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“It’s noon, Blair. You can’t stay in bed all day.” I felt his hands softly brush against my bare back.
“Oh no, you don’t—”
Ignoring me, he brushed my hair to the side and kissed down the back of my neck. With one hand, he pulled the sheet covering my naked body away.
“Jesus Christ, Damon, do you have an off button?” I whispered, wiggling underneath his lips. I was still recovering from our last session together. The man could bounce back in ten minutes flat, and I was going to die from too much sex. They were going to have to put “Here lies Blair Hawthorne, Happily Fucked to Death,” on my tombstone.
He stopped, only for a moment, flipping me onto my back. Gazing up at him, he smirked, leering at my body. I knew that look. His eyes glazed over with lust, and my nipples reacted without him even saying a word.
“Damon…”
“I want nothing more than to fuck you until your eyes roll back, but … we have a lunch with a group of elitist bitches to get to. We need their help if we want to get in to see the private Botticelli art collection.”
I sat up in front of him and grabbed his chin so that he could look me in the eye and not at my breasts.
“I’m not going,” I said.
Again, he ignored me.
“Pick a dress, and be downstairs in an hour,” he demanded, getting off the bed.
Grabbing the red sheet off our bed, I stood up, wrapping it around myself. He raised his eyebrow, a small smirk on his lips.
“I don’t know why you bother,” he teased.
“It’s cold, and I’m not walking around naked for you because you piss me off. Nor am I going to your fucking charity lunch,” I said.
He stepped forward, and I took one step back. It wasn’t long before the backs of my legs hit the bed frame. Brushing his hand softly down my cheek, he stared into me, not at me. It was like he was see
ing everything, and once again, I felt as though I couldn’t walk.
“Drop the sheet Blair,” he demanded, and I did.
“You see, Blair, I own you,” he whispered, thumb pressed to my lips, “which means if I want you to walk around naked, you will, whether it’s cold or not. And if I ask you to come to my fucking charity lunch, you say ‘yes.’”
Leaning in, I kissed and bit his lip. “You can use your superpowers to undress me, Mr. Shaw, but there is no way you are getting me to flounce around like one of those society sycophants.”
“Is that a challenge?” he asked.
Pushing his chest, I stood straighter. “Damn straight.”
He looked down as if he was in shock that I had pushed him before backing up and walking toward the double doors.
Click.
The moment those doors closed, I knew I had sealed my own fate, yet I couldn’t help but get excited. The pain between my legs was gone, and I wanted him badly. Fuck.
Turning to me, he unbuttoned his shirt slowly.
Fuck.
“Get on the bed.”
“If I did that, Mr. Shaw, where would the challenge be?” I whispered, stretching and brushing my hands through my hair.
He smirked and then charged me.
“Oh no!” I laughed, jumping on the bed and rushing to the other side.
