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“You okay?” He grabs the back of my neck. I nod. I’m more than okay. I’m perfect. “Hungry?”
I nod in response, clearing my throat. I don’t trust myself to speak. I’m so content, sohappy. I’m afraid of what will come out. Afraid I’ll pour my feelings out.
“Cat got your tongue,Gemma?” He nuzzles his nose on my neck before kissing me there. The way he says my name,God. I never thought I’d see the day where a man could turn me on so much with a word.
He moves on top of me, pushing my legs apart. “Stop thinking... nothing will happen to your job, I told you. No matter what.”
What?
Of course he’d think I’m afraid of getting fired, of getting involved. I probably should be, but all I can think about are my true feelings for him and where Harvey will stand.
“Okay.”
I’m so close to falling in love with you...so close I might already be there.
I can’t possibly tell another man that I love him. Because he’s not ready to hear it. Because I’m not ready to say it.
He ends up ordering lasagna, telling me he doesn’t want us to waste time cooking. The food is delicious. I love how he feeds me bits and pieces as we sit on his leather couch, talking half the time and silencing each other with our lips the other half.
Then he fucks me the rest of the night.
No, no, NO!
Don’t do it—don’t—I’m begging you, f-for me...please.PLEASE—
I wake up with a jerk, my heart beating and stomping in my chest like a madman. It takes a few seconds for me to recognize my surroundings, and when I glance down, I know why I’m sweating.
Damon. Damon’s arms tightly wrapped around my waist.
“No.No!” He’s yelling, thrashing all over me as his head bobs from side to side on my stomach.
“Damon, wake up.”
“It’s my fault. . .all my fault.. .”
I manage to push him off. I probably shouldn’t wake him up but the last thing I want is for him to stay in this dark, painful state of mind, even if it’s not real. When I shake his shoulders, his eyes open at the same time as he roughly catches my wrist.
“Hey . . . it’s okay. You’re okay.”
He lets go of my wrist, staring at me like I’m the devil incarnate, and stumbles his way to the bathroom, slamming the door.
I hear the shower turn on, and I’m left here on his gray satin-covered bed, wiping off the sweat he left on my stomach with the sheet.
What nightmare could be so bad he’d still be angry once he snapped out of it? Is it related to the pain that crosses through his eyes? The bleak and brooding paintings?
I check the time on my phone and see that we have to be up for work in a few hours.
We.
I like the sound of it.
I swallow down the fear, the nerves for the unknown and the inevitable decisions.
Before I question my own motives or stop myself, I’m closing the bathroom door, staring at the fogged-up glass shower wall.
Each footstep brings me closer to him, closer to the hot steam that envelops me in a warm hug as I step inside his massive shower.
He could have a foursome in here and still have space left. It’s large enough you can’t feel the walls around you; you can’t feel claustrophobic.
