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To yell.
To call me names.
I didn’t expect him to smile.
And, oh my God, that smile did things…scary things.
He closed the distance between us with one step.
I sucked in a wild breath as he took hold of my chin, prisoning me in place, forcing me to hold his gaze.
The masculine spice of his skin drugged my senses and my breath became shallow.
“I don’t play games,” he said simply, the warmth of his breath caressing my cheek. “You and I both know I will be the one between those thighs so get right with the idea, princess. It ain’t right, it don’t make sense, but that pussy belongs to me and I will be claiming it. Soon.”
He shocked me with a tender kiss brushed against my parted lips before releasing my chin.
Then he was all business as he headed out the door with terse instructions.
“Lock this door. Open it for no one but me. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
I must’ve been holding my breath for once the door closed with Damon on the other side, I exhaled loudly, still unable to believe what’d just happened between us.
It’d felt more intimate, more scathingly honest than anything I’d ever experienced in my life.
He was right — if I wasn’t vigilant, Damon would take my virginity as if it belonged to him.
I closed my eyes, my hand cupping my mound through the rough jean material.
My clit was swollen, aching.
Grinding the heel of my palm against my pubic mound, I gasped as a ripple cascaded through me, sweet, yet still unsatisfying.
Where was he going?
Maybe to cool off?
Maybe to get some other chick to blow him.
Good, I thought against the sudden splash of jealousy that came out of nowhere. Let him get his rocks off elsewhere, then maybe he’ll leave me alone.
I should’ve been relieved.
He was out of my hair, I was safe for the moment, and I could concentrate on my strategy.
But instead…I was chewing on my fingernail, wondering where the hell Damon had gone off to.
Real productive.
I didn’t know this guy. Up until a few days ago, he was nothing to me.
I mean, honestly, how did these sort of things happen?
One minute I was sleeping beside him, a total stranger, and the next, his face was buried between my legs.
Oh Jesus, don’t think of that.
But it was too late.
My brain wasn’t playing fair.
My gray matter seemed soaked in sex juice.
I fell onto the bed, my eyes closed, my knees pressed together.
I won’t touch myself while thinking of him.
But…that mouth.
That tongue.
Those big, fucking hands.
I groaned and shimmied out of my jeans, kicking them off so I could spread my legs wider.
I quickly found the damp curls with my fingers, delved between hot folds and moaned as I rubbed my swollen clit.
My fingers were no substitute for Damon’s mouth.
But I was desperate for release, anything to keep myself from doing something I regretted later.
Sweat beaded my brow as I rubbed harder, sliding my fingers down the sensitive ridge, returning to the swollen nub.
Just as I thought it was going to happen, it didn’t.
Frustration built as my climax slipped away.
I pounded the bed in impotent fury knowing that all I had to do to orgasm was to think of Damon.
Damon doing what he wanted to me.
Damon pressing me into the bed with that hulking body of his…
Damon eating me out like a starving man with his first real meal.
Damon.
Like a magic switch…I was ready again.
Fuck it. It was just in my head. He didn’t have to know.
It felt like a dirty secret, a taboo desire, a shameful need.
And it worked.
Ahhhhhhh, fuck!
I exploded in a wash of color and sensation, every muscle clenching as I stiffened against the painfully beautiful pleasure commandeering my body.
I rocked, my thighs sliding against one another, creating more friction against my pulsing clit.
Ohhhhh damn.
I collapsed, boneless, melting into the bed as I savored every last spasm as they slowly faded into a warm memory.
My arm thrown over my eyes, I let my eyes drag shut. I was so tired.
It was only eight o’clock but I was exhausted.
I climbed into the bed with the last of my energy, snuggled into the comforter and went lights out.
So much for just catching a few winks…
Chapter 17
Damon
The octane running through my veins was high enough to fuel a jet. I had to get away from Charlie before I took her, right there, against the wall.
I’d been ready to fuck the cherry right out of her.
And it would’ve been a disaster.
I couldn’t explain the attraction between us anymore than she could.
She hated that her body spoke to mine, and frankly, I wasn’t too happy about it either.
Things would’ve been a helluva lot easier if Charlie had never crossed my path.
If I’d never tasted her sweetness.
Never hungered for more.
I wasn’t that guy.
I wasn’t going to drop to my k
nee, profess my love and shit.
I mean, I was a fighter. Bloody knuckles and broken bones were my trade.
And she hated everything about that life.
I get it…her brother died in the ring…but that didn’t mean all fighters were bad.
Some kids used the ring to stay out of trouble.
Growing up in this town…it wasn’t easy.
Have a place to channel that raw anger…sometimes it meant the difference between making it and not getting yourself killed on the streets.
Gang-banging, drugs, the general oppression of total poverty…yeah, growing up in this city was like running a gauntlet from the day you were born.
The Underground wasn’t the problem, it was the management.
But one problem at a time.
With Charlie safely out of Davonte’s territory, I returned to start asking questions.
First, I headed to Pussy Willow, the strip joint where I knew Davonte ran some deals through.
Contrary to what I told Charlie, I knew of someone who might be interested in stabbing Davonte in the back but going to her was a gamble.
She could just as quickly and easily double cross me, too.
Chantel.
I wound my way through the crowded bar and settled in at a table in a far corner.
Chantel and I went way back.
We fucked a little, nothing serious.
But Chantel was a wild card.
One minute she was giving you the most amazing blow job of your life and the next, she was serving your nuts up to her matching dobermans.
Crazy women were an adventure in the sack but one that could end up killing you.
Kinda like climbing Mt. Everest — exhilarating but one wrong move and you’re fucked.
It didn’t take long before one of the girls sidled up to me, purring like a kitten, pressing fake tits into my face.
“See anything you like?”
“Tell Chantel, Damon is here to see her,” I said, cutting straight to the chase.
The woman dropped her seductress act and said, “Chantel isn’t here.”
“Bullshit.”
Nothing went down in Pussywillow without Chantel knowing about it.
She had eyes and ears everywhere, which meant the she-devil was lurking in the shadows somewhere.
