Twenty

Damien

 

“Cease and Desist!” Dad roared, throwing the sheets of paper down onto the desk between us. “A fucking Cease and Desist, Damien!”

“I got one, too.”

“The offer was one and a half times what that shithole is worth!”

The smell of hard rum permeated the air.

Once a year, it took over.

Numbed the pain, he said. Of her birthday. Of their deaths. Of the loss of more than them. Of everything. As if it didn’t hurt for the rest of the year, too. Like it didn’t hurt worse when it was ignored.

“Her father was a nightmare, but this girl is something else. She learned from the worst,” Dad went on, kicking a chair under the desk. “I’m surprised she hasn’t gone out of business already. Fucking hell, it’s a miracle that her old man managed to keep the business going. I give her six months before she fucks it all up and—”

“You know nothing about her.” I stood, shoving my chair away from me. “I have no idea what your fucking obsession with that bar is, but you have no idea what kind of a businesswoman she is.”

He hit me with a dark stare. “What kind of businesswoman is she, Damien? She ruthless? Harsh? Cutting?”

“She’s honest.” I rubbed my hand across my forehead, pulling my chair back beneath me.

My father’s laugh was cruel as it sliced through the air. “Honest? Honest works when you’re sixteen, son. Not in business.”

“I said she was honest, I didn’t say she was weak.”

“You mistake those for being different things.”

“Do I? Because the way I see it, Dad, she’s the furthest thing from weak. She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. She’s twenty-five and just got an entire business dumped on her shoulders. Have you considered the kind of pressure she’s under right now?”

“Strong?” That cold laugh echoed again as he reached forward and grabbed the cigarette box from the desk. He tapped one of the long, white sticks out and placed it between his lips to light it.

I wrinkled my face as he lit a match and held it up to the end. It glowed bright orange in the dim light, the smoke from the dying match swirling through the air in front of Dad’s face.

“She just ran away for three months,” Dad said, silvery smoke escaping his lips with each word. “She hid and left the running of her bar up to someone else. That’s not strong, son.”

“She was strong enough to realize she needed time.” I stared up at him.

He cut a cold, heartless figure, one that was hard to love—that had been hard to love for the past few years. Every ounce of ability to feel emotion he’d once had, had died with the two people he loved most in this world. That much was painfully true, and it was a fact I was reminded of every time I opened my mouth.

I might have been the prodigal son, the heir to the Fox empire, his visual double, but I was the furthest thing from perfect. I’d always been third-best to him. I always would be.

“And for you to talk about strength is rich,” I said in a low voice, unmoving. “You’ve drunk your way through their deaths each year. You hide every time they’re mentioned and refuse to talk about them. You avoid it as if it never happened and they’ll walk through the door any minute. When you accept the fact that Mom and Penelope—”

“Don’t!”

“—are never coming back, then you can stand on your fucking pedestal and criticize other people for being what you perceive as weak. At least she’s brave enough to stand up and take responsibility for her business, even if that means telling you to go and fuck yourself. And you know what? She isn’t wrong.”

His cigarette burned brightly as it hung out of the corner of his mouth. “If you weren’t my son—”

“You’d be fucked,” I replied flatly. “Because without me, this business would have gone under the day they died. You tell me Dahlia is weak, yet I’ve been running this for the past eight years. You slapped this on my shoulders at twenty-two. I’ve lived and breathed this company that entire time, doing whatever the fuck you wanted me to. I haven’t seen my sister in six years. We lost more than Mom and Penelope that day if only you’d open your fucking eyes and see it. I lost my entire family.”

Dad took a long drag on the cigarette, then violently stubbed it out in the glass ashtray in front of him. The smoke wisped up into the air in a long line before it finally died, disappearing into the tense silence that enveloped us.

“I don’t know what you’re doing with that girl,” he said in a tight voice. Planting his hands flat on the desk, he leaned forward until only inches separated the tips of our noses. “But it’s all a bad fuckin’ idea. Those Lloyds ain’t nothin’ but trouble.”

I said nothing. I couldn’t honestly tell him what I was doing with Dahlia because I didn’t know either. At least not enough to be able to tell him honestly. Until I figured that shit out myself, it was a topic of conversation off-bounds.

Just like my mother and sister were for him.

After a few minutes of strained, angry silence, my father pushed up off the desk. As he left the room, slamming the door behind him, so did the chill that accompanied his presence. The room warmed as if I’d just opened the curtains and direct sunlight was glaring in through the window.

The worst part was that the blinds were open and the sunlight was already streaming through the windows.

The echo of the slammed door receded, leaving me sitting in complete silence. Emotion churned inside of me. Anger, frustration, grief—it all tickled at my skin, forcing the hair on my arms to stand on end until I was forced to fight off a shiver.

Discomfort.

That was the lingering, strengthening feeling that hugged me as I sat in the quietness of my office. My father would be long gone, off to do whatever it was he did when he was confronted with shit he didn’t want to face up to. I wouldn’t see him for a few days now. That was the way it worked.

He’d get annoyed. I’d piss him off more. He’d disappear.

I didn’t know why I still cared. I was fucking thirty-years-old. I wasn’t a child desperate for his approval anymore, yet here I was, caring as though his opinion was the be-all and end-all of the purpose of my life.

It wouldn’t just be the mention of my mom and sister that pushed him over the edge. My defense of Dahlia would have angered him just as much. I’d asked him many times why he had such a dislike of her family, but he’d never told me. I doubted he ever would.

For the life of me, I couldn’t think why he hated them.

If her parents were anything like she was, and for the little I knew, they were, there was no way any rationally minded person could hate them.

Of course, my father wasn’t rationally minded. He wasn’t rational in anything. Cold and heartless and broken, yes. But not rational.

I looked up and stared at the closed door.

So many secrets. So many lies.

Would I ever know the fucking truth?

 

***

 

Little lights illuminated the dark, metal gates that separated Dahlia’s house from the rest of the city. The yellow-white glow they gave off bounced off the shiniest parts of the gate.

I glanced around as I pulled my car to a stop. I expected to see the guy who guarded it, but there was nobody around. After a moment of waiting in the car, I got out.

Nothing.

Nothing except the tiny blinking light on the intercom. I stepped forward and pressed the button, and right at that moment, something snapped behind me.

I turned and jumped.

The figure of a well-built man stepped out from behind a small, dark building. The cigarette between his lips pulsed and glowed as he broke through the darkness. Momentarily, panic jolted through my stomach.

It receded when the man drew level with the lights on the gates.

“Dustin.” I chuckled nervously. “You scared the shit out of me there.”

He laughed back, smoke swirling around his head. “Sorry ‘bout that, Mr. Fox. Ms. Lloyd doesn’t like me smoking in the building, so I just stepped out for a moment.” He held the cigarette up. “Let me get the gates for you. She told me you’d be by late.”

He retreated into the building, leaving his cigarette perched on an ashtray just outside the door. There was no judgment or question in his voice about why I’d be here so late, just matter-of-fact that I would be.

That was appreciated. I wasn’t in the mood for endless questions. I’d had enough of those in the past few hours. Dad had been MIA since our conversation, and the thought of my still-living sister had plagued me since that moment.

The gates creaked open, swinging inward.

“Thanks, Dustin,” I called, opening my car door again.

“Anytime, Mr. Fox.” He stepped back out of the building and raised a hand to me, bending down for his cigarette.

I started my engine and drove through the gates. The driveway was long and badly lit, but my headlights guided me safely down to the house.

Lights blared out from the windows downstairs. Curtains twitched as I got out of the car and locked it. The beep echoed through the night, seeming too loud. It’d wake the dead if there were any around here.

I raised my hand to knock on the door, but it swung open before my fist could connect with the wood.

“I have to admit to being surprised,” Dahlia said, standing there in nothing but a long tank top with a low neckline. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up at midnight.”

I glanced at my watch. “Technically speaking, I’m late. And if you didn’t think I’d show up, why are you awake.”

She waved a book at me.

Stepping inside, I glanced at her shirt. It read ‘Boys in books are better.’ I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a graphic tee kind of person.”

She looked down at it. “I’m sorry—should I be wearing lingerie just as expensive as my car?”

“Would you like to be?”

“Are you here for a day off or to annoy me?”

“You seem to be confusing those things for being different.”

She groaned, shutting the door. “Whose idea was this?”

Grinning, I reached for her and pulled her close. I had to laugh when she held her arm out so her book didn’t get crushed between our bodies. “Yours,” I said, still chuckling. “But, don’t worry. Your book is safe.”

“Oh, well, thank goodness. This is turning out well already.” She rolled her eyes and extracted herself from my arms. “Hold this so I can set the alarm.”

She shoved the book at me before I could answer. Somehow, I managed to keep the page she was on, and I flipped it so I could take a look at the cover. There was a man in a suit in a very—ahem—compromising picture with a woman in not a lot of clothing at all. He was grasping her ass and she had her head thrown back in pleasure.

Dahlia cleared her throat. I peered up at her standing in front of me, hand outstretched for the book, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“What is this?” I asked, showing her the cover.

“A book,” she answered smartly.

“It looks like a guide to porn.”

“I’d be hard-pressed to disagree with you. Can I have my book back now, please?”

I looked at the book and then her.

“Fine, then put it back on the shelf. Insufferable man.” The last two words were said entirely to herself, muttered under her breath as she spun on the balls of her feet and headed down the hall.

I followed her. Why was she so bothered about me examining her book? It was just a damn story. I turned my attention back down to the book in my hand. The Virgin Billionaire.

Huh?

“The Virgin Billionaire,” I read slowly, a few feet behind her. “Interesting.”

“My God,” she breathed, clapping her hands to her face. “Why did I bring the book? Of all the things, I brought the book.”

“I’m quite interested in this. Who’s the virgin billionaire?”

“Damien.”

“Why are they a virgin if they’re a billionaire? Do they know you can pay people to help you with that?”

She whispered something to herself, turning and walking into a dimly-lit room. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Books were stacked in order in places, haphazardly in others. I couldn’t see any of the titles, but I had a good feeling some of them matched the book I was currently holding.

“The Virgin Billionaire,” I said again, rolling the words around my mouth.

“Oh my God.” Dahlia threw herself down on the sofa and covered her face with her hands. “This is the most embarrassing day of my life.”

I grinned and sat next to her. “Are you reading a dirty bit?” I opened the book and looked down at the pages.

She was reading a dirty bit.

“Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “Is this boy in this book better?”

“All right, that’s enough. I like dirty books. I’m not ashamed of that!” She rolled to face me and made a grab for the book.

I held my arm out so the book was out of her reach and read, “He pulled her close with a tug on her arm. Her knees buckled, sending her flying down on top of him.”

“Stop!” Dahlia swung for it again.

“A little adjustment was all it took for her to be straddling him, pushing her hot center against his cock. His erection bulged against his tight pants, and instantly, he regretted putting them on that morning.”

“Stop it!” She covered her face again.

“She whimpered at the contact, but she didn’t push him away. She had no reason to—she knew what it felt like when he was inside her.” I paused, pursing my lips to hold back my laughter. “’And she wanted nothing more than to feel his pulsing cock burying itself in her slick wetness once again.’ This chick is no virgin,” I added.

“Oh my God. They fucked already. Give me the damn book!” She dropped her hands with such vigor that they slapped against her thighs. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re the one reading trashy novels about a ‘pulsing cock’ and ‘slick wetness.’”

“And this is why boys are better in books.”

“Why? Because their cocks pulse? What are they—set to fucking vibrate?”

She blinked at me with those wide eyes. Her shoulders trembled, and her lips twitched with the effort to keep her obvious amusement at bay. “Damien,” she said, voice quivering with laughter. “Give me back my book.”

“No. I want to know more about this pulsing cock of…” I scanned the page. “Matt’s. I’m intrigued. What else does he do to her?”

“Dami—”

“With just a breath of air separating their lips, Matt said, ‘I want you, Lily. Once wasn’t enough.’”

“I can’t,” she replied, breathless. “You work for me, Matt. I promised myself it couldn’t happen again.”

“Frustration coiled in his stomach. She had no idea how badly he wanted her—how much he needed her. He had an ache only she could fill, and that would only be filled if he could fill her.” I slapped the book shut and gave her a flat look. “Oh, come on. It would only be filled if he could fill her? Is she a fucking grocery bag?”

Dahlia launched herself at me. This time, she put her entire body into it, and she threw herself on top of me, stretching her arm out for the book. Her fingers brushed it, and I held it out as far as I possibly could without her being able to actually grab it.

“Give me the book!” She reached out further, climbing more and more on top of me.

My cock twitched.

“Sweetheart, if you have an ounce of sense left after reading this crap, you’ll get off me right now.”

“Why?” She tilted her head to meet my eyes, arm still outstretched. “Is your cock pulsing?”

“I never want to hear those two words together again.”

She grinned wickedly. “It’s funny. You say you hate those words, but your cock actually does pulse when you come.”

“Been thinking about that, have you?”

“Only when I wonder who’s better in bed—you or Matt.”

I dropped the book onto the table next to the sofa and pulled her onto my lap. She slipped her legs on either side of me, straddling me exactly how I’d just read in the book. My cock was even hard and straining against my zipper. Never mind that the thought she’d been comparing me to a fictional person was enough to make me shudder—the thought we were recreating that scene was terrifying.

Or was it?

Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes shone. And where she could have climbed off me, she was still, looking into my eyes.

Had that book turned her on? Was it a coincidence? It had to be—she had no way to know that I’d be taking the book from her and would read it.

“Is that what you think of when you read? If I’m better than the guy who doesn’t exist?” I asked in a low voice, spreading my fingers across the small of her back.

“Maybe I do.”

“Shall we finish reading how good Matt is and then I’ll show you?” I snatched up the book and flicked back to the slightly-bent page before she could say a word. “Here we go. ‘Despite her insistences otherwise, Lily didn’t protest when Matt stripped off her shirt and kissed down her chest. He fondled her breasts, taking her nipples into his mouth, gripping her ass like if he let go, she’d run. Maybe she would. She didn’t know what she was doing and she couldn’t think as he ran a finger along the inside of her thigh, up to the quivering bundle of nerves that was her clitoris.’”

“Oh God,” Dahlia whispered.

“Does your clitoris quiver?” I asked, deadly serious.

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She did that a couple times before her throat bobbed and she said, “I’ve never particularly associated those words with one another, no.”

“So, there’s a pulsating cock and a quivering clitoris. Excellent. One is set to vibrate and the other is terrified.”

This time, she couldn’t contain her laughter. She dropped her head down onto my shoulder. Her entire body shook as she fought the giggles that vibrated through my shirt and onto my skin. They ultimately won out, and each little laugh was sweet and low as they escaped her.

“How do you read this?” I closed the book—for the final time because I wasn’t going to traumatize myself further—and turned my head toward hers. “It’s all flowery, girly shit.”

“I like it, okay?” She sat back upright. “You’re reading a very tiny part of a book. And yeah, some of the sex scenes might be a little cringey, but you’re missing the bigger picture.”

“Don’t tell me his friend has a pulsating cock, too.”

“The love story.” She tapped her fingers against my shoulder. “The sex scenes are probably five percent of the book. The rest is all about they fall in love, and that’s what really matters.”

My stomach tightened. “That so? Love over sex?”

Dahlia glanced at the book and then back at me. Except on me, her gaze lingered, deep and dark and soulful, swirling with uncertainty. “Well, yeah. Isn’t that what it’s all about? If I wanted to read books about sex over love, I would. But I don’t. I want to read about two people overcoming obstacles and falling in love despite all the odds.”

The way her voice dipped at the end had me freezing.

She looked away, dropping her eyes to the arm of the sofa.

But still, she didn’t move.

I did, though.

I reached up, cupping her soft cheek, and turned her face back to mine. I traced over the freckles that decorated her nose and upper cheeks with my gaze. She was makeup free. So fucking beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. To look at someone so unfairly perfect with such hesitance in her eyes.

She believed in love—unequivocally.

I…My jury was out on it, but if pushed, I didn’t.

She believed it brought happiness.

I believed it brought nothing but pain.

Yet, I kissed her. I pulled her face to mine and brushed my lips against hers. Tenderly and thoughtfully. So fucking softly my entire body screamed at me to press harder, kiss her deeper, take her to desperation.

I didn’t. I waited. Waited until the tingles from the touch of her lips against mine had subsided and given way to unfightable desire.

She should have fought. Should have pushed me away.

But she didn’t. She leaned in, kissing me harder, wrapping her hands around the back of my neck until her body was pressed flat against mine. She spread her legs, pushing her wet little cunt against my cock, melding herself into me as much as she could.

It wasn’t, though. She wasn’t as close against me as she could have been. We both knew it, so when she flicked her tongue against the seam of my mouth in a silent plea for more, I took the opportunity she offered me.

I gripped her tight ass, holding her against me so that she couldn’t move away, and I kissed her properly. I kissed her, tongue against tongue until her hips gyrated and begged. I kissed the fucking hell out of her until she dragged her hands down to the buttons of my shirt and undid them, one by torturous one.

Her hands across my skin were hot and teasing, exploring my body with the ease of a woman who knew what she wanted. She was irresistible and undeniable, poison in a person.

I ran my hands over her body, sliding them up and down her bare thighs, reaching beneath the hem of her tank that had barely skimmed beneath the curve of her ass. Her skin was smooth and hot. Her muscles clenched as my fingers edged ever closer to her pussy.

She gasped into my mouth as my thumb made contact with her clit. She was wet, slick beneath my touch, and she moved her hips, pressing her clit into my thumb further.

Her nails dug into my shoulders as she flexed. My teeth dragged across her lower lips. I wanted to be an ass, to ask her a stupid question in relation to that goddamn book, but I couldn’t. She was on top of me, half naked as she’d been when she’d opened the door, and my hand was uncomfortably between us, my fingers finding their way through the wetness of her pussy.

Dahlia leaned up, putting space between her pussy and my cock. Tilting my head back to kiss her, I reached further between her legs.

She beat me to it.

Propping herself up with one arm on the back of the sofa, she slid the other between us and undid my pants. Button, zipper, then, underwear. She moved her hand right in and freed my rock hard cock, her soft fingers wrapping around it.

My entire body clenched when she rubbed her thumb over the head of my cock. It throbbed, my balls tightening when she gripped me tightly.

Then, she moved her hips right over me, positioning her pussy just inches above the tip of my dick. Her hand was still wrapped around me, hugging me tight, just waiting for the moment when she could lower herself onto me.

“Wait.” I held onto her hips, pulling my mouth away from hers. I dug into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. A condom was tucked into it, and I extracted it quickly. Within seconds, I had it open and was rolling it onto my cock.

Dahlia took over, pushing it down as far as it would go before she kissed me again. This assertive side of her sent both frustration and thrills through my body, but I took it. I took whatever I could get because I knew it wouldn’t last.

The second she slid that wet pussy onto my cock, she’d be at my mercy. She’d belong to me, if only for an hour, if only for moments or minutes.

And that was what I wanted.

Her to belong to me.

She grabbed my cock. Positioned her hips above me. Lowered herself.

Pushed her tight, wet, cunt down onto my throbbing, hard cock.

She took me deep. Her muscles clenched as she stretched for me. Heat throbbed through my body like an otherworldly feeling. There was nothing like being buried deep inside her. Nothing.

It was an escape and torture at the same time.

I gripped the back of her neck and pressed my mouth against hers. My scalp tingled when she gripped her fingers into my hair and held onto me tight.

She moved against me.

Rocked her hips.

Flexed her body.

Took my cock like it was second nature.

Like it didn’t make a difference.

She rode me like she was made for me.

I gripped her ass and fucked her like I owned her.

Fucked her ‘til she couldn’t take it anymore and cried out, her lips by my ear. Until I was ready. Until her wet pussy was pleasure and beyond. Until her tight little fucking pussy was clenching for all she was worth and her moans were nothing but ecstasy in my ears.

Until her moans mingled with my groans.

Until I held her so hard I bruised her skin with my fingers, fucking her, pleasing her, pleasing me.

And she owned me.

Until, for mere moments, I owned her, too.