by Sadie Grubor
"Are you okay?"
I nod.
"Yes, just a bit confused." I bite my lip, taking in the tight gray t-shirt covering his lean chest.
"About?"
"Is this your room?"
"No. This is one of the spare rooms."
"Oh." Licking my suddenly dry lips, I take in his messy bed hair. When did I turn into such a horny person in the morning?
"You preferred the spare room, remember?"
"Yeah, no, I did. I was just curious." Nodding, I step toward my bag leaning against the far wall.
"Your clothes are in the closet."
Spinning, I change direction for the closet.
"Did you…" I clear my throat, "change my clothes last night?"
"Yes," he responds, a small twitch at the right corner of his mouth.
"Thank you." I pull the double doors open.
"How long do you need to get dressed?"
Looking over my shoulder, I furrow my brow in confusion.
"I'd like to take you out for breakfast and then to see the house." He leans against the doorframe.
"Oh, um, give me thirty?" I respond, but it sounds more like a question. "I'd like to wash out the hairspray and the make-up off my face."
Pulling out my heather brown, bias-cut, cashmere sweater and black leggings, I hold them against my chest.
"Is that okay?"
In three long strides, he stands before me.
"You take as long as you need."
His hands grasp my upper arms and he pulls me close, pressing his lips to my forehead.
"Just come out to the living room when you're ready."
Without another word, he exits, closing the door behind him.
I'm ready in less than thirty minutes, but I take my time blow-drying my hair. If eating wasn't becoming such an immediate need, I would procrastinate further. Being alone with Damon, nothing to distract the feelings he creates, is frightening. How does someone fall for a stalker?
Fluffing my hair away from my face, I assess myself in the bathroom mirror over the sink. Taking a breath, I slip my riding boots on and head for the living room.
When I arrive, Damon is sitting on the couch, reading papers. He hears me enter and places the documents in file folders spread out on the coffee table. My eyes move from the folders to the plate of muffins and fruit.
"I thought you might need something to hold you over until breakfast."
He smiles, motioning to the plate.
At the sight and mention of food, nausea decides to appear.
"Thank you."
Walking forward, I take a banana to subdue my hunger.
"Would you like to take anything with you?"
Damon stands. I take in his full appearance and swallow hard.
"No," I shake my head, "I'm okay." I lift the half-eaten banana back to my mouth.
"Let's get going then."
Putting his cell to his ear, he turns to walk away. My eyes focus on the perfect fit of his dark pants. Shaking away my lustful thoughts, I follow closely behind, collecting my purse and coat.
Exiting the elevator, we're greeted by a doorman.
"Mr. Knyght." He nods, hurrying around the desk to open the door. "The car is second in line, sir."
"Thank you." Damon guides me through the door by the small of my back.
"Oh, sir." Damon and I both pause just outside the door.
"Yes?"
"A delivery from Frame Gallery arrived yesterday afternoon while you were out. They are in the safe room. Would you like for us to put them in your apartment, or hold them?"
"If you could put them just inside the entryway, I would appreciate it."
"Of course, sir. I just need you to sign something." The doorman rushes to his desk and brings back a clipboard. "If you would just sign here, giving permission for building maintenance to deliver inside your apartment."
Damon takes the offered pen and signs the release.
"Thank you, sir. Have a wonderful morning."
"Thank you." Damon hands back the pen.
"Have a good day, too." I give the doorman a small wave.
Holding my coat tight against me, I allow Damon to guide me to the awaiting black car. Once inside, Damon gives the driver instructions to take us to Market Square.
"Where are we going?" I ask, tilting my head and looking up at him.
"I'm not sure." He turns his head, looking down. "You're the local. I figured you could show me around downtown."
He grins and I smile.
After breakfast at Bruegger's Bagels, we walk Market Square and take in the history of the buildings. In the afternoon, we travel over to Station Square, taking in the historical railroad sites.
"I have an idea."
Taking his hand, I don't miss the way he rubs his thumb over my skin. The action keeps me warm as we walk through the chilled air.
"Where are we going?" I don't have to look to know he's smiling.
"The incline is a necessary visit."
We arrive to entrance A of Station Square and I pull him along until we are standing inside the lower station of the incline. The attendant gives a brief history of the incline as we wait.
There are more people than I thought in our group, so we are packed tightly inside the car. My left side presses against Damon's right. Lifting his arm, he puts it around me. I stiffen for a moment before settling against him and enjoying the dramatic sights of the city.
At the top, and back out in the cold air, I drag him to the Mt. Washington Observation Deck closest to us. We stand against the railing, looking over the city.
"This is amazing." His arm winds around me.
"It's beautiful." Instinctively, I drop my head against him.
"Thank you." He rests his cheek against the top of my head.
"For what?"
I try to pull back so I can look up, but he holds me against him snuggly.
"For trying, Olivia."
I swallow the emotion and urge to kiss him.
"We should get to the house before it gets too late."
He squeezes me one last time before releasing me.
My body protests the loss of his presence. I lie, telling myself it's just his body heat I miss.
"Okay."
Our journey back to the car is quiet, except for some questions Damon has about the city.
Back in the car, I realize just how tired my body is from walking and exploring parts of the city. I'm so tired, I drift to sleep, only waking when we stop in front of a newly built home.
"We're here." Damon brushes the hair away from my face, which is pressed to his shoulder.
"Sorry," I yawn the apology and sit up.
His fingers come to my chin and pull so I look at him.
"Never apologize for leaning on me, Olivia." His eyes search mine before dropping to my mouth.
The door opens and the cold air cuts through the lusty tension.
We enter the house and my breath leaves me. The foyer is open with a staircase leading to a small landing and hallways I believe would take me to bedrooms. From the foyer, I walk straight into an open kitchen, dinette area that could fit a twelve-person table and an oversized family room with a fireplace. The space is massive, open, and beautiful. Not to mention, the formal dining and living rooms. There is a full size laundry room off the kitchen, a two-car garage, full attic, four bedrooms, and four bathrooms. The master suite bathroom contains a large bathtub with jets, two-sink vanity, large windows for natural lighting, and a shower four people could fit inside. Then, there are the showerheads — one on the ceiling and three down each side. It's like a human car wash. A car wash I would sell my soul to enter.
"This is amazing."
I turn, finding Damon standing in the bathroom doorway, arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe.
"I'm glad you like it."
Pushing off the door, he saunters up, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me. It's not chaste, but it certainly isn't long. It's
just enough to flare lusty desires to life. He pulls his mouth away and I sway forward.
"Would you help me make some color and design decisions?"
His thumbs brush over my cheeks.
"Please?" His eyes focus on my mouth when I lick my lips.
"That's not fair," I breathe.
"What?" He grins.
"Softening me with kisses before asking things of me."
His grin grows.
"Probably not, but I don't play fair."
"No, you don't." I close my eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply in an attempt to cleanse away the lust.
"Will you?"
His thumb moves to my bottom lip. I press my lips tight, so not to lick.
I nod, afraid to open my mouth and release my tongue.
After nearly two and a half hours of discussing colors, flooring, counters, tiles, and hundreds of things I never thought I'd be discussing with Damon, I'm wore out. Instead of the dinner originally planned, Damon and I stop for take-out.
Stuffed full from four pieces of Sicilian style pizza and two glasses of iced tea, I lean back into the couch, tempted to roll my pants down below my stomach. Damon pauses the TV just before Alex can give the next Jeopardy answer and turns to me.
"Done?" Damon asks, a piece of crust held between his teeth.
Even though it's completely common, something many other people do in their homes, my heart flutters.
"Yeah." I nod, rubbing my stomach.
His eyes follow the movement before focusing back on my face.
"Everything okay?"
"Just full." I smile.
Suddenly feeling self-conscious about my stomach, I tug my sweater out and away from my body. He grins around the crust before tearing a piece off with his white teeth. Pressing play on the TV, he looks back at the screen. My eyes linger on his profile before I give the game show my full attention.
I'm so comfortable. My body protests any movement from the soft warmth surrounding me. I force my eyes open. Aside from the light of the television, the room and windows are dark. Stretching, I find my lower body is pinned to the luxurious cushions. My brow furrows and I remember where I am.
Damon's apartment. Damon's couch. Damon pinning my lower half with his body.
Propping up on my elbows, I glance down my body. Damon lies stomach down, his face buried against the side of my stomach, his arm draped across my hips, and his muscular left leg wrapped around my right. The way his body is flush against mine, I can feel every breath he takes — deep and even. My body reacts, flushing with heat. Swallowing the lust, I lie back down, letting my breaths match the rhythm of his.
Damon's left hand glides up and under my sweater. His fingers find the band of my cotton pants and dip inside. Pulling the material down over my belly, he splays his fingers over the now exposed skin. His hand warms my skin, branding it forever with his gentle, caring touch.
This is new. Doing it alone during my pregnancy with Alex, I never experienced this. The feeling of someone else loving the person inside you as much as you do. My family and friends had been supportive, but now I realize…it isn't the same.
A shuddering breath leaves me. Emotions swell and I close my eyes against threatening tears.
"Hey," Damon quietly rasps.
His head lifts from my side and angles up.
"You okay?" he asks when I don't respond.
I feel his eyes on me, watching me. Worry radiates off him and his hand tenses against my stomach.
"If you want me to stop, I will." He begins to pull his hand away.
I shake my head, finally finding the composure to speak.
"Alex didn't have this," I say, my voice cracking.
"What?"
His body presses closer. I rest my right hand over his on my stomach.
"I was alone." I swallow back tears. "And that was okay. But now, with you…" I rub my hand over his. "Alex didn't have two people loving him more than life itself. Not like this," I hiccup.
"Shh…"
His hand presses against me.
I shudder.
"It feels so unfair to him," I croak.
The couch cushion shifts and I open my eyes.
Damon straddles my legs, propping his upper body on his hands, which are placed on each side of me. With one hand, he pushes the sweater until it gathers below my breasts.
"You are a wonderful mother."
Bowing his head, he presses his lips to my belly button. Raising his head, his eyes find mine in the darkness.
"Alex is a wonderful and loved little boy."
His lips press a couple of inches above my navel.
"He has not lacked for love or care."
He kisses just below the bunched cashmere.
"Alex was loved more than life itself before he was born."
He brings his face above mine.
"He had you to give him all of that. And even before I knew of him, those feelings were in me. I am just now able to show him all the love I have."
Reaching up, I grip the sides of his face and pull his mouth to mine. This time, I claim his mouth, owning him.
He gives me some of his weight, dropping down onto his forearms for support. The feel of his entire body pressing against mine heats my body. Suddenly, the sweater is too warm and uncomfortable. My pants are too tight and constricting. The cotton bra feels like it's made of steel wool. I want every piece of clothing removed. I want his warm, toned skin pressed against mine and I will have it.
Fisting his shirt, I tug and pull at the material.
Moving his weight to one arm, his right hand slips under my sweater. Our lip mash together and teeth click. Our breaths are heavy through our noses, heat dampening each other's skin.
Damon curls his fingers into the cup of my bra and pulls. The feel of his fingers and the cotton scraping across my nipple causes me to break our kiss with a gasp.
"Damon," I moan.
His lips fuse to my neck, sucking, licking, and nipping. Shoving the cashmere up further, he moves, dipping his head down to take my nipple into his mouth. Arching my back, I squeeze my thighs together.
As he lavishes attention to my breast, his hand moves down my body and slips into my cotton pants. One finger instantly finds the thin elastic of my panties and slides under the material.
Faintly, I hear music. Oh my God, he's making me hear music? Wait, the music is familiar. Very familiar. It's not music. It's chiming.
Damon stops, pulling his head away.
"That's your phone," he pants.
I meet his eyes, darkened by lust, and prepare to pull him back down to my breast, until I realize why the chime is familiar. Mercedes.
"Alex," I whisper, eyes widening.
As a mother, I immediately think the worst. Erik.
My fear and panic written all over my face, Damon jumps from the couch and retrieves my cell phone.
Sitting up, I readjust my bra and sweater.
By the time Damon returns with the phone, it has stopped ringing.
"I'm sure he's fine," he assures, handing it to me.
Missed call. Mercedes.
I hit the call and redial.
"Liv," Mercedes answers, Alex crying for me in the background.
"What's wrong?"
Panic wells in my chest.
"He's fine," she reassures. "His ear is bothering him. He keeps crying, pulling on it, and saying ear. I just need to know if I should give him Motrin or Tylenol."
"Does he have a fever?"
The couch shifts and Damon stands, disappearing from the room.
"It's only 99.9. Not too high."
"Give him the Motrin based off the dosage scale on the label."
Standing, I start pacing.
"Okay."
Unwilling to hang up, I keep Mercedes on the phone in silence.
"Liv?"
"Yeah," I blurt.
"He's fine. If it gets worse, I'll call. Okay?"
"Okay," I whisper and disconnect the call.
I take a deep breath and hold it for one calming moment before releasing.
A sound behind me draws my attention. Turning, I find Damon standing with my bag and another bag.
"What's all this?"
"I think I grabbed everything, but whatever I missed, we can get later."
"Where are we going?" I step closer, my brow furrowed.
"Alex isn't well." He walks to the coatrack and picks up my coat before holding it out to me. "You're going to be worried about him if we stay here. I'd rather you not stress. Besides, I'm concerned about our son as well."
I take the coat and slip it on, while Damon gets his own.
"But, this is the alone weekend…"
"We can do it another time." He shrugs into his coat.
My chest fills with warmth, heart skips a beat, and I swallow back emotion. Alex now has this — us.
Buttoning up my coat, we grab our things and leave the planned weekend behind.
Mercedes doesn't show one bit of surprise when we walk into the apartment. She gives a small smile as I sit down next to her on the couch and launches into the current state of Alex.
"He just went to sleep about fifteen minutes after the Motrin. I took his temperature before I called you but haven't since then. I figure the medicine has it down for now."
She speaks to me, but her eyes follow Damon and the bags he carries.
"You didn't have to come home, Liv. He really is fine."
Her eyes come back to my face.
"I can't be away when he's sick." I shake my head.
"Do you want me to stay? I can help if he wakes up during the night."
"I'll help her."
Both of our heads turn. Damon leans against the wall at the edge of the hallway.
"You're staying?"
I don't have to look at her to see the smile she's wearing.
"Yes, Mercedes, I'm staying."
"Okay, well let me grab my things and get out of your way."
She stands from the couch.
"You don't have to go," I blurt, feeling guilty with it being late in the evening.
"It's fine. I can—"
"Please, don't go on my account. You can have the spare room," Damon states, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.
Realizing, with Mercedes here, he plans on sleeping next to me, embarrassment heats my face.
"You sure?" Mercedes looks from Damon to me.
