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I’ve never reacted to a man like this before. My face is so hot I must be blushing a furious red. I look up from my lashes at him, daring myself to return that gaze. When I do, heat burns in my belly. I’m singed with a single look from him. I can’t stop thinking about the throbbing monster that had pressed into my ass while I sat on his lap. He’s awakes a hunger in me that I didn’t know I could have.
Damien steps forward, mesmerizing me. “I’ll send a car for you, tomorrow, to take you to my condo in Manhattan,” he says, tucking a finger under my chin. Even though he doesn’t need to make me look at him, he adjusts my gaze so firmly that I’m stunned in place for several beats. I can’t tear my eyes away from him, drinking in the site of him like I’m drowning and he’s a sparkling water saving my throat with every velvety swallow. He quenches a womanly desire in me that I’ve never paid attention to.
I hear that he’s going to send a car. His condo. Manhattan. That’s not far from here in Westchester, but it feels like a million-mile journey to the lair of this dark tempter.
The family Christmas is already ruined. Reality rockets back into me and I realize I won’t be with my parents. Then I start to think, oh crap, what about school? What about my friends? What about my life? And then Damien is turning to walk away and any thoughts I have about my life are sucked into the vortex of my mind and replaced with the filthy thoughts permeating my soul. Watching him walk away is pure sin. I didn’t know that men could have sexy asses. I thought only girls wearing tighter clothes than I do could have asses that people want to look at.
The sensual shape of Damien’s ass, the way the slacks fall on his legs just right, a perfect angle, the way that he glides away. How every last bit of air in my lungs collapses and exits when he leaves the room. All of this, as I’m sure you can understand, makes it a little difficult for me to focus on Christmas. I mean, hot chocolate was the only thing on my mind tonight. Trying to avoid thinking about my frustration with my parents for being too busy for Christmas. Now, I know they aren’t making time for me at all because they are making deals. Making money instead. I know that after the trouble with school that they need to make money, but how is this the way they choose to solve their problems? I gulp because no way this was the first resort. Selling me? That’s a last resort action.
Still, I can’t justify this behavior. How could they do this to me? I’m their daughter!
I should be angry.
I should be terrified, particularly of Damien. He emanates danger from every pore of his masculine being, yet the mystery he presents enraptures me. Distracts me. I find it hard to fear Damien when I just plain want to know more about him. I want to see what his body looks like under his clothes. I want to know what he really thinks about the mess I left on his thigh when I sat on his lap. I know some boys my age, in college, think that I’m gross. But Damien isn’t a boy. He’s a powerful man with a raw sexuality that tells me, no, he’ll have much more interesting thoughts about my arousal. Not that I could ever ask him. Oh God, what if he sends the car for me, and I see him again, and he brings it up? Any bravery I feel is leaving me in shivers.
I run up the stairs as soon as Damien is gone. Let my parents think whatever they want; I want to be alone. They shut me out all night to handle this business. I lock my door, turn off my lights, climb into my bed, and bury my hands in my panties under the covers. I think about Damien here where everything is safe to explore when it’s just my hand, my dreams, and my heavy breathing to contend with.
Except, I’m not the victim of a killer in hot pursuit. I’m the one in hot pursuit, of a fantasy that is taking hold of me stronger than anything ever has before. I need to get my hands on my body and relieve this pressure building up within me.
Like, I’m also the one whose parents are planning to sell her to a strange man. Yes, I know I should focus on that part. Instead, the fantasy in my mind? That’s safe. That’s what I want to focus on—the heat in my blood and not the fear.
