by Lisa Plumley
Struck by his intensity, she did look at them both.
What she saw humbled her. Damon had let himself be utterly in her control. He’d let himself be held down, jumped on, teased and taunted by a nearly naked woman, kissed and fondled and bossed around … and he still looked at her as though she’d hung the moon. He still smiled at her. He still touched her with nothing but tenderness and truth.
Chastened, Natasha drew in a deep breath. Doing her best to ignore the hot, heavy thrumming between her legs and the shaky, needful feeling in her thighs and the achy, intense longing she felt for Damon to stroke her breasts and tongue her nipples and kiss her on the mouth again and again, she gazed straight at him. “There’s something I have to tell you,” she said.
Damon shook his head. “I already know.”
“No, you don’t know this. You couldn’t.” Desperately, Natasha closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Damon was still waiting. She inhaled again, then told him, “I’m not—”
“Married,” Damon said at the same time she did.
“—anymore. About five years ago, I got—”
“Divorced,” he said along with her.
Baffled, Natasha gawked at him. “How did you … ?”
After an instant, they simultaneously said, “Milo.”
Natasha felt like laughing aloud. Of course her son had spilled the beans about her divorce from his dad! Milo was eight. He was an open book. He couldn’t keep a secret—not for all the Legos in Carlsbad, just an hour’s drive up the road.
“I’m glad Milo told me,” Damon said, trailing his fingers over her cheek. “It means I can be with you. It means I can start making up for all the rotten things I did and just be—”
“Just be you,” Natasha said, feeling inexplicably freed by knowing there was real honesty between them. She didn’t want Damon to change; she knew him for the man he was and loved him anyway. He had to know that, especially after all these years. Affectionately, she smiled at him. Flirtatiously, she stroked his arm. Invitingly, she gave a daring wriggle atop him. “Don’t be too hasty about disowning your bad side, either. Because right now I could use a little bit of badness from you.”
“Just a little bit?” Damon gave her an answering grin. “You’re going to get more than just a little bit. I promise.”
“Really? Am I?” With mock dubiousness, Natasha raised her brows. This was more like it—this openness between them. “Are you telling me you weren’t just boasting before? Because a girl hates to be disappointed when she’s in a position like this.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. I try never to disappoint.”
“I’ll bet you don’t. But maybe you’re all talk—”
“I’m not all talk. Speaking of this position …” Damon grabbed her hips again, holding her tight against him. “I like it. I love it. I do. But there’s one small thing it’s missing.”
“Oh yeah?” Natasha seriously doubted it. “What’s that?”
“Me,” Damon said, using her hips to flip them both. Natasha landed on her back, unsure what had just happened, knowing only that Damon seemed dangerously pleased with himself. “It’s about time I had a turn calling the shots. Wouldn’t you say?”
Then he clasped her hands in his, lowered his head, and took her mouth in a kiss so sweet and heady it stole her breath.
He gave and he took and he savored, and Natasha couldn’t help being reminded of Damon’s insistence that she was somehow unusual in the pleasure she took—in the enjoyment she found in a tasty caramel-chocolate truffle, in the thrill she realized in being in Damon’s arms at last … in the wholehearted delight she experienced when he kissed her again and held her again and brought his body down on hers again and again and again.
But there was nothing unusual in loving the warm, soft force of his mouth on hers. There was nothing unique in arching higher to press her body against his, feeling their heartbeats thump together, hearing their breath mingle in raspy, urgent unison. There was nothing uncommon, Natasha told herself as she let her hands rove over Damon’s hard-muscled back, in wishing he could be everywhere at once, kissing her mouth and her neck and her breasts and her thighs and … at the thought, she sighed again.
There was nothing unusual about wanting or liking those things. But there was everything unusual about getting them.
She’d come into her bedroom believing she wanted nothing more than a fun, lighthearted turn on the merry-go-round that was Damon Torrance. She’d told herself that all she needed was to know what it felt like to be desired, to be needed, to be in control of her own sexual destiny for the night. Instead, Natasha realized as Damon gazed into her eyes and smiled, she got so much more. She got love. She got tenderness. She got …
Ooh. She got more than she’d ever imagined, she understood as Damon delivered her a sexy look, then slid his attention to her chemise’s strap. Natasha didn’t understand the disgruntled way he frowned at it, but she did understand that she loved it when Damon lowered his mouth to her shoulder, kissed her there, slipped his fingers beneath that fragile strap and then lifted it away, sliding it down her arm, pulling down the silky scrap of fabric that covered her, dragging it across her breasts and lower, and … before Damon bared her completely, he covered her breast with his hand. Her nipple pouted against his palm, wanting more—and Damon gave it. His caress made her moan; his obvious happiness in her response made her close her eyes and sigh. She hadn’t expected this: this reverence and gladness.
With Damon, Natasha realized as slowly, slowly, he pulled down her chemise, she felt treasured and beloved. With him, she felt like the most irresistible woman on earth. Because he made her feel that way, she behaved that way. When Damon lowered her chemise all the way, then whisked it off her completely, Natasha arched proudly beneath him, offering herself to him. When he licked her nipples and stroked her breasts and lifted his head to smile at her, she couldn’t help smiling, too.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and she believed him.
“You’re perfect,” Damon added, nuzzling a seductive path downward. He offered her another smiling appraisal of her navel piercing, then used his hands to follow the same erotic path his mouth just had traveled. “You’re even better than I imagined.”
Disbelievingly, Natasha blinked. “You imagined me?”
Damon nodded. His dark wavy hair tickled her ribs. “All the time. Just like this. Just like this … and more. I tried not to—”
“But you couldn’t help it. I know.” Thrilled to know that he’d wanted her too, she caressed his arms, loving the way his skin and muscles felt beneath her palms. “Me too. Especially since we’ve been here together. All I’ve wanted—”
“Is this,” Damon knew, clasping her hips in his hands.
Slowly, he dragged his mouth over her panties’ skimpy waistband. He followed the path it outlined across her pelvis. His breath penetrated the insubstantial barrier formed by her panties’ sheer floral fabric. Shivering, Natasha bucked upward.
“And this,” Damon added huskily, tracing a similar pathway with his fingers. “I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted to kiss you, right here.” His fingers delved lower, skimming over all the hot, slick, aching places between her thighs. “I’ve thought about it so often. How you would feel. How you would taste. How you would respond if I touched you, just like this …”
He nudged his fingers a little higher, and it was all Natasha could do not to yell out loud. She bit her lip, tossing her head against the piled-up pillows at her back, needing and wanting and knowing that she’d perilously underestimated the effect Damon would have on her if he was ever allowed to do … this. Because she’d never felt anything like it. Between Damon’s dexterous fingers and his unwavering look of awe and delight and his unerring way of almost, almost making her come undone with just his heated breath, she could hardly stand it.
Urgently, Natasha levered upward. His touch was so light, so perfect, so completely effective at making her crazy… .
“Yes.” Again, Damon smiled. His dark gaze roamed over her, taking in … everything. “This is a lot like what I imagined. Only better. Because in my dreams, I couldn’t do this.”
Finally, finally he stroked her a little harder. He brought his mouth between her thighs, then delivered her a wild, arousing, completely necessary kiss. He laughed with pleasure, and Natasha begged him not to stop, and somehow she felt her panties being whisked away, and she definitely didn’t need them anymore, just like she didn’t need her chemise anymore, because without them both, Damon could see her and touch her and … oh, God, he could torture her with long, slow, maddeningly teasing strokes of his tongue, and he could slide his fingertips over her, and it was all she could do just to get closer and closer to him, to get more and more from him, and all of a sudden …
All of a sudden, the whole world fell apart.
Gasping and clutching and moaning, Natasha went still for one wonderful, nonstop, unbelievable moment. When she came down again—when she finally quit pulsing and needing and feeling her ears ring—Damon was there with her, hot and steady and revelatory. He cradled her to him, whispering things she knew were impossible but appealed to her anyway, because in her bedazzled state it sounded as though Damon said he loved her and needed her and wanted to be with her always, and Natasha said some of those same things, too, because for her they were true.
They were true, Natasha realized then. She did love Damon. She loved him for his smile and his honesty and his wholly unlikely sense of integrity. She loved him for his sex appeal and his humor. She loved him for his talents with chocolate and his endearing swagger and his insistence that the only thing better than having fun was having more fun. But most of all, in that moment, Natasha loved Damon for his pure, raw ability to make her feel incredible … and she wanted to do the same for him. Desperate and determined, she grabbed at his interfering pants.
“You have got to get rid of these,” she murmured, wrestling with his loose drawstring tie. “They’re so in the way.”
But not for long, they weren’t. Between Natasha’s now-agile fingers and Damon’s always-helpful hands, the two of them made fast work of undoing his pants and getting them off him.
Naked without them, Damon moved across the mattress toward her, his face a study in focus and intensity and wanting, and Natasha knew she’d never seen him look more right or more natural or more at ease … not once during all the years they’d shared together, laughing and working and finding their way.
“Nakedness suits you,” Natasha panted, reaching for him. “I never knew exactly how well. But now I do.”
She really did. Damon felt hard and heavy and hot in her hand, and even as she stroked him for the first time, she couldn’t help shuddering anew. It didn’t seem likely that just touching him could make her come again. Yet Natasha felt a new, decadent, undeniable surge of pleasure as she looked at him, thick and erect and velvety, filling her hand in a way that felt erotic and right and vital. She loved the way Damon felt.
Licking her lips, Natasha imagined taking him in her mouth, swirling her tongue over the head of his cock, running her lips along the taut, engorged length of him. She imagined herself sucking him inside, stretching her mouth wide to accommodate his size, making him moan, making Damon thrust uncontrollably as she kissed and licked and drove him to the edge and beyond.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Damon said. “And yes. A thousand times, yes. Another time. But right now I want you.”
His hand dipped between her thighs again, and all at once, Natasha remembered that she urgently wanted that, too. She wanted Damon inside her. She wanted him thrusting and taking and giving, wanted to know that he was experiencing the same satisfaction she just had. Wide-eyed, she nodded. “Yes. Hurry.”
Her breathless agreement was all Damon needed. A heartbeat later, he’d settled himself above her, and just when Natasha was about to beg him to love her … he did. With one incredible motion, Damon entered her, and everything went still. Their breath held in unison. Their eyes met. Their bodies melded. For once, for then and forever, they were together in a way that felt essential and inevitable and wonderful. Just when Natasha was about to whisper again that she loved him, that she needed him, Damon held her hips in his hands and drove himself home, and everything rational flew from her mind. All that existed were need and love and exquisite friction; all that mattered was being and loving and getting more, more, more of this.
It felt like forever between them, and to Natasha it felt like she’d waited forever—waited forever to hear Damon cry out her name, for him to shudder and quake and mindlessly thrust inside her … for him to cradle her close and kiss her afterward, slowly bringing them both back to the realization that when it came to this, they were as perfect together as they’d imagined.
“Wow.” Replete and quivering, Natasha sank into Damon’s arms. She wanted to laugh out loud, to cry with joy, to have another round just as soon as she felt ready. “You’re … amazing.”
“Only because of you,” Damon said. He kissed her mouth, kissed her forehead, kissed her neck, then sank atop her with his head sharing her fluffy pillow. “Only because you took me back. Only because you believed in me. I never knew—I never even hoped—” Damon broke off. He brushed a long blond tendril from her forehead. His expression seemed inexpressibly gentle. “You’re what I’ve been waiting for, Tasha. You’re … everything.”
Natasha laughed. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
She’d been joking. But Damon wasn’t. The truth was there in his solemn, hard-set jaw. “I mean it. I know I’ve done some bad things. I know I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been careless—”
“Only in the sense of being an inveterate womanizer.” She couldn’t stand his seriousness. This had to be what Damon said to every woman he slept with. “I’m fine, Damon. Really, I am. I know what this is.” Despite all the sugary words and racing hearts and intimacy they’d just shared, Natasha told herself she did know their limits. “I’m a grown-up,” she assured Damon. “Soon I’ll be ordering a ‘sorry I broke your heart bouquet’ for myself,” she added glibly, “and you’d better believe it’s going to be the biggest, priciest, most outrageous bouquet of flowers anyone ever saw, because it would be only fair to—”
“Stop.” Appearing stricken, Damon kissed her. Hard. When he raised his head, his gaze searched hers. “Can’t you tell? Isn’t it obvious? I feel like it’s written all over me.”
Natasha frowned. “What’s written all over you?”
“That there was only one reason I ever played around like I did. There was only one reason I was with so many women.”
This ought to be good, Natasha thought, trying not to let disillusionment overtake her. They were still in each other’s arms! They were still tangled together, sweaty and breathless.
Why in the world would Damon think now was the time to say—
“I’d never been involved with anyone who made me want to stop,” Damon told her bluntly. “Hell, I’d never been with anyone who even made me think about stopping. Not until now. Not until you.” Smiling, he kissed her again. “You’re the one I’m meant for, Tasha. No one else matters. No one else ever will matter, not to me.”
Silently, Natasha regarded him. She didn’t want to be gullible. She didn’t want to believe him. Yet she couldn’t seem to quit wondering … “Is that really true?”
Damon’s smile washed over her, filled with certainty and bravado. “It’s more true than anything I’ve ever said.”
Torn, Natasha glanced away. “Well, you’ve said a lot of things to me over the years. Things are very easy to say—”
“They’re easy to believe, too, if you let yourself,” Damon assured her in his most effortlessly charming manner. “All you have to do is decide to.” Teasingly, he slid his palm along her body, skimming over her curves in a way that almost made Natasha lose the ability to think, much less make decisions. “Don’t let the fact that I’m touching you right now influenc
e you in any way.”
He raised his brows, letting her know damn well that he meant to convince her to believe him by any means possible.
In some ways, Natasha remembered then, Damon Torrance did not play by the rules. But he hardly needed to sweeten the deal with more seduction. She was already helpless to resist him.
And there, in the lamplight of her bedroom, atop the rumpled sheets and crushed pillows, with Damon holding her and her body urging her to be with him, Natasha decided not to.
What was the point in resisting Damon, she asked herself recklessly, when there was so much fun to be had giving in?
“Don’t let the fact that I’m touching you right now persuade you to go for round two,” Natasha said with a wicked grin. “Not unless you want to. You might not know this about me, but I can be fairly insatiable … when the moment is right.”
Beneath her hands, Damon groaned. “Is it right now?”
Playfully, she looked at him. “Yep. It just got really right.” Feeling grateful for his speedy rebound time, Natasha slid down the sheets. She stroked him a little more deliberately, then straddled him again. Ecstasy engulfed her, but somehow she managed to say, “Mmm. More right than you know.”
Damon nodded his agreement, his gaze fixed on hers. He lifted his hands to stroke her, looking masculine and intent and entirely overcome. By her! Just before Natasha drove them both to new heights of pleasure, she had a revelation.
Maybe Damon wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. As long as she was going to commit to … whatever was happening between them, she might as well go all the way. So Natasha opened her eyes, rode Damon till they were both starry-eyed and shaken, and decided to never look back from here.
No matter what happened next.
Chapter 21
