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“Yeah, he wanted to try ...”
“Meaning?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.” He holds my chin firmly in place, his furrowed brow adding to the anger edging on his face.
“He can’t get it up with me.”
“So if he could, you’d be together?”
I shake my head. It’s always black or white with him. He doesn’t see the middle war zone that tips the scale on one side or the other.
“That’s not what happened. What happened is that we fell apart, and then I met you. I fellfor you, Damon.” I grasp his hair, my fingers brushing through it.
Skepticism is apparent in his stare despite the desperation dripping in my voice. “I should tell you that after you ended things between us last time, or whatever ... he kissed me.”
His body stiffens. “He kissed you.”
I nod.
“And?”
I shrug. “I threw up right after.”
“Is that so?”
“So you see that I only want you.”
He kisses me, and I sigh against his mouth in relief. This could have gone south easily. I’m surprised he took it so well. If I knew he kissed another woman, I wouldn’t be so forgiving.
When our lips part, our foreheads collide together, and his arms wrap tightly around my waist.
“Damon, why are you wearing so many clothes?”
He shrugs. “Too focused on you.”
“Well, next time, I want you naked.” I bring my lips to his ear and whisper, “And I want you in my mouth.”
He smirks, shaking his head. “We should eat, baby.”
I smile like a stoned teenager when he calls me that. “Yeah, and you should put on your belt.” I stand up.
My heart is in pure agony as he comes and hugs me from behind, kissing my cheek the soft way he always does, because I can’t help but wonder how long I’ll truly be in Damon’s arms.
“Are you teasing me?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”
He slaps my ass, a snicker fumbling through his magical lips.
We both clean up, and I dress again before we sit on the couch with our lasagnas, garlic bread, and glasses filled with wine.
“Where’s your tattoo?” I ask him. I’ve been curious about it ever since he told me he had one after our ziplining date, and I’ve yet to find it.
He halts for half a second, and I can see him contemplating showing me.
“Open,” he says, bringing the fork near my lips. I oblige, the cheesy lasagna melting in my mouth. He brings another piece, but I keep my mouth shut, silently rebelling against him feeding me until he shows me.
