“You know,” Gunnar says casually while cutting into his food, “the two of you are going to need to work on being a little quieter when everyone returns.”
“Drop it,” Damon exhales.
Gunnar gives him a flat look. “I’m just saying, I heard enough through that bedroom door this morning to qualify for compensation.”
I choke on my orange juice while Damon looks entirely unapologetic. “That sounds like a personal problem.”
“You know damned well, it’s going to be ayouproblem.”
“Maybe. But, right now, it sounds like a lonely old man problem.”
Gunnar grumbles something under his breath and keeps eating.
I glance between them, smiling despite myself. Their dynamic is oddly comforting beneath all the insults. The two of them clearly trust each other with their lives—with everything. There’s definitely history there.
After breakfast, Damon leans back slightly in his chair, finally draining the last of his coffee while his attention settles on me again. His eyes immediately soften, like they do every single time he looks at me. “As much as I love the smell of you on me,” he pauses to inhale his shirt, “I need to take a shower and do a little work.”
Heat instantly floods my cheeks because Gunnar is still sitting right there.
“Damon,” I hiss. He looks back at me, entirely unrepentant, as he pushes to his feet and leans down, brushing a quick kiss against my forehead before heading toward the doorway.
Halfway out, he pauses and glances back at Gunnar, then at me. “Stay out of trouble for Gunnar.”
Gunnar snorts. “Why do I suddenly feel like the babysitter?”
Damon’s mouth curves slightly. “Because you basically are.”
I laugh softly as Damon disappears down the hallway. And for the first time in a very long time, the thought of staying here doesn’t feel like captivity at all.
The last of the sunset light filters through my bedroom window, casting long shadows across the floor. I’m curled up in the center of my bed, the sheets still rumpled from this morning, the faint, musky scents of Damon and sex clinging to the fabric.
The sound of the front door opening and closing echoes from the foyer, followed by the heavy thud of footsteps on the stairs. My heart gives a little flutter, a familiar, excited leap. A moment later, Damon appears in my doorway, still breathing heavily from his run. His skin is damp with sweat, and his T-shirt is clinging to the sculpted planes of his chest and shoulders. His dark hair is pulled back into a bun, his face is flushed, and his eyes are bright with a post-run energy that is almost predatory.
He leans against the doorframe, his gaze sweeping over me in slow, possessive perusal. “I need to take a quick shower,” he husks.
Afterpushing off the doorframe, he disappears into my adjoining bathroom and turns the shower on. A few minutes later, the water turns off. “I’ve been thinking about this morning since I left your room,” he calls out to me, and my breath hitches with anticipation.
He steps from the bathroom naked, his body glistening and his wet hair messily pulled into a bun on the top of his head. He’s impossible not to stare at—all hard muscle, raw power, and his thick cock hanging heavy and proudly from his body. He walks toward me, his eyes locked on mine, a dark, hungry fire burning in their depths.
“And I’ve decided the only way to make you understand what I see when I look at you is to show you.”
That’snotthe part of this morningIwas thinking of.
He takes my hand, his grip firm but tender, and helps me off the bed. His hand not leaving mine, he walks me to the large, full-length mirror beside my closet. “Face it,” he commands, turning me so that I’m staring at my reflection.
He stands behind me, his body is warm and solid against me as he rests his hands on my hips, his thumbs stroking circles on my skin. Slowly and deliberately, he begins to undress me. He lifts the hem of my shirt, his fingers brushing against my skin as he pulls it over my head. It falls to the floor, forgotten. His hands dust down my body and come to rest on my stomach, his palms flat against my skin.
“This stomach,” he whispers, his lips pressing a light, warm kiss to my shoulder. “So soft and perfect for me to hold on to.”
His hands move to the button of my shorts, deftly undoing it before sliding the zipper down. He pushes the fabric over my hips, his knuckles brushing along my skin, and it pools around my ankles. I step and kick them aside. “These hips,” he croons, his hands cupping my curves, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin where my thighs meet my torso. “I’ve been dreaming about them since I first saw you.”
He reaches around me, his fingers finding the clasp of my bra. With a soft click, it’s undone, and he slides the straps down my arms, letting it fall to the floor. My breasts are exposed to the cool air, my nipples instantly pebbling. “And these tits,” he growls, his hands coming up to palm them, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. “So fucking beautiful. I could play with them all day.”
He lowers his head, his lips pressing a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of my neck and shoulder. His hardening cock rests against my lower back.
“This body, trouble… I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve craved it since I met you. And now that I’ve had a taste, I’ll never fucking get enough.”
His hands slide down my body, hooking into the waistband of my panties. He tantalizingly pulls them down, his fingertips dusting along my thighs, until they join the pile of clothes on the floor. I’m completely naked, exposed. But I don’t feel vulnerable. In this moment, I don’t feel shy. The way he’s touching me and talking about me, I feel… worshipped.
