Chapter Twenty-Two
In the aftermath the air is moist and salt, an ocean made of our bodies, a sky made from panting breaths. I’ve imagined sex a hundred thousand times—all of them with Damon Scott. My dreams came up with equations, the things he would do to me, the things he would take.
My dreams could never come up with this.
I’m blind in these deep waters. Not helpless. I reach for him, feeling along burning skin and clenching muscles. When I find the right place, his whole body shudders. The sound of his gasped breath embeds itself inside me, fitting into some place with its exact shape.
He grasps my wrist hard enough to make me squeak. “No, Penny.”
For a moment I struggle with him, tugging at my hand as if I have a chance of dislodging him. As if I’m the one calling the shots right now. Only when I give up does he gently push my hand away.
My throat swells. “Did I do it wrong?”
An uneven laugh. “Are you capable of doing things wrong? That’s something I’d like to see.”
“Then why can’t I touch you?”
“Because that isn’t what I want from you.”
This is a game. I knew that. I thought I knew that… but somehow there’s an ache in my chest. There’s more at stake than my body. My heart.
The pleasure I felt is still here, no longer euphoria, but something darker.
“You don’t want me to touch you,” I say, more stunned than I have a right to be. “You don’t want me to kiss you. Or suck you. Or do anything to you.”
“That’s right, Penny. Now run away to your little room.”
I look at his lap, where the sheet tents an erection so large it would be terrifying if I thought he were going to do anything with it. “Will you touch yourself after?”
He grins. “Do you want to watch? Or maybe you’d like me to make you come again.”
Everything is a game with him, but I’m struck by the realization that it’s all a cover. A cover for what? For the fact that nothing is a game to him? That he cares too much?
“No,” I say simply.
The pause between us weighs heavy. “Excuse me?”
“I said no. I’m not going to run away to my little room so that you can jack off while still tasting me. Maybe you’re too shy to want me here, but I deserve to see this. And you deserve to let me.”
I think I could have punched him in the face and he would have been less shocked. “Shy? Jesus Christ. You’ve seen the parties I have.”
“And I’ve seen you, fully dressed in them. Watching but not participating.”
He glances between my legs, where I can still feel the echo of his tongue. “And what about two minutes ago? I think I participated plenty, then.”
“In a private room with the door locked. And you won’t let me reciprocate.”
His voice is pure venom. “A blow job, Penny. If you want to do it, you can at least say the words. You want to suck my cock. Say it.”
I flush from his derision. “Fine, I want to suck your cock. But you won’t let me. What are you afraid of? That I’ll hurt you?”
“The only thing I’m afraid of is that I’ll be bored out of my mind. I’m not only referring to the men and women at my parties. I own strip clubs, darling. In case you’ve forgotten. I know some of the most”—he smiles a little—“talented women in the city.”
The more he tries to insult me, the more I see it as the distraction it’s meant to be. “And how many of them have you actually slept with? How many of them have seen you vulnerable? How many of them have touched you?”
“None,” he says on a hissed breath. “Is that what you want to hear?”
It’s the truth; the certainty of that sinks inside me like poison. I’ve been trying to make him be honest with me for days. For years, even. Now that he’s finally done it, all I feel is deep sorrow. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t pity me, sweetheart. I’ve had my share of sex.”
“The kind you wanted?” I ask softly.
Maybe another woman would be fooled. Maybe the people downstairs think Damon Scott has wild sex because he hosts parties at the Den, because he owns strip clubs.
I’ve seen Damon before he became this dashing stranger. I knew the wild boy who tried to run away from home. Angry, dangerous. Defensive. There are only a few ways teenage boys get like that.
“I’m not the only person Jonathan Scott has hurt,” I whisper.
“You’re the only one he shouldn’t have touched,” he says, voice thick with remorse.
“I don’t understand.”
“He wanted to create a monster. And he’s good at what he does.”
I shake my head. “You did what you had to do to survive.”
“I didn’t just survive what he did to me. I thrived in it, understand? I became what he wanted me to be. Fuck, I was already a monster. Coming from that man. Being his son. I can’t escape that.”
“You can,” I whisper urgently, my heart fractured at his agony.
“But you weren’t part of that life. You were the one thing I wanted to be clean, to be safe. To be free from this city. Which is exactly why he targeted you. Don’t you get that? I’m the reason he hurt you.”
“I know, Damon. He told me, but that doesn’t make it true.”
A hoarse sound. “Everything you’ve suffered is because of me.”
“Your father is responsible for what he does. I know you tried to keep people safe. You tried to keep me safe. You’re still doing it. That’s why I’m in that room, isn’t it? Because someone would have to go through you to get to me.”
“No one’s getting to you,” he says on a low growl.
“But you can’t keep everyone safe all the time. That’s not your responsibility.”
“It is,” he says, teeth clenched, and with shock I realize he means it. “I’m the only one who knows what he’s truly capable of doing. The only one capable of stopping him.”
My heart aches, because he’s right. He’s the only one who knows what Jonathan Scott is fully capable of—because he’s suffered all of it. For years. Because no one stopped him. No one could. In a twisted way it’s why he won’t go after Avery, because he believes he can’t save her. In his mind she’s already lost. The dark place in my mind whispers that he might be right.
I touch my forefinger lightly to a darker patch of skin on the side of his abdomen, a few inches below the endless stylized waves. “Tell me about this one.”
His eyes flash. “What are you doing?”
“Tell me.”
“Cast iron,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion. “A fireplace poker.”
I can’t quite control the flinch that comes from imagining that. The wound has healed over, almost smooth to the touch. Which means it happened a very long time ago. How young was he?
Without commenting on it, I move to a thin white line of raised skin. “This one.”
“Penny,” he warns.
“If you tell me, then you won’t be the only one who knows.”
His breath hitches—I can’t hear it or see it, but I feel the shift in his chest. “And you think I want that? You’re the last person I want to burden with this.”
“You keep trying to keep me safe, Damon Scott. No matter what it costs you.”
“That’s right. My life means nothing. It hasn’t meant anything since I met a little girl who stole a hundred-dollar bill from my backpack because she was hungry.”
Guilt burns like acid. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t you get it, Penny? I would give you a thousand of those. I’d give you every dollar I have, and then steal even more if that’s what you wanted.”
“Why?” I whisper, suddenly afraid.
“God knows,” he says, and it really does sound like a prayer. “My life would be so much simpler if I could just fuck one of those women down there. If I could just stop thinking about you for a single goddamn breath. Instead I’ve spent years taking over the fucking city so that I could give it you.”
Words are caught in my throat. Words like no and impossible and please.
“And the worst part is, you don’t want it, do you? You were never fooled by a suit and a smile, were you? You knew that only covered up a wild animal.”
“That’s not true,” I say, but it is. God, it is.
“You wanted to leave Tanglewood, and you were right to. You don’t belong here. So get back in your fucking little box, because that’s where I’m going to keep you until I can send you away again.”
I stand up from the bed like my limbs aren’t shattered, like my body is still in one piece. Like his gaze isn’t battering against my back. The small room is the same as when I left it. I’m the one who’s different. I’m the one hollowed out, blackened. A husk of the girl who went looking for him.