by Remy Rose
At that point, I’m grateful that I chose my undergarments carefully: black lace bra and black silk thong. I think—I hope—he will approve.
We’re standing beside my bed. Damon is staring at me, his eyes gleaming with want, features hardened with intense desire. I start to tremble.
“Okay for me to be me starting now?”
I know what he means. He is asking permission to do what he’d do with other women. With other women who don’t have issues like me.
I so want to be a woman without issues. I tell him, yes. I don’t mean for the word to come out so breathy, but it does.
“Unbutton my shirt.”
Using fingers that don’t feel like they belong to me, I obey him. It’s a very nice dress shirt—white, open collar, wrinkle-free, and there’s a jacquard type of pattern to it. Each button I undo causes my arousal and excitement and nervousness to climb.
“Tucker is being such a good boy.” I say helplessly, glancing over at him laying on the carpet by the open door. He thumps his tail.
“The best,” Damon murmurs, dipping his head down to kiss my cheek, my neck.
I continue unbuttoning. “I like this shirt. The pattern.”
“Thank you.” He tugs at the bottom of my black t-shirt to free it from my jeans and goes to work on my belt buckle.
I reach the last button, open his shirt and inhale sharply at his smooth, rigid chest and golden skin. I can’t help but put my hands on him, skate my fingers across his torso. Almost like I’m checking to see if he’s real.
He is.
I’m nervous as fuck, and when I’m nervous as fuck, I tend to blurt. “The pattern of your shirt reminds me of my shower curtain. Not the curtain, but the liner.”
“Thank you for sharing that. I’m sure Salvatore Ferragamo would enjoy having his clothing compared to a vinyl sheet.” He laughs softly as he unfastens the top of my jeans. “You are truly amazing, Delaney Brewster.” His tone changes. “If I were to, say, slide my hand down your pants, would I feel wetness?”
“No.” I’m whispering. “Dry as the Sahara down there.”
“I don’t believe you. Let me check, and then we’ll both know.”
I bunch up his expensive, Salvatore Ferragamo, shower-curtain-liner shirt in both hands and gasp as he steadies me with an arm around my waist and walks the cool fingers of his other hand down my pants. He is feeling me outside my thong, stroking along the triangle of silk with one very skilled finger.
“Ah,” he chides me softly, withdrawing his hand much too soon and taking a step back. “You weren’t being truthful, little girl.”
No, I fucking wasn’t. I’m soaked. I was soaked the second we stepped into my bedroom, and I’m getting wetter and hotter by the second, looking at him with his open shirt framing that delectably muscular upper body. Looking below, at the front of his black pants, where there is a very large, very evident bulge.
I want to unwrap that bulge.
And once again, as though Damon can see inside my head, he takes my hand and guides it to his hard-on. Sucking in my breath, I grasp it and watch his wide chest rise up and down.
“I know how wet you are for me, and now you know how hard I am for you. Christ, I want to fuck you, Delaney.”
I grope and squeeze his cock, making him groan. He pulls me against him, and I wrap my arms around his waist. His hands are gripping my ass hard as his mouth takes mine. God, I could kiss this man for hours. For days. His lips are soft yet authoritative, and I love the feel of his tongue as it delves deeper in search of my own.
We are still kissing as he guides me gently a few steps backward, then cradles the back of my head in one hand as he lays me down on the bed of ten thousand pillows.
“Sorry about all the pillows,” I whisper. “I kind of have an addiction.”
“The pillows are fine. I love the pillows.”
Looking up at this big, beautiful man, seeing the fierce desire on his face and knowing I’m the object of it is incredibly arousing. There is a blazing in my belly as he puts his hands at my waist and wordlessly works my jeans down—and off.
I shudder as his index finger slips into my thong, grazes the top of my folds. He is breathing hard as he pulls at the strip of fabric between my legs, making it rub agonizingly back and forth against my very swollen clit, and holy fucking hell, how I love that. He leans back on his knees, yanks off his shirt, unbuckles his belt and whips it out of the belt loops in one smooth motion. I watch, absolutely electrified, as he gets off the bed to slide down his pants. His cock is huge and heavy, straining toward me. I am practically salivating to get my lips around that big head, so turned on I feel like my thong has dissolved into the bedspread. But before I can ask permission, Damon is reaching into his pants pocket and taking out a foil packet, tearing it open swiftly and rolling the condom down over his enormous erection.
This is really going to happen.
“You are so fucking hot, Delaney.” His voice is so raspy I almost don’t recognize it.
I close my eyes. I can’t move, can’t breathe. But I can think. And I can remember.
I want to fuck you so bad. I’m the first one to ever fuck you, aren’t I?
*a whisper* Yes.
No one’s ever been inside this pussy before, right?
No...I’m a virgin. You know that.
Yeah, but I just love hearing you say it. *grins* Here. I want you to put this blindfold on, baby. It’s a major turn-on for me. Will you do that?
I don’t answer right away.
Come on. It’ll make it more of an intense experience for you, too.
*hesitantly* Okay.
*fastening the cloth around my eyes, tying it tight. Very tight. Then grunting, lifting my arms over my head.* Leave the blindfold on. Spread your legs. Don’t move. I’m going to fuck you now.
*climbing on top of me, exhaling harshly. I smell beer on his breath, and male perspiration. Fingers fumbling between my legs. Am I lubricated enough? I’m scared. We’ve dated for a month; somehow now it doesn’t seem long enough.
Cool air as he gets off me. Fingers again between my legs, stroking clumsily, pushing inside my vagina. I don’t think I’m wet enough. Then, his hard cock, the tip pushing against my opening, shoving inside...I cry out. Jesus, it hurts! Hands go back to my wrists, holding them tightly. There is a pounding rhythm as I bite down on my lip against the pain. God, is he almost there? He’s groaning. I’ve never heard him like this. I feel the heat from his body, a stronger smell of sweat. Pounding, pounding, his balls slapping against me, and then he grunts and shudders, and it’s over.
Don’t move yet, Delaney. I’m going to take the blindfold off in a minute. I just want to look at you like that.
His voice sounds far away.
You were so good, he tells me, as he takes off my blindfold. So tight, and so good. I’m glad I was your first one.
I found out later, he wasn’t.
“No! Please. No. I—I can’t.” My eyes flash open to a bewildered Damon, holding his cock in his hand, poised to enter me. Instantly, his face registers alarm. He is worried that he’s done something to cause this reaction in me. The fact that he cares, not about getting inside me but about me, sends a rush of hot tears to my eyes. Hot, and angry, because he doesn’t deserve this. And because I really, really did want him inside me.
Suddenly, I’m crying and hating myself, which makes me cry even more.
“Hey...hey. Come here.” Damon gathers me in his arms, holding me tight on the bed. “Everything’s okay, Sprite. I’ve got you.”
I am sobbing, blubbering like a two-year-old and begging him to forgive me, because this first time for us could have been—should have been—perfect, and I totally ruined it.
He’s rocking me back and forth, murmuring in my hair, and I am blown away by the tenderness in his voice, his touch.
“Ssshhh...stop. Seriously, stop saying you’re sorry. I knew you had something going on inside. Delicate as hummingbird wings, remember?”
I nod, sniff up my nose tears and huddle against his warm chest. “Is there a psychological condition for being afraid of sex? Because I’m pretty sure I have it.”
“I don’t know. But I do know it’s fixable. I’d like to think that most things in life are. And I hope you can trust me enough to tell me why you’re afraid, Sprite, not just so I’ll understand but so I can help you fix it.”
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I’m struck that I’m sitting unclothed in the lap of an unclothed man I haven’t known for very long, yet I’m feeling safer and more secure than I ever have.
Safe and secure enough to share my secret with him.
I wipe my wet cheeks and lean into him with a big sigh. Similar to the contented sigh Tucker made his first night over here. “You need to know that I haven’t told anyone what I’m about to tell you.” Deep breath. “It was my junior year in college. Maddie set me up with this guy Garrett at a party—he was a transfer student from Bates. Her boyfriend was friends with him. What I didn’t find out right away is that he was looking to join one of the frats.
“I was probably one of the only girls on campus who hadn’t had sex yet. Believe it or not, I was pretty shy in high school, and never had a serious boyfriend. It wasn’t like I was holding out for any reason—just wanted my first time to be with someone special, and I hadn’t found anybody yet. I thought Garrett was going to be that someone. It turns out I couldn’t have been more wrong. Part of the initiation into the frat was for him to find a virgin—for one of the other frat members.”
Damon tenses up, his arms tightening around me. “I don’t fucking like where this is going.”
I tremble with the memory. Just the thought of what happened that night makes me want to jump out of my skin. “I was over at Garrett’s apartment one night. He blindfolded me, and I was pretty stressed out about that but went along with it because I really wanted to be with him. I ended up losing my virginity that night, but not to him.” I swallow hard. “What I didn’t know was that he had a couple of frat guys hiding in the apartment. They came in the room once I was blindfolded, and one of them ended up having sex with me. I didn’t find out till later that who I thought was Garrett was really some stranger. I was just being used as part of some initiation rite.”
Damon is silent for a few seconds. He is still holding me close. I can feel the tension in him, the slow burn of his anger. When he speaks, it sounds like his jaw is clenched. “How did you find this out?”
“At a party a week later, from the girlfriend of one of the frat members. She’d had a lot to drink, and you know how alcohol can be like truth serum...she spilled the whole thing to me. She said she wasn’t supposed to tell me, but she felt so guilty as a woman, knowing the truth.”
“So you were betrayed, and you didn’t give consent to the guy. It could almost be called rape.”
“Yes. I guess it could. I was so humiliated and just wanted to crawl in a hole. I didn’t tell a soul—not even Maddie, because she had fixed me up with him. I knew she’d never forgive herself, and I didn’t want to do that to her. I just wanted the whole thing to go away. I buried it inside me, but it keeps clawing its way out, like when I’ve tried to be intimate with another man. I’ve had sex only one other time since then, and it was awful. I really, really want to get over this, Damon.” The tears start to collect in my eyes and drip down my cheeks.
He leans back, cups my face in his hands and looks at me, eyes blazing with fury and disbelief—and pain. Just like I must have looked when I found out what had been done to me.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Delaney...I can’t believe that happened to you. I’m so sorry. I’m actually ashamed to be a man right now.” He kisses my forehead and my tear-streaked cheeks, his hands gently squeezing my shoulders, and then gathers me up again.
It is exactly what I need from him right now. I can feel the I am here...you are safe flowing through his embrace, and unexpectedly, I feel myself relax against him, the weight of the secret and anguish lifting and floating away.
He feels so big, so warm and good—like when you’re wrapped up in a blanket, only with a whole lot of sexy mixed in. My desire is stirred. I tip my head back to look at him, then link my arms around his neck and pull his mouth down so I can kiss him. It’s a light, sweet, barely-brushing-lips kind of kiss, and even though I think I want more, he is the voice of reason.
“Maybe we better just sit with this for a while, Sprite,” he murmurs, before dusting kisses on each of my eyebrows. His face is etched with concern, eyes searching mine like he’s trying to make sure I’m okay.
“I’m okay,” I tell him softly.
And at this moment, I actually believe it.
chapter 23 / Damon
So in semi-good news, I closed on my house in Hancock. Tucker and I are moving in tomorrow, which means that tonight’s the last night we’ll be sleeping over at Delaney’s—the reason for me calling it semi-good news. The past few nights have been completely platonic, yet I’ve felt closer to her than ever. We’ve been talking before going to bed—just talking, about a lot of things, like family and school and childhood stories. I’ve been sharing the couch with Tucker and haven’t made any moves, although it’s been killing me not to with her only fifteen feet away down the hall for the past four nights. I came out of the bathroom last night to find her standing just outside the door with her arms wrapped around herself, looking up at me with those shining blue eyes and unspoken longing, and I wanted more—fuck, did I want more—but I just bent down and hugged her, listening to her sigh and feeling her mold herself against me, and it seemed like this was what she needed at that moment. I had to steel myself not to push my hand up in her hair, tilt her head back and make her mouth mine, but she seems so fragile and vulnerable to me right now—hummingbird wings. I want her to know that what she needs is more important than what I want. I want her to know that I’m here for her first as a person, and that getting physical is secondary to her emotional well-being.
Okay, whoa. Hold up, buddy. Where the fuck did Damon Cavanaugh, self-centered, self-serving, borderline-dick go?
He appears to have taken off for parts unknown when the girl he likes tells him how much she’s hurting.
I can’t wrap my mind about what she went through. Seriously makes me want to track down the pricks who did it and punch their fucking lights out. I’ve gotten so fucking angry over the past several days, thinking about it—about how vulnerable she was, and I’ve had this crazy thought of wishing I could have been there back then, to protect her. But since I wasn’t, I’ll do my best to protect her now, which includes backing off and keeping my cock in my pants.
I’ve never experienced my desire for someone growing like I have with Delaney. My usual method of operating has been to enjoy a woman short-term, get antsy, move on and find the next. There were always “nexts.” I’ve never had that sense of restlessness when I’m with Sprite. In fact, it’s been completely the opposite.
When I’m not with her? Different story. This limbo state we’re in right now is tough. Maybe it’ll be easier when I’m not at her place, lying wide awake on her couch and wondering if she’s awake, too. I’ll find out, since the movers are getting my things out of storage today, and I’ll be in my new house tomorrow night.
But right now, I’m driving to Delaney’s from the office. She asked me if she could take Tucker to work with her again today. I jokingly told her I was getting a little jealous and that he might start thinking he belongs to her, and she laughed and said I had reason to worry.
I’m good with him thinking he belongs to her.
He’s glad to see me when I walk in Delaney’s door—gives a stiff little hop with his front legs coming off the floor and wags his whole butt, smacking his tail against the wall. “Hey, T-Man. You miss me today?”
“He did.” Delaney appears, holding a glass of red wine in her hands. She’s smiling and looking pretty relaxed. I’m glad about that.
“Is he the only one?”<
br />
She’s blushing. It makes me smile. I don’t think I could ever get tired of seeing her reaction when I tease her.
“No,” she says, lifting her eyes and looking straight at me. “He’s not.”
Well, damn. She looks cute and sexy in a white t-shirt and faded jeans, her hair up in a ponytail. There’s a moment building between us here—the kind of moment that makes me want to scoop her up and carry her into the bedroom. I’ve got to change the subject here. I don’t want to do anything she’s not ready for.
I drop my gaze and rub Tucker’s ears as he leans into me. “You want to go out to dinner?”
“I thought we’d stay in, if that’s okay. Seeing as it’s your last night—you know, sleeping over here.”
“Sure.”
“I made some lasagna...just need to put it in the oven.”
“I’m going to miss your cooking.”
“Is that all you’ll miss?”
I’m liking this flirty mood she’s in. “Uh, no. That’s definitely not all.” I point to the glass of wine. “I see you’re pre-gaming. What’re you drinking?”
“Chianti. I’ll pour you a glass.”
Tucker follows us into the kitchen, his nails clicking on the tile, and flops down under the table with a grunt. I open the cupboard and start setting the table. Delaney catches my eye and flashes me a little smile. I like this, knowing where she keeps stuff. If only Gloria could see us right now...she’d be hard-pressed to deny that we aren’t in a real relationship.
Jesus. It hits me, all of a sudden: I’d be hard-pressed to deny that we aren’t in a real relationship.
When the fuck did this happen? You’ve got a guy who’s always been a commitment-phobe since his bitch of a mother split up with his asshole of a father. And you’ve got a girl whose college boyfriend betrayed her, leaving her with major trust and intimacy issues, entering into a contractual relationship with said guy for financial purposes only.
