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Chapter12
Charlotte
My eyes flicker open as the light coming through the window alerts me that it’s morning. With a groan, I try to stretch my limbs but hit another body in the bed.
Damien.
As if I’ve lost all control over my lips, they lift in a smile as I roll onto my side and tuck my hands under my head to watch him sleep.
Last night was…incredible, but shocking to say the least. I knew in coming over here that I wanted to test the waters, see how far we could take our physical relationship. Every physical interaction we’d had up until then was priming my body for the much needed sex I wanted. But when I put all the clues together about my mystery massage, I panicked.
My reaction that day to the way he touched me would still filter in and out of my mind at times—the way my skin zinged, the way my muscles softened under his fingers, and the electricity I felt buzzing between my legs from his touch.
I thought I was crazy, that I was turned on by some stranger, facing mortification if Jeffrey ever returned.
Well, apparently Jeffrey was Damien all along.
I wonder if the real Jeffrey knows he was a ploy in Damien’s scheme?
However, after he explained how it all happened, I understood his predicament. And as much as it pains for me to admit this, I’m glad it wasn’t some stranger. Knowing that it was Damien only solidifies how he’s made me feel all along.
Christ, this is getting way too complicated.
Lying here next to him feels like living an entirely different life, one where I didn’t once hate the man in front of me. Despite us knowing each other and growing up together, I feel like the man lying next to me is an entirely different person than the boy I grew up with.
Lately, I’ve laughed with him more than I can remember with anyone else, except my friends. I love arguing with him and giving each other shit, our sarcastic banter from before only strengthening with our age. And my God, does the man know how to make me come, our physical connection unlike any other I’ve experienced with another man.
Just thinking about our sexcapades last night has me rubbing my thighs together. We went at it two more times before finally passing out, and each time only got hotter.
“Don’t settle for a spark. Light a fire instead.”
The message on my Dove chocolate wrapper from a few weeks ago travels to the forefront of my mind.
As women, we’ve been trained to look for “the spark”, that connection that happens between two people when intellectual and physical chemistry collide.
But this thing between Damien and me is definitely more intense than a spark.
I can’t help but wonder—and the potential answer is what scares me—if Damien and I are a raging inferno that will eventually be contained and put out?
Or can our fire turn into a more meaningful connection, too?
My eyes travel across his face, soaking up his manly features. The young boy I once knew has clearly transformed, and I have to say, he’s manly in all the right ways—a scruff-lined jaw that forms a beard I never knew I was a fan of until now, short chest hair across his pecs, defined abs that contain a happy trail that leads down to trimmed pubic hair, and a cock that they should model dildos after. Seriously, the fact that Damien’s cock is perfect only makes me think his cockiness wasn’t a front. He obviously knew what he was packing all these years, even though he probably didn’t know how to use it for a while.
Timidly, I reach out to trace the lines of his face, from his jawline to his lips, tugging on the bottom one just slightly. I run my nails through his chest hair, over his shoulders and muscular arms, and then over his abs—those gloriously tight and cut mountains of muscle that flexed every time he thrust into me last night.
It was magnificent, exceptional in every way sex is supposed to be—but the fact that it was Damien making me feel that way is still making me question what this is.
I like him. And he likes me too.
Our confessions remained like the elephant in the room all night as we took out almost a month of sexual frustration on each other, and let’s be honest, probably some old hate wounds too.
And now that the sun has risen on the day after, I’m not sure where we go from here.
“Why are you awake?” he mumbles with his eyes still closed as I keep dragging my nails across his stomach.
“The sun woke me up.”
One of his eyes pops open, and he smiles at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he does. “I can’t believe you’re in my bed.” He reaches out and strokes the side of my face with one finger. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock. You wore me out.” Flashes of last night make my body warm up again, but I’m also deliciously sore and need to get to work.
“Same, Char. What time is it, by the way?” Groaning, I twist around to glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand but feel his fingers on my shoulder blade as I do, closing my eyes as I feel him trace my sunflower tattoo. “I love that you have this here.” His lips hover over the flower as he pulls me closer to him by my hip. “Whenever I see sunflowers, I think of you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And when I saw this while I was massaging you, memories of you in high school flooded my mind. It was like being transported back in time.”
“I know the feeling,” I say, feeling my body heat up from his touch again. But then I pop open my eyes and sheer terror slams into my chest when I see the time on his alarm clock. “Shit! It’s almost eight!”
Damien launches out of bed. “What?”
Both of us catapult from the mattress, searching out our clothes and panicking as we run around each other. “Jesus. I’m never going to make it to work on time.”
“Me either. But I have to go in today. I’ll just call Helen on the way in, tell her something came up, and I’ll be an hour late or so.” I speed walk down the hallway, picking up my discarded clothing along the way and trying to dress myself at the same time.
“Jeffrey can stall for me,” he says behind me, buttoning his shirt. “Damn, this is not how I wanted to spend this morning.”
“What?”
He walks over to me, his arms shaking from the adrenaline, but he reaches up to cup the sides of my face, freezing me in place. “I wanted to lie in bed with you. Worship this body some more.” With a soft press of his lips against mine, he pulls away just as quickly. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
“Okay,” I whisper before he kisses me once more and butterflies take flight in my stomach. I feel like I’m drowning in a cloud of sex and the unexpected, but there’s no breaking through the haze.
“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.” I nod in agreement as we part and I finish gathering my things. When we’re finally fully clothed, I meet him at the door. “See you tonight.”
“Okay. Bye, Damien.”
“Bye, sweet pea,” he says with a lilt to his voice before kissing me with just a small slip of his tongue. And then he smacks my ass before opening the door for me.
With a small wave, I hustle down the corridor and hightail it to the elevator, texting Helen as I make my way to the street.
There are two things I am grateful for at this moment, good assistants and good sex—and not necessarily in that order.
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