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“But you do?”
He nods, thumbing my bottom lip. “Pity for me. Had to fall for the girl who loves another.”
“As if you don’t love someone else?” I brazenly ask. He’s so close to kissing me, and I don’t want us to argue until he’s done filling me up.
I need him. I need us.
I need the intimacy we share when we have sex.
“To be honest, I don’t fucking know.” He shakes his head. “A small part of me hates what we have because I know I didn’t love her like I love you. I didn’t love her.” He kisses my cheek. “Not like this. So, my first instinct is to run, because it shouldn’t be this easy to let her go. I shouldn’t get to be this happy after what she went through.”
I cup his neck and seal this moment with a kiss that could set fire to a hurricane. My tongue dives in his mouth, teasing him, enjoying how he sucks back at it as I unbutton his dress shirt.
I want to be there for him. I want to listen to him vent. I want to comfort him.
Murder his fears and doubts, his demons and his past, alongside him.
As soon as he takes out his cock and slides it against my sex, I whimper his name, wishing he’d go faster.
He stares at our intimate parts joining and parting ways like he’s discovered the next world wonder. I untuck his white shirt from his slacks, biting on my lip when I see molded abs, and the veins that trail down to his pelvic area.
I gasp when his hand grips at my neck, our lips unwilling to part. Then I moan when he rubs some of my wetness on my clit before picking me up in his arms, tightly holding on to my ass before he sits on the chair with my body straddling his.
He doesn’t waste a second giving me what I crave.
Our bodies are as close as can be, our lips refusing any distance between them. I love it when he presses on my necktightly, then he lets go, letting me breathe in relief into his mouth.
He repeats the motion while I’m sliding up and down his length.
When Damon’s inside me, I’m in my own little world. Nothing could stop me, not even a knock at the door. It’s like he’s fucking the dead ashes out of me and bringing in life.
We stay still long after we’re both done.
His phone vibrates against his desk, yet he spares it no glance. Instead, he brings my chest to his, kissing my temple as he hugs me.
I’m beat and starving. I don’t even feel like driving back home.
“Your eyes are closing, Gemma. I’ll drive you.”
Too tired to argue, I unstraddle him, pulling down my skirt. I grab my thong from the floor, watching as he walks toward the restroom in his office.
I swallow, knowing what I’m about to do. I’ve barely had a second to think for myself this week, let alone pursue Palmer’s thoughts, yet here I am, my trembling hand hovering over the drawer—the one containing the pink diary. The one with answers I’m looking for, answers he won’t give me.
It’s a massive breach of privacy, but, well, curiosity killed the cat.
And I was never really scared of death.
I open the drawer quietly, grabbing the rest of the pages from the diary, and gently close the drawer. Then I reach my desk, stuffing my thong in my purse along with the diary, which is hidden in the same notebook.
I have time to replace the stack of pages I read already inside his drawer before breathing in relief when Damon steps out and doesn’t question anything. He eyes me warily, though, so I feel the need to explain.
“I thought I heard someone outside.” I shake my head and go to his washroom to clean up, needing a minute to steady my thrashing pulse.
Once we’re in the elevator, I tell him that I’ll sleep at home tonight, since I have a headache. I feel more alert—stealing and lying will do that to you.
“Okay, but I’m driving you home.”
I swallow. My purse feels heavier, yet my fingers are itching to go home and read every line. Take in every word.
