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His harsh breath against my neck does things to me. It makes me go wild when he delves deeper into me.
Soon his fingers slip out, replaced by his cock and his thumb on my clit. And he fucks his own demons out of his mind, out of this room.
When we finish, I’m exhausted. But I’m ready to take on nightmares if it means he’ll dream of roses and gardens rather than thorns and cemeteries.
The next morning, Damon drops a package on my desk after one of his meetings. I eye it, realizing it’s the paid master’s program that our firm offers its students.
“In case you’re interested.” He winks at me and heads back inside his office.
A giddiness takes over me. It’s silly, but Damon can be such a grouch that whenever he smiles, laughs, or winks at me, it makes me the happiest girl in the world.
We had a great start to our day. What started off as me getting ready for work ended with him fucking me over the dresser when he came in the room and saw me in my undergarments.
You couldn’t tell this morning that he’d spent the night soaking in nightmares.
His nightmares remind me of my dream. The same recurring one I used to have after the accident and ever since Damon came into my life.
At first, I attributed it to stress.
Stress from work, and stress from leaving Harvey at home while I worked.
But now a warning floats inside my stomach, its voice whispering things all the way to my ears.
I break my thoughts to open the package, willing to look into it. I’ve put off doing my master’s for so long. I had this crippling anxiety every time I had to leave Harv, even though I finished mybachelor’s despite our predicament. I couldn’t imagine doing my master’s and working full-time while Harvey was always alone.
I hated leaving him, because he lived a lonely life already.
But now I can apply for the program for next fall, should I wish. And I’m glad that Damon didn’t force the issue, since this is something I have to think of on my own.
I put the folder in my drawer.
I’m sending off an email when Damon leaves for another meeting. Once I’m done, I head to his office to place a package on his desk. I go to put it atop a pile of documents but end up hitting half of the pile instead as it scatters all over his desk.
That’s when I see it—the purple journal.
Why would he leave it here? Is he testing me?
It’s calling for me. I’m holding it in my hands, every cell in my body working together into coaxing my brain to transmit the message to open the diary and read it. Between my dreams and these journals, something keeps nagging at me. I can’t shake it off.
I know it’s wrong. It’ssowrong.
But I don’t care. Ineedto know how Palmer died. If Damon has nothing to hide, why is he being so secretive about her death? Why did Sutton warn me about him? What if there’s more to the story? More to get to the bottom to?
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.
Yet I don’t control my impulses as I flip over the journal to the end and read one line:
They also don’t know that I know ... that I almost killed a man. They covered it up, they covered for me—my parents. And they dragged Damon into their criminal, immoral decision, forcing him to keep quiet.
She didn’t.
He didn’t. He wouldn’t.
What. Did. He. Do?
I close the journal, pacing his office.
If Damon learns I read this diary, he’ll leave me and never look back. He might also fire me. He’ll never trust me again. Can I live with that?
