Page 15

fifteen

Lucy

This is the second man to ever be inside of me. And it’s the greatest fucking feeling on planet earth.

Sure, I’ve fooled around with a couple of men over the last few years, but never went past oral honestly. I got too scared, my PTSD would go into overdrive at the thought of letting a man inside of my body since my virginity was taken away from me by force.

But right now, there is no fear. There is no pain.

Yes, my ass is stinging from the constant blows that Damien’s hand just dealt. My wrists are going to be bruised by the end of this, and my heart is already thrown at his feet because I’m a stupid idiotic girl.

But it feels fucking good .

As soon as my body grows accustomed to his length, it feels otherworldly. That stupid little crush I had on him years ago now morphs into a full-blown obsession. It started when he tied me to this bed post. It ignited when he marked my flesh again, when he brought me to the brink of pain only to soothe it with his amazing fucking fingers right after.

It exploded then, the crush, the feelings.

It blew up right there with me and obliterated my entire being, the pieces of me flying around the room before eventually falling at his feet while he slid inside of me for the very first time.

Finally.

Finally.

I feel like every atom, every fiber of my being has been pulling me towards this moment, towards him. Every bit of pain, every awful thing, has now evaporated because Damien Reed is inside of me and fucking me like we’re the last two people on earth.

“God, it’s fucking tight,” he groans as his fingers move to find my clit while he drives into me with a fast and erratic force.

I can hardly catch my breath, not that I want to. Who needs air right now? I sure don’t. All I need is this . More of this. All of this.

I’m so greedy for him and I know that he can tell, but I don’t care. Hell, I don’t think he cares much either because he keeps talking to me and praising my body, lifting me up past the pedestal to fuck me right on cloud nine.

“Look at how wet she is for me, Lucille,” he growls out as he circles my wetness around my clit as his massive length continues to retreat and drive forth until it touches the fucking barrier of my soul.

He’s invading me from the inside out, exposing every bit of me and we’re not even naked.

“It’s your fault!” I cry out, another climax building as the wet, fast sounds of our fucking fill the air.

I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to react or respond. My consciousness is long gone and in its place is pure, unabashed desire. And it’s a fiery, unhinged monster.

“Yeah?” he half growls, half chuckles. The sound is sweeter than honey. I didn’t think he was capable of such a sound. Then again, I never thought this was even possible.

“My fault, baby girl?” he growls and my heart stutters in my chest at the pet name.

Did he mean to call me that? Or does he say that to every woman while he fucks her?

Don’t do that, Lucy. Don’t think about him fucking other women.

I don’t know why that fills me with anger, he was married to my sister for god’s sake.

And that thought hits even harder. That realization fills me with both guilt and rage, and I think he feels it too.

But he doesn’t stop. And surprisingly, I don’t want him to.

No, instead, he takes that rage and guilt and fucks it into me with such a force that it leaves my body altogether because there is no space for those feelings here. There is only space for this, for he and I at this moment.

I want to keep talking with him. We barely ever talk, we’re always arguing. At least with this, there’s ecstasy. There is pure lust, even if it’s mixed with hatred.

“It’s all your fault, Damien,” I groan, my teeth biting at my rope as I groan. “You’re the reason it aches,” I say and I don’t care how it sounds. Like he’s at fault for more than just this intimate ache, he’s the reason for all of my ache.

I meant that and he knows it, but he doesn’t stop. Actually, he grabs my jaw and rips me away from my wrists so he can bite at my throat while I tighten around his pounding length.

“I know, Lucille. I make it ache really bad,” he growls as his hand digs into the skin of my jaw while the other circles and pinches my clit as I cry out from yet another impending release.

“I make it ache and then I take it all away,” he whispers and I can’t deny him, because he’s right.

He causes the hurt and then he eases it. He makes the mark and then he soothes. He is the ultimate cause and effect and he has no problem doing or being so. And I’m beginning to wonder if I care either, if it even bothers me deep down.

I don’t think it does.

Mostly because deep down, a part of me has always been in love with Damien Reed. Even since my sister first introduced him. It’s been forbidden, it’s been ignored. He’s hurt and he’s inflicted pain with his ignorance and cold heart, he’s wounded me over and over again with his lack of acknowledgement, and then he’s healed it all when he saved me that night.

And here he is now, soothing all of the ache and hurt that he’s caused over the past few days. Doing what Damien does best. Fucking shattering me from the inside out.

And I do just that. I shatter from the inside out, but this time, I do it around him.

I come hard and I come for what feels like forever, all the while crying out his name before my mouth finds his thumb. I suck on it then, drowning out my cries and tasting whatever flesh that he can give me. It’s pathetic, I know, but I can’t help it.

I’m in love with him. I always have been. You see, Jenni was wrong. It wasn’t a stupid crush.

It was always an obsession.

I’m in love with him and he will never be in love with me, but at least I can have this.

Despite all of the bullshit behind me and ahead of me, right now, I have this.

I have him.

And he’s coming inside of me, growling out my name as our orgasms bleed into one.

I don’t want the moment to end, because I know as soon as it does, reality will come crashing in, so I soak up every passing second. I soak up the tremors in his body as he releases into me, the feeling of his climax as it starts to seep out of me when he retreats. I try to ignore the empty, cold feeling when he pulls out and backs away from my body. He doesn’t caress me, doesn’t hold me, and I know that he won’t because that’s not what this is about.

Hell, this wasn’t really about anything. He saw me in a short skirt and he wanted to fuck me, that’s it. I know better than to read further into it, despite my own, desperate, stupid feelings. Desperate feelings that have me focusing on the sound of him gathering his breath. Desperate feelings that have me clinging to the sting of his hand on my ass because it’s the only touch I have to remember after tonight.

I know as soon as I turn around, after he removes this rope and my wrists fall from the bed post, Damien Reed will be long gone. I’m an intelligent woman, I’ve been through enough to have a bit of wisdom in my day, but that doesn’t mean that hope and love can’t make me somewhat stupid.

Okay, a lot of stupid.

He does exactly that too. He removes the rope and releases me instantly, never standing too close. I can hear him shuffle around to gather his clothes as I straighten myself on the bed. He never undressed me, but I am a mess underneath my clothes. Does it make me gross if I don’t want to clean up? If I don’t want to wipe him away from me?

Maybe I am sick and twisted like him.

“I have to go,” he grumbles as he zips up his pants and grabs his tie from the bed.

I watch him from the corner of my eye as he stares at the tie for a second too long.

I left bite marks on it. Wet indents from my teeth. Evidence of my arousal. And he’s eyeing it up. Will he wear it? Will he put it back on because he wants the reminder? Because he wants to remember the sounds of my muffled groans as he fingered me?

The answer is no. Because eventually, he shoves it into his back pocket as he straightens his shirt.

I sigh through that small bit of rejection that I feel and stand as I take out the ponytail he messed up. I run my hands through my waves as they fall to my breasts and when I look up, I find him watching me. And there’s lingering arousal in his gaze, but suddenly, he seems annoyed.

“I have to clean up the mess you made the other day in the warehouse,” he growls out, and I want to roll my eyes at him, but I stop myself because the memory of blood and a blown out head fills me.

He has to dispose of the dead body of the man he killed right in front of me. A man that he killed for me because he was running at me with a knife.

I want to stand there in the fear that the memory suddenly brings, but I know better.

I am stuck in this lifestyle of Damien Reed whether I like it or not. I cannot hide from his brutality, from the cruelty of his world. The best I can do is face it. And face it head on.

Which is exactly why I meet his gaze once more and cross my arms with a sharp and quick demand.

“Take me with you,” I bark softly, trying to sound both cold and clipped.

He’s surprised by this, but his annoyance is still clear as his hazel eyes narrow on me.

“No-”

“Yes,” I grunt out, cutting him out.

“It’s my fault, like you said. I should help clean up my mess, shouldn’t I?” I propose, his head tilted at me in curiosity now.

“Look, you’re forcing me into marriage. I watched a man die because of you. I can at least see how you plan to cover this up. I need to be in this with you if you want this to be authentic, if you want me to cover your ass when you need it. No secrets,” I say, and his eyes are still narrowed on me, though I can’t tell what emotion lies within them.

“I’ll never need you to cover my ass, Lucille. I’m a grown man-”

“Who’s marrying the senator’s other daughter because the government is snooping around your shit. So you want this one to be clueless as well?” I bite back and I know he wants to decline, I know he wants me to be clueless, but he should know by now, I don’t shut up until I get what I want. And if I do, it’s because I’m plotting a way to escape quietly to get what I want. It’s what my family taught me to do, forced me to do.

And I guess after a while, he does get this. He does realize who I am and what I will do. Because eventually, he sneers at me and turns on his heel. And when he reaches the door to leave, he gives me a quick wave to come after him.

And I do instantly.

Well, after I stop by my room to change clothes, which agitates him even further, but I haven’t had a second to clean up after what we just…did. I swear, my legs are shaking the entire journey that I make from his room to mine. Initially, I planned on changing into comfier clothes, ones that I don’t mind getting…dirty. Being as the last time I witnessed him working I ended up covered in blood, however, when I reach my room, I’m rendered speechless.

There sitting in the small, two step alcove with bay windows lies a massive easel with a fresh canvas on it. My mouth drops as I walk to it, my eyes moving from the canvas to the wooden art station next to. It is filled with brand new acrylics, brushes, oil pastels and even water colors. I’m mesmerized by all of it when I run my fingers down the side of the easel, tears threatening to pool in my eyes because I’ve never had anything this nice before. My parents refused to buy me any supplies other than my books and pencils. All of the paints and small canvases came from my own pocket so nothing was very lavish. My mother didn’t want me ruining her carpet or drapes and I never had space for something like this at Jenni’s.

This is a first for me. A dream come true. And I can’t help but realize that today is suddenly filled with a lot of suspiciously wonderful things.

I hear Damien clear his throat behind me, but I don’t turn to look at him when I speak. I am too enthralled with this.

“Did you do this?” I whisper, my voice shaky and choked up. I know he can hear me though. I can feel his discomfort in the air.

I know this because Damien Reed is not used to doing nice things for people just as I am not used to receiving nice things from people.

He’s quiet for a while and his silence is answer enough. I want to ask why, but I fear he will just have some short, curt response. Maybe he’ll say it’s to distract me, to keep me out of his hair whilst he lives his life. And I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to hear that Damien doesn’t like being near me unless he’s starting at my body or fucking it.

Though, I do love it when he does that.

No, I want to continue to be ignorant and believe that Damien did this because he wanted to make me happy. Because he wanted to see me smile. Even though I know that is the furthest thing from the truth.

“Hurry up. We need to be in the garage in two minutes,” he barks out, but there’s a small softness to his words, I can barely detect it, but I know it’s there. I can feel his gaze as it burns through the skin of my back.

But I’m left cold once more when I feel his presence recede and hear the quick click of my door closing.

I smile then, walking away from my new art area to rush to my closet and change quickly. My cheeks hurt from my lips spreading them, but I can’t help it. I know reality will come and crash down on me, but right now, I’m in blissful ignorance. Right now, I have this moment.

He didn’t slam the door.