"After midnight," I replied, walking off toward the boot of my car, thinking wine was either an extremely good idea, or extremely bad right now. I heard him shut his door and beep the locks closed, but I didn't hear the sound of his feet as he approached.
I had the box in my hands and was turning around as he made it to my side. He took it without asking first, but I didn't get a chance to complain because he said, "I've been waiting since nine. Didn't want to phone you. Wanted it to be a surprise."
"A surprise, huh? You asleep in your car like a homeless person, lowering the standard of the neighbourhood?"
"Yeah, pretty much," he said, good naturedly. Then admitted, voice a little rough, "I couldn't face the guys."
I stopped on my doorstep and glanced up at him. He looked about as shattered as I felt, the sort of exhaustion that's more to do with your state of mind and emotions than your body's physical health.
"I've got the most fantastic idea," I declared, opening my front door. "It's the best idea I've had all day." Which wasn't saying much, according to Cawfield I was mentally cracking and according to Hart and Pierce I needed a partner who would defend me with his life. Clearly I was lacking in both mental acumen and physical ability right now.
Ideas of any sort would not be based on genius or prowess.
Damon shut and locked the door behind him, then placed the box down on the floor of the hall.
"And what idea is that?" he asked, a small smile still present on his lips, but nowhere near reaching his eyes.
I tilted my head, studying him for a second. Delaying the next step I was planning on taking. There'd be time to face up to our past, wouldn't there? Another night when we're not so in need of a tender touch or break from reality.
There hadn't been time for Carl.
And that there was a good enough reason to switch off from everything this evening and lose myself in Damon's arms.
"Chilled Sauvignon Blanc," I whispered, watching his eyebrows slowly rise. "And a bubble bath."
He stopped breathing, eyes wider still, then cleared his throat and said, "That's the best fucking idea you've had all year."
The smile finally reached his eyes just as he crossed the space to meet me, arms wrapping around my shoulders as his face came down and nestled into the curve of my neck. He inhaled deeply. A body shaking desperate draw of air. His hold tightened, his hot breath cascaded over my skin, and I swear he was murmuring some sort of prayer.
I let him take his time, and when I thought he was ready, led him to the bathroom down the hall.
He followed, hand clasped in mine, like a little lost child. An image I had never associated with Damon Michaels before.
But we all need a little tenderness from time to time, to stave off the brutality of real life.
A wise man had told me that once. I hoped it was good advice.
Chapter 26
"We all need a little tenderness from time to time, to stave off the brutality of real life."
As soon as the water in the tub began falling, Damon woke up from whatever lost spell he'd been under. I straightened, from pouring wild berry bliss bubble bath under the spray, and found him already shirtless.
"Eager, then?" I said, appreciating the view for a moment.
Damon purposely slowed down his movements, unbuttoning his top jeans button with a flick of his finger and thumb. He pulled one edge out, intense, dark eyes on my face, and made the rest of the buttons pop, one after the other. It was quite a show. He smirked through the entirety of it.
"I need to wash the last twenty-four hours away," he murmured, jeans undone and sliding down his legs. Leaving behind navy boxers.
He kicked his boots off, then shucked his jeans and socks, leaving everything in a pile on the floor. It was one of things I'd found refreshing about Damon when we'd dated before; he wasn't fussy. Clothes were folded, or not. Rooms were tidy, or not. He never left a wet towel on the floor, or dirty dishes in the sink, but everything else was fair game.
It was the type of prioritising that led you to believe he lived life. Too busy participating to be concerned with detail cleaning his house. I envied him that relaxed approach. I was a little too uptight to leave my clothes on the floor. I did push to leaving them heaped on an armchair in the corner, but that was the extent of my rebellion.
"It's been a strange couple of days," I agreed. "You jump in and I'll grab the wine."
I'm not sure why I had the sudden urge to flee the room before he removed the boxers, but I was sweeping past Damon in the next breath, only to make it part way to the door. He spun in a circle, following my movement, and then just when I saw victory in the form of the carpet in the hall, his arm snaked around my waist and he hauled me back against his chest.
"You're overdressed," he whispered against my ear. His naked chest pressed invitingly and purposefully against my jacket.
"Not for getting the wine," I argued.
"Yes. For anything inside this house this evening. Now," he murmured, hot hands running up the sleeves of my coat, until they reached the collar, then slowing working over my shoulders, down my chest to the belt at my waist. "Let's start with the jacket."
I closed my eyes and let him have his way. I knew Damon was determined once he set his mind to something, and he'd decided I needed to be out of this coat right now.
The belt came undone as he nibbled the side of my neck. He couldn't have been able to see a thing from where he stood at my back, so the disrobing was all done by feel. Next the jacket was pulled off my shoulders, down my arms, and added to the pile of clothing in the corner on the floor.
"You do the holster," he ordered. "Far be it for me to come between a detective and her gun." He mock shuddered when I looked at him over my shoulder. I couldn't help the smile that tipped up my lips.
I unbuckled the harness and threaded my arms out of the straps, walking over to the vanity under the mirror and placing the gun, still in its holster, carefully on the bench.
When I turned back Damon was still standing where I'd left him. Or where he had let me go. It was all relative. I had the feeling tonight had changed. From when we first walked in that door and I was the one in charge, to now when Damon stared at me with pure intent.
"Still overdressed," he whispered, the tone and volume of his voice making the moment more intimate. "Take your blouse off."
"You're very bossy," I whispered back, still smiling, but found myself following the command. I almost stopped undoing buttons, partway down the shirt, when I realised that.
The blouse met the pile with a well aimed toss from my side of the small room.
Damon chuckled, delighted at the progress we'd made.
He cocked his head to stare at me, finger and thumb holding his chin in a contemplative stance. "The trousers," he murmured with a nod, as though he'd only just realised that was the item of clothing that needed to be removed next.
He was having fun. A playful Damon was a dangerous Damon. Because I could never say no to that. I slipped out of the trousers without Damon's flare for striptease and added those, and my shoes and socks, to the discarded clothing. I was left in nothing but my underwear, which unfortunately was not of the sexy variety, but rather the comfortable, elasticised cotton kind in plain white. At least they were cut in a nice shape, showing off my long legs, trim waist, and generous boobs. Damon seemed pleased with the result, in any case.
"Now you're dressed appropriately," he commented.
"You want me to get the wine like this?"
He nodded, eyes still glued to my upper body, somewhere in the vicinity of my breasts.
"Yeah, just like that. In fact, I can picture you bending over to lean into the fridge quite nicely now." He made a growly sound, that wasn't quite right coming from a man like him.
I shook my head. "Pervert," I muttered, my lips tipping up further on each side.
"Where you're concerned I don't deny it."
I huffed an amused breath, feeling the stress of the past f
ew days already melt. "You get the bath water, I'll get the drinks," I suggested, wanting in that tub now more than ever.
"Deal," he replied, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. Probably thinking of me bending over at the fridge.
I returned with two glasses and a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc to find Damon already submerged in the water. OK, maybe my desire to leave the room before he stripped the last vestiges of clothing off was a mistake. Now I was still wearing underwear, his naked body was hidden by bath foam, and I'd have to do the whole strip and climb in the tub under his dark and hungry gaze thing.
I decided I'd just accept that he had won this round quite nicely and be gracious in my defeat.
I poured the wine, offered him a glass, placed mine on the other side of the tub, all the while aware he was smiling in eager anticipation. I stood up, offered a little smirk, and then proceeded to climb in the tub as I was; still wearing my knickers and bra.
A harsh burst of laughter exploded from his lips, making him cough as he'd been in the process of sipping his wine. I settled under the bubbles facing him, while he cleared his airway with a few sharp slaps against his upper chest, and then lifted my wine glass to his for a toast.
"Bottoms up," I said, overly cheerfully.
"What sort of toast is that?" he asked, not commenting on the fact I was still semi-dressed.
"What would you prefer?"
"How about..." He thought about it for a second or two, then nodded to himself and said, "How about, here's to many more battles to be fought, many more battles to be won, and many more battles to be lost, with you." Then he added, "For the life of me, I can't decided which I prefer. Winning or losing. You make either worth my while, Lara."
I blinked back at him, then sipped from my glass, not because I was agreeing to the toast, but to hide my face while I assimilated those words. He'd made it clear he wanted back in my life permanently. And I'd realised having him gone from it forever did not sit well. Somewhere in the middle was where we needed to meet. But I was never very good at compromising. I didn't have the faintest idea how to find that middle ground.
Thankfully, Damon either picked up on my discomfort, or chose to ignore it for now. Because he didn't press for anything more, just sipped his wine, let his eyes trail over my face and then finally set the glass aside.
"Come here," he murmured, holding out a hand, waiting for me to grasp it and do as he said. He had a patient look on his face, and it was probably because of that more than anything else, that made me follow the command.
Placing my glass on the edge of the tub, I moved through the steaming water and turned so my back would be pressed to his chest, taking his hand when I settled into position. One of his arms was over my shoulder, fingers entwined with mine from the opposite hand, the other was running up and down that arm, spreading the foam across my skin.
"Do you want your bra off?" he whispered, nose in amongst my hair. I nodded. He'd asked, not demanded.
He pulled back and undid the hooks, then helped me slip the soggy and clingy fabric down my arms. It made a wet splat sound as it hit the tiles on the floor.
"What about these?" he asked, fingers running along the upper edge of my knickers across my stomach making me utter a sound close to a giggle as he found my ticklish spot.
"Oh, I don't know," I returned, openly teasing. "They're kind of comfortable."
"Are you sure?" he asked, his finger dipping down over the material and rubbing through my folds.
Somehow it was more of a turn on, having my panties on, wet from the bath water, and now from the moisture pooling between my thighs. I let my head fall back resting on his shoulder as Damon softly stroked the groove down the middle of my knickers, a tease that was far more successful than mine. I let a moan out I hadn't expected to make. Damon's erection, which had been growing since the moment I joined him in the tub, jerked against my butt cheeks and back.
"Lara," Damon murmured. "Take them off."
An order. I shook my head.
"OK," he said, shifting tactics. His hand slipped into the top of my knickers, then delved further until he found his goal. A sole finger ran through the folds, then dipped, knuckle deep inside. He held it there, breathing hotly against the damp skin of my neck. "Rock your hips," he ordered.
"Damon," I began.
"No, love. You're my prize." For the past twenty-four hours of hell?
How could I deny him? I'd left him out to hang in that interview with Pierce, I'd struggled with what he'd done. He'd been aware of all of that, yet when I turned up at his cell in Central lock-up he didn't ignore me. He didn't rant or rave. He wrapped me up in his arms and took what he could get. Despite everything I had and hadn't done to keep him safe.
His finger withdrew slowly, then a second one was added with a small twist of his wrist as he settled them deep. My hips rocked automatically when he brushed my G-spot.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Again." His voice was husky, the teasing lilt long lost.
I groaned, then rolled my hips, feeling the strength in his forearm and biceps as he held his hand rigidly still, letting me set the pace. He didn't move his fingers at all, it was entirely up to me to ride them, seeking my release.
"Damon," I tried again. Needing more friction, more him.
"What do you need?"
"More."
"Once you come like this."
"I..." I licked my lips, squeezed my eyes closed and rocked harder against his fingers.
He suddenly scissored them, stretching me. I let a yelp out and then a decidedly sexy moan. He pumped his fingers deliciously, twice, meeting each rock of my hungry hips. But as soon as that was done, he stilled. Leaving me hanging and desperate for the same again.
"Work for it, Lara," he whispered in my ear. "Make me believe you want it."
God, he was infuriating, and yet this was what I'd missed the most. His control. His force of will. The way he could be playful one second and demanding the next. I never knew what to expect. I wasn't sure which Damon I preferred.
I rolled my hips. I ground down against his knuckles. I gripped his thighs and threw my head back, eyes closed, breathing ragged. I worked for it. I fucked his fingers until I found release. It was almost perfect.
I wanted to do it again immediately.
I made a sound, it was a keening, desperate whimper. It gave way too much of what I was feeling away. I ignored it.
"God," I managed, still moving my hips even though Damon had removed his hand.
"You want more?" he asked, a small amount of smugness evident in his tone.
"I need more," I said on a rush of air. Unashamed to voice it. Damon had always made me crave.
"Then take your underwear off."
I struggled to obey the command quickly, splashing water over the edge of the tub. My movements too hurried, my frustration mounting, until Damon was laughing, helping me out of them and I started offering a playful slap on his knee - the only part of him I could really reach - to shut him up. The knickers met the bra on the tiles, a squelching sound emitted as they hit the wet pile hard. I went to turn around to face him, but he gripped my hips, lifted me off his lap, my back still to his chest, and then positioned himself at my entrance. Slowly he pulled me back down, impaling me on his shaft.
He held me there, both of us panting, then started to lift me back up and almost off the end of his cock, then rock his hips as he pulled me firmly back down. A rhythm started up, making the water in the bath undulate and roll, until large amounts of it was washing over the side of the tub. I didn't care, I couldn't get enough. Bathrooms were made for water spillage, or so I told myself right then.
"Lara," Damon rasped. "Move to your knees and ride me."
It must have been too much lifting my weight off, even in water where everything feels that much lighter. I kept forgetting, Damon was as exhausted as me. His arms were shaking slightly, muscles bulging. It was sexy as fuck, but he couldn't hold out much longer, I was sure.
I rose up, repositioning myself on my knees, making his shaft slip out while I manoeuvred in the small space of the tub. It was awkward and I was worried I was about to whack him in the nether regions, but between the two of us, and through our exasperated laughter, we managed to sort it all out. Then Damon guided me slowly back down and the tight confines of the bath tub were forgotten.
He pulled me hard that last little distance, so I could feel him hitting the very end of me once inside. I moaned. He groaned. Then I started using my thighs to lift up and then come back down with the aid of his hands on my hips as guides.
He grunted each time he became buried deep inside me again. I let a breath of air out as though being punched. My thighs started to ache, the pain adding to the sensory overload. My knees were getting bruised against the hard ceramic of the tub. And the water was getting cool and low, now that most of it had made it over the side.
But neither of us stopped. We were having way too much fun.
Our movements became more and more frantic. Then in desperation, I think, Damon hauled me up, rose onto his own knees behind me - more water splashing, more amused curses - placing me on all fours still in the bath and entering me again in a rush. One hand holding onto my shoulder, ensuring I came back hard against each rocking thrust of his hips. The other gripping my waist firmly, above my hip, keeping me steady as my body began to tingle, blood rushing away from my head and stars exploding behind my closed eyelids.
I cried out in blissful ecstasy, aches and pains from kneeling on hard ceramic a distant memory, as the orgasm, a million times better than the last one, flooded my sensory receptors. Damon yelled my name, following my release with the hot, pulsing shots of his own. His chest came down onto my back, both of us panting and sweating despite having been in a bath. We stayed like that until we could speak and move, our limbs weak and shaking, our breaths ragged and exhausted, smiles spreading our lips.
"You're going to wear me out," I complained playfully, as he pulled me back into his embrace. I lay sideways between his thighs, my cheek on his broad chest, as he ran his fingers through my hair, and then started to soap up my body with tender hands, almost distractedly.
A Flare Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 1) Page 24
