by Remy Rose
More real.
And that would all be wonderful, if it weren’t for his very powerful, very intense, very real mother looming in my thoughts like a storm cloud. But for now, I’m going to shove that bad weather to the very back recesses of my mind and let in the son.
I pull into Damon’s driveway, and Tucker trots over to greet me, woofing and wagging. I’m so grateful he emerged unscathed from his chocolate consumption last week. I never would have forgiven myself.
He’s very interested in the bowl of potato salad I’m carrying, and I hold it above dog-level while I bend down to kiss his head. I walk around back to the deck to find Damon, looking very cool and very hot in a fitted white t-shirt, denim shorts and flip-flops, his deep tan making his hair look blonder. He’s fiddling with the grill burners and flashes me a dazzling smile as I approach.
Even with a cloud-covered sky like today...when I look at him, I see sun.
The prehistoric bird thing again.
“Hey,” I tell him casually. “Happy Fourth.”
“Happy Fourth to you. Not the greatest weather right now, but it’s supposed to burn off later, so fireworks viewing should be good.” Damon motions to the patio fridge. “Grab a beer or a wine cooler. I’ve got the steaks and chicken marinating inside. Out of T-Man’s reach, of course.”
I step up onto the deck, setting my bowl on the patio table. There are frilly red and white geraniums in big ceramic pots at the corners of the big deck, each with a small American flag in the soil, and citronella candles in red, white and blue holders, clustered together in the center of the table.
“You decorated.”
“Meh. Don’t know if I’d call this decorating—just picked up some stuff at Home Depot when I was out getting propane yesterday. There’s still more I plan to do, both inside and outside.”
“Well, what you’ve got so far looks great. What can I do for you?”
“Now that’s a loaded question.”
“Be good. We have guests coming.”
“After the guests leave, I’ll be sure to address your question as to what you can do for me. For now, maybe you can help put the vegetables on skewers or cut up some watermelon. Oh, and also...”
In one swift, fluid motion he’s got me by the waist, dipping me like we’re dancers as my lips part in surprise. There is absolutely no protesting whatsoever from me as he fills my mouth with his tongue. He is all strong arms, firm abs, clean, masculine scent and below-the-belt promises. And for right now, he is all mine.
He ends the kiss but keeps his lips a whisper away. “Happy Fourth, Delaney.”
Suddenly, a deep, male voice behind us. “Hey. Did you two turn this into a private party and not tell us?”
I quickly bring up my hand to rub across my lips. My face is burning, but I can’t hide my smile. Jack is grinning, and Maddie is looking at me with a knowing smirk as she pats Tucker who’s gone over to greet them.
Damon chuckles, his arm draping across my shoulders. “Sorry, man. Guess we were feeling the fireworks early.”
“No apologies, dude. I get it.”
Mads cocks her eyebrow at me, seizing my gaze in a nonverbal oh, I get it, too. I definitely get it.
I briskly change the subject. “Jack, maybe Damon can give you a tour of the house? I know Maddie’s already seen it.”
“That’d be great. You’ve got a phenomenal spot here, Damon.” Jack nods approvingly, sweeping his eyes along the shoreline.
Damon gets a beer out of the fridge and hands it to Jack as they both walk in the sliding glass door to the house with Tucker at their heels. I take out a bottled water for Maddie, and we settle into the cushioned swivel chairs, both of us smiling like girlfriends do when they know delicious things about each other.
“This feels good, doesn’t it?” Mads takes a sip of water.
“Define ‘this.’” Although I’m pretty sure I know what she means.
“All of it. You being here with Damon, us being here with both of you, celebrating the 4th.”
I hesitate, not because it doesn’t, because it so does. But it wasn’t supposed to happen. Before I can stop them, my thoughts become words.
Madeline shakes her head, her chestnut ponytail bobbing. “You can’t say that, Lane. This is exactly what’s supposed to happen, because it did. The sooner you can stop denying that, and denying your feelings, the sooner you’ll be at peace.”
“Even if I should do that, I can’t. You don’t understand.” I drop my voice, leaning forward in my chair. “You haven’t met his mother.”
“I know that, but I have a feeling that Damon can handle whatever that woman gives him. She may have a financial hold over him, but maybe he can find a way around that. Plus, from the way I saw him kissing you—you can’t put a price tag on that.” She winks.
“I’m just planning to enjoy it for the remainder of the contract, which ends on the twenty-eighth.” Twenty-four days. “I’ll never regret meeting him, and I will always be grateful he was able to help me get over my...inhibitions.” I feel tears forming in the back of my eyes and move quickly to lighten the mood. “He’s very, um, convincing.”
Maddie laughs. “I’ll bet.”
Damon and Jack hang out at the grill like old friends, talking golf and business and boats. We toast with three alcoholic beverages and one glass of milk to engagements and independence and well-mannered black dogs. We all heap our plates, everyone loves my potato salad, and I’m trying to ignore the flurry of sparks low in my belly when I think of tonight, when Damon and I will be alone.
Mads brought strawberry shortcake for dessert, and while she’s spooning the berries and whipped cream onto the biscuits, I go to my car to get the engagement gift my mother dropped off. I know what it is, and I also know Maddie will get a kick out of it.
“What is this? You already got us that beautiful succulent arrangement!” Maddie points the whipped cream spoon at me.
“It’s not from me, girlfriend. It’s from my mother.”
“Ohh...your mother.” Madeline’s eyes are shining as she looks at Jack. “Her mom is adorable. You’ll meet her at the wedding.”
“Adorable,” Damon agrees. “I now know what Delaney will look like in twenty-five years. And I’m okay with it.”
This totally blows me way, but I struggle to keep it hidden.
Maddie carefully unwraps the floral paper and opens the box, lifting out a hand-crafted wooden bowl made of light and dark wood.
“Oh my gosh! It’s beautiful.”
I can’t help but smile. “Turn it over to see where she got it.”
She does, reading the label out loud. “Hand crafted at the Maine State Prison.” She looks up, her eyes widening in surprise.
“They have a showroom people can visit. It’s actually quite popular, and my mother is, not surprisingly, one of their best customers.”
“Oh my God, Laney, she so would be.” Maddie is giggling. “Your mom, the ultimate believer in the goodness of people. I really do love her.”
Jack picks up the bowl, looks at the underside of it with his lips twitching. “Maybe they could personalize their products more—like with the crime the person committed. Have an inscription like, The hands that strangled my wife also made you this bowl.”
“Oh Jesus, you are awful!” Maddie bursts into horrified giggles as Damon gives Jack a congratulatory fist bump. We’re all laughing hard, and I flash back to what Maddie said earlier: This feels good, doesn’t it?
It does.
Late in the afternoon, Maddie is nestled against Jack in the oversized chaise lounge. He has his muscular arms wrapped around her protectively, and she has her hands resting on the gentle swell of her belly. Witnessing this, I’m feeling so much that it almost hurts. Damon’s sitting across from me, rubbing Tucker’s head with one hand and tipping a bottle of beer to his mouth with the other. He is watching me intently, his sculpted features solemn. I look away because his gaze is so intense, but he’s had an effect on me. I cannot de
ny how much I want to be alone with him. How much I want to feel his arms around me, his mouth on mine, his hands on my skin, his cock inside me...filling me up, flooding out any emptiness I feel, like only he can do.
Like only he can do.
What am I saying here?
Mads is yawning, and she covers her mouth. Jack nuzzles the side of her face. “Tired, Callaway?”
She nods, smiling ruefully. “Yup. This mama-to-be could use a nap.”
We all stand up, give each other goodbye hugs, and I shiver as I feel Damon’s arm slip around me. Maddie gives me a long, knowing look as she leaves. “Love you lots, Lane.”
“Love you lots, too. And that little nugget you’re growing.”
Then, the girl and the boy and his big black dog are alone. The boy feeds his big black dog while the girl picks up the dishes and blows out the candles on the patio table, and both the boy and the girl put the leftovers in Tupperware containers while the big black dog sits politely for the table scraps he knows he’s going to get.
“I always wondered if rich people would use things like Tupperware,” I tell Damon.
He regards me with amusement. “What did you think we used? Waterford crystal with lids?”
I snap a dish towel at him as he grins.
“C’mon, Sprite—do you really categorize me as ‘rich people?’”
“I mean, it’s a fact that you are, but I will admit that most of the time, you’re refreshingly down-to-earth and quite humble. That is, when you’re not being cocky and self-serving.”
“You forgot to add ‘no offense’ the way people do when they secretly want to insult you but don’t want it to be obvious. And I hope you know by now that my cocky, self-serving ways are for effect only.”
I fold my arms. “And just what effect is that supposed to have?”
“Most women are drawn to it—including you. I’ve learned that they like charming, confident and bold, and I have fun with that.”
“Really.”
Damon takes a step toward me. There’s a sly gleam in his eyes which I’ve come to know all too well. “Yes, really. It seemed to work quite well on you. In fact, it continues to work quite well on you.”
I take a step back. He’s making me want to play with him. Again. I lift my chin, straighten my shoulders, look into his eyes that are flickering with arousal. “You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Completely.” His voice drops to dangerously gravelly. “Admit it, Delaney. You want me right now.” He moves close to me, putting his strong arms around my waist and holding me against the hard bulge in his shorts as I press my hands against his pecs. He’s got me so tight I can’t move. Which is fine, because I don’t want to.
He dips his head lower, brushing his cool lips against my neck as tingles shimmer from the places he’s kissing me to the places I want him to.
“You want my mouth.” His hand slips under my hair, and I feel myself sliding away. “You want my touch.” He gently lifts up my blouse, his other hand traveling up to my bra and inside the cup, his fingers scissoring around my nipple as I gasp. “Sexy girl,” he says, his voice rumbling low in his throat. “By the way, your innocent, peasant-blouse look fucking slays me. You knew it would, didn’t you?”
I did.
“No,” I whisper.
“Bullshit.” Damon laughs softly. “You know exactly what you’re doing, every time you dress. You know exactly what’s going to bring me to my knees.” He rubs his thumb over my nipple which has become hard and needy as hell. There is a rush of wetness between my legs. I am already aching for him.
He reaches up to take my hand off his chest, guiding it downward and placing it over his bulging erection. Another surge of arousal courses through me as I feel him.
“See what you do to me, baby?”
I grope, he groans, and our mouths find each other, kissing deeply and hungrily. My desire emboldens me. I start unbuckling his belt, fingers fumbling in my mounting excitement over mounting him or him mounting me...it doesn’t matter; all I know is I need to be with this man, now.
But suddenly, Damon pulls back. I look up at him, practically panting, questioning.
“Wait...let’s stop for a second,” he says, his breathing fast and shallow. “Before we can’t.” His face is flushed, his nostrils flaring slightly, and I know he’s as turned on as I am. He gently closes his hand over my wrist. “I need to show you something first. Come with me.”
I follow him into the living room where Tucker is sprawled out sleeping on the Oriental rug. And then, I see it.
Correction: I don’t actually see it, because it’s covered up, but I most definitely know what it is.
Holy. Shit.
Damon goes over to it, lifting a corner of the white sheet and whisking it off to reveal the most magnificent piano I have ever seen.
I walk toward it, toward Damon, almost cautiously. It is so beautiful and gleaming and perfect, I almost don’t dare touch it. I look up at Damon who is smiling and proud—there is warm affection in his eyes, along with a knowing expectation brewing beneath.
“It’s a Fazioli grand. I ordered it a couple of months ago, after I knew I was getting this house. I knew it would be perfect in this spot, with the size of the living room. “I bought it to play, but honestly?” Reaching out, he traces the outline of my jaw with whisper-soft fingers. “I also bought it because I wanted to make love to you on it.”
My God. I never dreamed it was possible for someone’s voice, someone’s words to be so incredibly sexy you could practically climax just listening, but that’s where I am right now. So in awe of him, of this moment, of what I am feeling...I wrap my arms around myself, fingers digging into my upper arms and holding tight so I won’t completely fall apart on his living room floor in front of him and Tucker and this gorgeous piano.
“It’s been a fantasy of mine, ever since we started talking about it.”
And a fantasy of mine, ever since I saw the movie. What girl wouldn’t want to act out that scene?
“You really...stepped up your game with this, didn’t you?” I manage.
“Oh, but I think you’ll agree this is far from a game, Delaney. This is very, very...” He takes a step closer, pausing to bend down and nip at my neck, fondle my breasts. “...serious business.”
I stand up on my toes, putting my arms around his neck to pull that beautiful mouth down to me. The taste and feel of his tongue against mine is making me delirious. He holds me as I writhe against his hard-on.
“Christ, Delaney,” he mumbles at my lips. “I want you so much.”
I tug at the bottom of his shirt, and he yanks it off over his head. I put my eager hands on his warm skin, reveling at the defined muscles. I want him, so much—I want to play out this fantasy we both have.
And I want it never to end.
He voices what I’m thinking. “We’re so fucking good together, babe. We can keep being good together.”
I can’t help the words coming out of my mouth. It’s as though I want to rid myself of them, of the dread that coats my insides whenever I think of how we must end.
“Till contract do us part.”
He sighs, pressing his forehead against mine in an unexpectedly sweet and tender gesture. “It doesn’t have to be over then.” He tips my chin back and kisses me softly, his eyes open and looking deep into me. When he pulls back, I see a tightness in his face—a sadness I’ve never seen before.
My heart clutches.
Then, just as quickly as it came, his solemn expression is gone, and the slow, familiar grin brightens his face. “But maybe we’d better do this like we’re never going to do it again.”
I swallow. “Play for me, Damon,” I whisper. “And then I want you to fuck me.”
His eyes glaze over with unbridled lust. I see his broad chest rise and fall. “I can do that, Sprite. It would be my absolute pleasure to do that.”
Kissing me again, he moves to the piano bench and sits down, lifting the
board covering the keys. His long, strong fingers hover for a second, and then, he begins to play.
I’ve never had anyone play the piano just for me before. Seeing this shirtless, golden, mouthwatering man doing so—it’s almost like I’m watching him make love to it. He’s stroking the keys gently at one moment with fluttering, delicate fingers, then tensing his hands and playing more forcefully the next. Stroking, caressing, teasing the music out of the instrument, filling the room with beauty and song. The scene begs to be painted, with the stunning backdrop of the sunset-smeared sky and glittering ocean through the windows behind him. I watch his hands, the rippling of the muscles in his arms and back, the fierce concentration of his face as he plays. It is tender, soulful, erotic, and when he finishes, I cannot speak.
Damon drops the board over the keys and turns sideways to grin at me. He looks boyish and proud, knowing that he’s pleased and surprised me. “Mozart. Fantasia in D minor.”
“That was just beautiful,” I say, finally. You are beautiful.
“Thanks. I played it as the guest youth pianist with the Bangor Symphony Orchestra my junior year of high school. I always pretended I hated playing when I was with my jock friends because piano wasn’t considered cool, but secretly, I loved it. It felt like an escape and came naturally to me. I’ve got you to thank for rekindling my feelings for it. And speaking of rekindling—we have some unfinished business. Come here, pretty woman.”
I smile at his movie reference and go to him, my heart thrumming in my chest.
He slides back a bit on the bench, leaving me room to squeeze between him and the piano. The concentration returns to his face—this time for me.
“I should be wearing a white robe,” I whisper, as his hands move to my waistband.
“You don’t need a white robe. It would only get in the way. And by the way, calling you a pretty woman is like saying Mozart was okay at composing.” He lifts my blouse, pressing his lips to my bare belly, and then I feel his fingers unfastening the button of my white shorts.
