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“I’d be happy to take my shirt off if you want a better look.”
“No…no, sorry. I just didn’t…” I stammer.
“Didn’t expect me to have tattoos?” he questions.
“They’re just…they’re just so colorful.” Flowers, fish, skulls, an array of designs.
He turns sideways in his chair to face me, his legs spread wide enough I could step between them. I fist my hands in the soft fabric of my pants to keep myself from doing anything stupid as I watch him meticulously pop his shirt buttons through their holes one by one, slowly revealing inch by inch of his chest.
My breath catches in my lungs as he shrugs the fabric from his shoulders, revealing himself to me. It’s one thing to guess what he’d look like underneath; it’s a whole other thing to come face-to-face with Damon’s naked chest. The world seems to tilt on its side as I take in the seemingly endless rows of abdominal muscles. My mouth waters, and I teeter on my feet a little, only for him to reach out and brace me.
Embarrassment rises in my throat. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay. You can look.”
I can’t help myself. There’s a lavender lotus flower taking up his forearm that fades into a pond motif filled with fish and lilies. The colors deepen the further up they go, black, smokelike swirls blending in with the design until they wrap around his collarbone.
I gaze up at his face. “What does that symbolize?”
“In darkness, there is light.”
I bite the corner of my lip and let myself admire the art. “The black really makes the colors stand out. Almost like it’s there to make them shine brighter?” I look up to meet his eyes, and he’s wearing an odd smile that I can’t make out.
“I’m glad you like it,” he says. There’s a glint in his expression that makes me feel like he’s teasing me, but I’m not sure about what.
My gaze catches on raised scars along his chest and shoulder. My hand rises involuntarily to touch it, but my stomach rumbles loudly, breaking the moment.
“When’s the last time you ate?” He looks displeased.
I have a feeling he’s not going to like the answer. “Last night.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, it’s not like it came up or anything, and I was…too nervous to eat today.”
He runs his thumb and forefinger over his mouth, thinking. “Do you like sushi?”
Eight pieces of sushi later, I’m tucked into the side of my couch. I still haven’t processed the speed at which everything’s happened. I went from being royally pissed at Damon to being married so fast my brain can’t catch up.
I didn’t even have time to tell the girls. If I’m being honest, I don’t know how to explain why I did it without revealing parts of my past.
The parts I’ve buried deep inside and never wanted them to know. There’s a beauty in starting over, a freedom to create whatever world you want. However, there’s a guilt that comes along with hiding a part of yourself from the people closest to you.
Damon’s sitting at my tiny table again, his head bowed down to the laptop, where his long fingers fly over the keys. The only thing more distracting than the flex and shift of his forearms is that he didn’t put his shirt back on, using the excuse of being hot in here. Nothing in the way his clothes fit him gives away the muscles on muscles stacked along his abdomen and sides.
My mouth waters as I trace the contour of his oblique to where it disappears into the waistband of his black slacks.
“You’re drooling,” Damon says, his voice low but playful.
My mouth snaps shut, no doubt a rose blush covering my cheeks at getting caught.
“No need to be embarrassed. Wives are supposed to check out their husbands.”
Husband… I swallow hard as the word rocks through me, momentarily distracting me from the look on his face. His mouth is quirked up at the side as he stands from the too-small chair and stretches his arms above his head before entwining his fingers behind his neck. He’s taunting me, daring me to cave and break my own rule. The worst part is I want to. I’m already growing wet between my thighs, and if my top was any thinner, he’d be able to see exactly what he’s doing to me.
My fingers grip the worn fabric of my sofa, holding me in place. “We don’t have that kind of marriage.”
He raises one singular brow. “Don’t we? You begged me to touch you, to fill your pussy last night. What makes you think you can resist doing it again? I own you, Nymph. It’s only a matter of time before you accept that.”
