“Yes,” I reply softly.
Offering me his hand, he leads me through the empty house to the kitchen. It’s nice with just the two of us, when there’s no Zane to glare, no Anne to gloat, and no Russell to watch me.
I’m surprised at how at home he is in the kitchen, throwing together an early supper of omelets and salad. He makes me sit at the table as if I’m fragile, but I’m too mentally and physically exhausted to argue. Resting my chin in my hand, I watch him move to and fro as he works. When he dashes past me again with the pan in his hand, he stops to wipe a thumb over my lips.
“This mouth is mine,” he says teasingly. His smile vanishes, and his face grows serious. “You’re mine now, Lina. I own you in every way.”
Before I can reply, the very people I wanted to escape file into the kitchen. Zane stops just inside of the door, his arms stiff and hands fisted as he watches Damian serve an omelet on my plate. Damian doesn’t acknowledge Zane, but his body tenses. Something happened between them. Anne plants a newspaper next to me.
“Didn’t want you to hear it from someone else,” she says with fake sympathy.
I glance down at the open page. There’s a photo of me lying on the pavement with Damian straddling me. The headline reads, Another suicide attempt for newlywed Mrs. Hart? A passerby must’ve taken it.
Damian reads over my shoulder. He gives the article three seconds of his attention before taking a seat next to me. He acts nonchalant, but his knuckles turn white around his fork.
Jana and Russell come walking in, chatting and laughing. They stop when they see us.
“Are we interrupting?” Jana asks. “I can come back later to finish dinner.”
Damian digs into his omelet. “We’re having an early one, but don’t let us stop you.”
“Macaroni and cheese, everyone?” Jana asks.
Zane huffs. “Do I look like I’m ten?”
“Tell you what, Jana.” Damian wipes his mouth on a napkin, giving Zane a cold look. “Zane and Anne are old enough to fix their own dinner. Why don’t you go home early?”
“Are you sure? I mean, I’d love to, but I don’t want to leave you in the lurch.”
“I’m sure they survived before you,” Russell says with a wink.
“All right, then.” She gives us a bright smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The tension is so palpable, it’s difficult to enjoy my food. I don’t miss the way Anne’s gaze remains fixed on Damian’s naked torso. He looks succulent in those faded jeans, and now that I know what it feels like to have him inside me, I’m afraid of the other woman’s attention I once considered welcome.
As Damian promised, he takes me to the gym the following morning. On the way, he stops at a sport shop to get me an appropriate outfit.
“I would’ve been fine in shorts and a T-shirt,” I say, parading the Lycra pants and sports bra on his insistence in the small change room sitting area.
“You’re yet to spend my money.”
“I never said I would.”
“Turn around.”
I sigh and show him my ass, assessing him from over my shoulder.
“Perfect,” he says, his eyes turning heated. “Too much, maybe.”
I charge to the change room before he can make me try on another outfit. “I’ll take these.”
His chuckle follows me down the narrow corridor, but when I push on the change room door, his hand covers mine. His chest presses against my back. We’re the only people in the changing area, and I become intensely aware of our isolation as he pushes the door open and walks me inside.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-cry as he locks the door. There’s a wide enough gap at the bottom for a body to crawl through, enough to not make me panic.
His fingers steal under the elastic of the bra, finding my nipple. “Tell me you want me.”
He’s made me say it at least ten times since yesterday. The novelty of it can’t seem to wear off for him. Every time, my admission has been accompanied by heavy petting, which isn’t permitted in the store.
“Damian.” I gasp when he pushes me against the wall. “They’ll throw us out.”
“Tell me.”
“Will you let me go if I do?”
His grin is boyish. “Maybe.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re dragging this out. Maybe you’re enjoying it so much, you’re doing it on purpose.”
“I’m not!”
“Say it.”
“Fine. I want you. Happy?”
“Yes.” He grabs my wrists and lifts them above my head.
“What are you doing?”
He pushes the bra over my head and up my arms, leaving it just above my elbows. In this position, the tight Lycra constrains me. With him pressed up against me, I can’t lower my arms or step away.
“Damian.”
“Shh.” He presses a finger on my lips. “They’ll hear you.”
“Please, don’t—”
I swallow the rest of my words as he slides down to his knees, hooking his fingers into the elastic of the exercise pants and taking them with him. I start to protest, but he hushes me again and puts his mouth on my clit. One suck and my back hollows from the hot flush of ecstasy that shoots to my core. I bite back a moan. He watches me as only Damian can, with intense concentration, as he nips and licks. He knows how to read my expressions. He knows the nonverbal language of my body. This is what all the studying and gawking while I fall apart and come in his mouth awarded him. He knows exactly at which moment to bite, and how to suck away the hurt. He knows I’m going to moan too loudly, and he already straightens and covers my mouth with his broad palm before the sound of my climax leaves my lips. He lets me pant into his hand for all of two seconds before he pushes me to my knees.