When he softly chuckled, Sydney was once again frustrated that she couldn’t fight him, had a desperate urge to. How was she going to seduce Court now?
How was she supposed to want Court when Damien kept kissing her and touching her like that?
He clutched her closer and slid his hand up and down her arms, trying to warm her. She hated how good it felt, hated that she’d wondered half her life of how it would feel to be in these arms, protected and cared for by this man.
They arrived at his apartment, and she could still not get warm.
When he scooped her up, she let him, burying her face in his cold, wet neck so that she didn’t have to see all the people in the lobby. She wanted to lick all the water off his skin. Wanted to slide her fingers along his wet hair. But of course she wouldn’t. This was only attraction. Animal attraction that had nothing to do with love or even compatibility. Damien might drive her body crazy, but the man she loved and really wanted long term was Court.
Oh Court.
The thought made her miserable all over again.
Shivering in his arms as the cold began to numb her on the inside, she didn’t want Damien to set her down, prayed for him not to set her on her feet in the elevator. He didn’t. Instead he tightened his hold and said shhhh as he gathered her to his muscular frame and he felt inexplicably warm against her.
Oh my.
She was disappointed in herself. She felt like she didn’t know this woman anymore, this…wanton. She felt that if Damien touched her tonight, she’d die. And if he didn’t? She’d die, too.
She buried her face in his neck inste
ad and told her brain not to think for a second, let her just relax for a little bit—let her be held like this, if only for a couple of more minutes, until she called Court to come get her.
Bubbling with rage, body strained with emotions and desire so fierce he could hardly stand it, Damien turned on the shower, his hand shaking as the hot water came rushing out while Sydney sat chattering on the bench of his marble bathroom, her lips a little too blue, to his liking.
She wouldn’t be so cold if she had a little meat on her bones, but she was all bones and creamy white flesh, and she looked like a wet kitten, her brown hair clinging to the sides of her pretty oval face, his gabardine huge and draped awkwardly on her slim shoulders.
He stalked back to fetch her, dreading to get turned on again by the sight of her nakedness, but he’d never even managed to get rid of this enormous woody, so yeah, he was still incredibly hard.
The way she’d held onto him right now, as though she enjoyed his arms around her as much as he enjoyed holding her, dear God.
He wanted her nipples in his mouth, her juices sluicing down his goddamned throat. A flash of jealousy struck him as he remembered the way she’d looked at her stupid blond friend, followed by a flash of yearning so violent, he almost wanted to hit something.
He wanted her to speak like this to him, to look that way at him. Not wary, not angry.
But she was angry. She hated him as much as she wanted him. Because you’re you, the voice of his father came back to lash at him. A thousand more million dollars wouldn’t change that. Nothing would.
He’d been recognized as a Knight when his parents had no other choice. Before that? He hadn’t been fit to live in the home he grew up, before his father realized Damien was too different. Dark, rebellious, not the pretty, preppy, perfect boy his old man had been.
He eased his coat off of Sydney’s slender body and scooped her back up again, then he stepped into the shower with her, her skin cold against his diaphragm. She gasped as the sprits hit her, then he slid her down to her feet so she wasn’t so close to the spritz. He stood behind her to keep her steady, wearing his pants only to protect her from him, from what he wanted to do to her, right here, right now.
She gasped as she angled her neck to let the water hit her face, her eyelids dropping almost sensually. The glimpses of her naked breasts made his pulse skitter, and he tried fixing his gaze on the stainless steel knobs, his cock throbbing painfully against her bottom. A shiver rippled through him as he pushed the image of her nakedness aside and started rubbing her. His hands ran down her arms. Along her thighs. Her stomach. Her shoulders. He rubbed her little hands between both of his. Caressed her ears with his fingertips. Massaging her scalp. Getting the warm water to heat her up, the blood flow everywhere.
He stroked his palms across her buttocks. She moaned.
His hands halted, and he closed his eyes, counting to ten. To twenty. The pit of his stomach churned with hunger for her. With need.
He had to have her. Holy Mary Mother of God, he had to have her. No one, no one, would get her virginity other than Damien. He wanted it with an intensity that frightened him. He’d never had a virgin. He didn’t know what he’d do, he only knew that she was standing utterly still, breathing very hard, and he wanted to take her all the way until tomorrow.
The memory of her moaning and bound overcame him so fast, he had to draw in a deep breath.
“What about you?” she suddenly gasped, turning.
He could barely speak. “I’m not cold.”
“How can you not—”
“I’m not co—” He fell quiet when her hands stroked up his pecs, up and down his muscled arms, pushing his libido into overdrive.