Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
He sets me down next to the massive, oversized king bed. Yes, the room is all money, and black leather, just like the living room, but it doesn’t interest me. It’s not his home. Nothing here represents his choices.
He is what interests me. Just him. It’s always been that way. Too much, many might say.
He kisses me and undresses me, and this Damion, this new side of Damion, I discover to be much darker than the one I’ve known before tonight, but not wholly unfamiliar. I decide this part of the boy next door always existed but was always under his guard. I don’t know this Damion, not really. I don’t know if I ever will, so for now, I settle for being an outlet for whatever nerve I’ve hit with my questions. Because right now, I think, I forgot the one choice he did make in this room.
And that’s me.
Chapter Sixteen
Damion
Alana doesn’t wake up when I shower. She doesn’t wake up when I dress for work.
I sit on the chair in the corner of the bedroom, in a six-thousand-dollar suit, because my father would have himself represented no other way, and watch her sleep. As much as I know this, just the way it’s happening is the right, drama-free, way to do this, I find I want to undress and crawl right back into the bed with her. I waited so damn long to have her like this, only to walk away yet again.
Yes, again.
But she won’t understand that. I know her. I’ve always known her. She’s about to hate me. We’re over in every possible way. And that’s the best gift I can ever give her.
I push to my feet and set the letter I’ve written her on the pillow next to her, and with what feels like a punch in the gut, turn away from her and I don’t look back.
What is done is done.
But damn it to hell, it sucks.
Chapter Seventeen
Alana
I wake on my belly to the luxurious feel of expensive sheets against my skin and that delicious smell that I call “The Damion” teasing my nostrils. For a moment, just a moment, I just lay there, thinking of the night before, languishing in the darker side of Damion. He’d been different, someone offering me the kind of pleasure I’ve never experienced before. The kind I never knew I needed in my life, but I so did. Demanding and intense are the words that come to mind. There was no conversation after he showed me that side of himself. There was just sex, but it was really good sex.
I wonder which Damion I’ll find present this morning?
The boy next door? Or the protégé king?
With a moan, thanks to my aching body—we had good sex, but it was also a lot of sex—I roll over to find Damion missing. The room is filled with the sultry cloak of shadows, but the clock reads nine in the morning. I reach for the remote and hit the button to raise the curtains, a familiar setup considering I see the same setup in at least half the properties I tour. After which, I flip on the bedside lamp.
That’s when I discover the white envelope with my name on it, written in Damion’s familiar script, right on top of his pillow. My heart starts to race, and I have the full body quaking sensation. It feels like this is bad. It’s bad. I know it’s bad. And I can’t believe he did this in a note. I knew this wasn’t forever. Why couldn’t he just face me and say goodbye? I suddenly know exactly why we had three years of silence.
He was too much of a coward to have anything but silence with me.
I can’t read it right now. I just can’t. My father would say I’m acting like my mother. She has a tendency to avoid things. If she doesn’t know, it doesn’t exist. Ironically, considering his criticism of her behavior, I suspect that is what she is doing with his gambling. I’ve sworn often not to let that be me, I have, but right now, I really don’t care. In fact, I’m pretty darn a-okay with the idea of being my mother’s daughter in my decision making.
Let the avoidance begin, or rather, continue.
The note can wait.
I throw aside the blanket and stand up, only to find I’m naked beneath, as if that is really any surprise. Naked was how Damion wanted me. Naked was all we had or were ever going to have, and I hate the slice of reality that cuts through me. I really do. I knew this. I prepared for this. It’s just the way he did it. It really is.
I toss the card on the center of the bed.
I know what’s inside. I know him. My clothes are in the living room, and I’m not walking around naked. He may have security cameras that could pick me up. Everyone does, most certainty the rich. Damion’s father would have it no other way. The idea that we might have a sex tape of sorts is about as uncomfortable as it gets. I pray his father doesn’t have access. He does own this place.