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“Yeah. I have nightmares about it. Not so much about Christian—I didn’t go under the water, and I didn’t see him drown. Saxon’s the one who has to deal with that. But I dream about Kennedy crying. I sat there holding her, and she just kept sobbing and saying, ‘It hurts, Damon.’”
He stops and swallows, his brow darkening. Even now, all these years later, the memory still has the power to make emotions rise inside him.
“So that’s why you’ve made it your life’s work to look after girls,” I say.
He glances at me, and I smile.
“Hardly,” I say wryly. “I’m not a good guy, Belle.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do. I’m cursed where relationships are concerned. I’ve had three long-term ones that have all ended badly. And I’ve broken more than my share of hearts.”
“You’re not cursed,” I scoff. “You just haven’t found the right girl.”
He doesn’t smile. “Do you want me to tell you how many one-night stands I’ve had? How many times a girl has asked me to call her the next day? And how many times I’ve walked away with no intention of doing so?”
“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself? Are you seriously trying to persuade me that you’re uncaring only an hour after you give me a mind-blowing orgasm?”
“Don’t make out like I was being altruistic. You felt my hard-on, right?”
I blush. “Yeah.”
“It turned me on, too.”
“It’d be pretty weird if it didn’t.”
“Belle…”
“You can’t convince me you did it only because you got off on it. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone how sweet you were. Probably.”
“Don’t you dare tell Alex.”
“I promise I won’t—if you call me baby girl one more time.”
“Don’t,” he scolds, trying not to laugh.
“I think I am a brat,” I reply. “Go on. Once more.”
“Belle, stop it.”
“Make me.”
“Jesus.” He runs his hand through his hair. “This was a mistake.”
I feel a pang inside. “Aw, don’t say that. I’m sorry. I’m only teasing.”
He grunts. “Don’t make me wish I hadn’t done it.”
I don’t reply, because I don’t want him to regret it. I want him to think about it. To remember how it felt. Because I know I’m never going to be able to forget him.
Chapter Nine
Belle
We don’t talk about it for the rest of the journey. He puts the music back on, and I try to sing to The Weeknd and Post Malone and Kendrick Lamar without thinking of the moment that Damon slid his hand beneath the elastic of my underwear and swirled his finger over my clit. Oh my God. How can I think about anything else?
But I’m a good girl, and I don’t mention it again. Not until we enter the Christchurch suburbs, anyway. At which point I’ve been biting my lip for an hour, and the torture of sitting next to him and not talking about what happened has finally gotten to me.
