to fight back for what would forever belong to me.
Him.
To hell with reason, with doubt, with the unknown.
To hell with it all.
Including us.
