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The scent of sex still clings to his skin, as does the scent of clean sweat, which is further intermingled with the typical woody notes of his perfume. I’ve come to love all of these scents that make me crave him in a way that is impossible to explain.
Sighing, I take another sip of coffee. "I could stay here forever," I whisper, gazing out at this peaceful view.
"We can do that, if that's what you want," he replies, his voice low and caring.
Damien runs his fingers delicately down my neck, pushing my hair aside.
His mouth finds my skin. I feel the brush of his lips as he follows the path of my veins that runup my shoulders, up from my neck, and behind my ears.
I sigh and close my eyes, losing myself in his touch. "We can't do it, you know that."
"We can," he promises me. "You only have to ask."
His voice vibrates with a fervent promise, each word imbued with an urgency that sends shivers down my spine. And it’s then that I understand that Damien will find a way, without question, to grant me whatever I ask for.
The promise is tempting, but I know I can’t give in. I shake my head and I look back at him. "I can’t."
He looks at me with his dark eyes fixed on mine, analyzing my decisions.
His hands envelop my waist, dancing along my skin. He undoes one of the buttons and slips his hand under the flannel to caress my abdomen.
I immediately bite my lip and feel a tickle travel down my body and lodge in my lower belly, between my thighs.
"If you could choose, tell me what your wish would be."
A smile creeps across my lips. "Why, are you some kind of genie in a lamp now?"
"Maybe?" He smiles back, but I can see in his eyes that this premise is still lingering in his thoughts, so I start to think about it.
"If I could wish for anything... My wish would be this," I admit. "A quiet, calm life. But I know I couldn't stay away from the stage. Not forever."
"You love music." His words are a statement, not a question. I nod.
"I wish more people could hear what I have to say, but I want my words to be my own. Not anyone else's. I want to compose my own songs. At the end of the day, I'd rather be me. I don’t care if I’m loved or forgotten, as long as it’s for being authentic. I'm sick of pretending to be what I'm not."
"We can change that."
"No, we can't," I disagree, sighing.
"Sure, we can."
Damien lifts my chin and makes me look at him.
"I'm the record label owner now, remember?"
His words, loaded with such shattering sincerity, still amazes me. I can't wrap my head around how he could afford to buy an internationally famous record label as casually as someone would buy a pack of gum.
"And what are you implying by that?"
"That we can change the course of your career, Andrea. I've heard your original stuff. And I'm interested in seeing what you can accomplish, and how far you can go."
Damien's words, spoken with such conviction, wash over me like a soothing balm. I feel the weight of his trust, heavy and comforting, settling in my chest. It's a foreign sensation, this unwavering belief in my abilities, and I find myself craving more of it.
Thinking about how far I can go still seems impossible. It has always seemed that way, but it’s still a dream that I've never lost.
"I just want you to be happy."
"I am happy, when I'm with you."
