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After dessert, we spend time chatting in the living room. I lean my head over Damon’s chest, listening to him talk business with James while Gia brings up the April weather.
The sound of Damon’s voice is so soothing I wonder if he knows he’s my own lullaby.
I stare around, content, unable to believe that after they leave, I get to stay here and play house with the man of my dreams.
I hope I never believe it so I never take it for granted.
Before they leave, I bring James and Gia a massive gift basket filled with unisex baby items that I got for her yesterday. Gia tears up at the gesture, throwing her arms around me, and I can’t help the guilt I feel for pulling away from her over the years.
This is what being on ten different drugs must feel like—as if beautiful angels are here to save you, here to distract you from the pain, here to give you a small dose of strength before your world finally crashes at your feet.
He left me behind, my guardian angel, but he never left my heart.
The same dream hauls me back to the surface of reality. My heart is hammering against my chest, and my eyes gaze around the room, slowly adjusting to the dark.
Why did it come back?
Damon’s body is thrashing on his side of the bed, his hand gripping the inside of my thigh. When my fingers weave through his hair, I feel sweat dampening his scalp.
“No, Palmer ...”His voice is laced with terror.
Before it worsens, I grab his hands, whispering his name into the night. He gasps when he wakes—dazed and disoriented.
I don’t say a word out of fear he’ll head for the shower again. He’s breathing so fast only my hand brushing through his unruly hair seems to calm him.
When his eyes lock with mine, my core shakes, for I’d do anything to erase the agony that follows him with every nightmare.
While I get to dream of a beautiful angel, he soaks in nothing but panic.
Then he’s off the bed heading for the shower. This time I don’t leave him be. This time I remove my T-shirt and follow him into the shower, seeing his back muscles tense when he senses my presence.
I don’t care. I’m here for you.
I don’t utter a single word.
He needs his peace. He needs the silence.
So, I give it to him, but I won’t give him space. He needs to learn to burn with me by his side.
I grab his shampoo bottle, and he closes his eyes when I massage a few drops of soap into his scalp. An intent look crosses his eyes when he opens them again, something akin to respect or admiration—I can’t be sure.
While he rinses off the shampoo, I rub bodywash over his back and down his arms. I complete my task on his front when he finally turns around, my fingers splayed over the carved muscles of his abdomen.
“You’re sopretty,” I mutter, my eyes flicking to his.
“On the outside, maybe.”
Oh, Damon. Why can’t you see what I see?
He ends up cleaning me as well, and though there’s nothing sexual about it, it’s all strangely erotic.
We head back to bed, both of us naked and silent. Darkness surrounds us, and all I can feel is the soft satin sheets against my naked skin. All I can smell is the strong, manly scent of his body products flicking a flame of desire between my legs.
I tilt my neck, allowing him to press his lips against it. Silence slowly turns into whimpers, my heart thumping loudly.
We don’t talk.
Not even when he strokes my back, bringing his hand down to palm my ass, his fingers skirting my bum to reach its intended destination. His thumb and index finger each dig in my asscheeks, along with his pinky, as he slides two fingers in me, my sex wet and glistening.
