"Delivery for you."

I glanced up from my laptop, startled, as a fresh bouquet of flowers was shoved in my face. Katherine peeked out from behind the flowers.

"Someone's trying to impress you," she said in a sing-song voice.

I took the flowers from her, nonplussed. "Do they say who it's from?"

"There's a card, but I didn't read it," she said. "I wouldn't invade your privacy like that."

From the eager look on my intern's face, I could tell she was hoping I would read the note out loud so she could get the scoop herself.

I set the flowers — a bouquet of twelve irises, half blue and half yellow — on my desk and picked up the card, skimming it. The message read, A lovely gift for a lovely woman. It was unsigned.

"Do you know what those flowers mean?" Katherine asked.

"You immediately googled it, didn't you?"

"Of course I did." She leaned forward, eyes twinkling. "Blue irises symbolize hope and faith. Yellow irises symbolize passion."

I burst into laughter. Katherine only looked confused.

"Of course they do." I shook my head and plucked one yellow flower from the bunch. "He's certainly not subtle, that one."

"Are you dating someone?" she asked before putting her hands up. "No, sorry, that's too personal, you don't have to tell me anything."

"I'm… sort of dating someone." I paused. "I think. Maybe. It's complicated."

Katherine's eyes went wide. She clasped her hands to her chest and let out a quiet squeak. "There're from Damon Drake, aren't they? He's always calling and emailing and asking about you."

I couldn't help the faint flush that graced my cheeks. I nodded silently, pretending to examine the flower in my hand, waiting for a fangirl freak out.

When nothing happened, I looked up. Katherine had a concerned look on her face.

"I hate to say this, and I know this isn't very professional of me but…" she trailed off, hesitant, before powering on. "You might want to be careful with him. He's with a different girl every night of the week. I don't think he's ever been seen with the same woman twice. He's known for flirting and seducing but I don't think he ever takes any of it seriously."

A tiny piece of my heart broke. Katherine was right. As a fan, she knew Damon's reputation. Everyone knew Damon's reputation. I went back to looking at the flower. "I know."

"I'm not saying he's not a nice guy," she hurried to say. "If he's sending you flowers he must like you."

"I know he likes me." Or, at least, I knew he liked to have sex with me. Which wasn't exactly the same thing.

But he'd taken me on a date. A real date. Yes, there had been some, ahem, sexy times, but for the most part it we'd just had fun being together.

"I've got something else for you." Katherine left the office for a second and returned with a large cardboard box. "These are the clothes Damon's donating for the homeless kids. He had someone send them over."

"I'd almost forgotten about that," I said. "There's so many other moving pieces to this event." I opened the box and peered in. "Are you kidding me?"

"What?" Katherine asked.

I pointed into the box. A box that contained black mesh t-shirts, leather pants, and spiked, studded belts.

Katherine covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a giggle. "I think maybe he misunderstood the point of this."

After sorting through the box to confirm that, no, there were no collared shirts or slacks hidden in there, I grabbed my phone from my desk and jabbed in Damon's number.

"Hey sweetness," he answered.

"You're an idiot," I told him flatly.

"What did I do this time?"

"Leather pants? Spiked belts? Are you serious?"

"Oh, the clothes. Yeah, what's wrong with them?"

"It's supposed to be professional work attire!" I said, throwing my one hand up even though he wouldn't see it. "We're donating clothes so the kids can go on job interviews!"

"What if some of those homeless kids have a dream of being a rock star just like me and my brother did?" Damon countered. "Wouldn't they appreciate these kinds of clothes?"

I growled. "Not funny."

"I'm serious."

"Don't you have anything appropriate to donate?" I asked. "You wore nice clothes at the first meeting at my office."

"I don't know," he said doubtfully. "My walk-in closet is the size of my living room and it's a mess. Who knows what else I've got hiding in there."

I let out a sigh of long suffering. "Do you want me to come help sort through your clothes to find something?"

Damon paused. "Sure," he said eventually. "I'll text you my address."

Grumbling, I hung up and began packing up my bag and laptop. "Apparently grown men don't know how to organize their own closets," I told Katherine.

"You're going over to his place?" she asked, startled.

"Yeah, why?" I asked, stuffing my laptop into it's case.

A slow smile crept across her face. "Nothing."

I hefted my bag onto my shoulder. "I'll still be available on my phone. Call me if anything blows up."

"Will do. Have fun!" Katherine said with a cheery wave. I glanced at her suspiciously as I headed toward the elevator.

I drove to Damon's place, following the directions on my phone. I shouldn't have been surprised when I pulled up to a tall, fancy looking condo building, all marble pillars and plush foyer rugs. I made a bet with myself that Damon had the top penthouse floor.

Sure enough, when I entered the elevator I saw that the floor number he'd given me, thirty-three, was indeed the top floor. When I stepped out of the elevator I noticed two numbers doors, one on either side of the long hallway. Only one of them was the apartment number Damon had texted. Okay, so he didn't own the entire top floor, only the left side of it. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Flashy, rich, show off rock stars.

Then again, compared to the two other rock star mansions I'd seen, a condo apartment was downright frugal.

Damon answered before I could make more than two knocks on the door. His mouth quirked upward.

"I thought girls usually waited until they officially moved in to start rearranging their boyfriend's apartments," were the first words out of his mouth.

My brain fizzled out at the word boyfriend. I stood in the doorway dumbly.

"Although I guess you're not rearrange my furniture so much as cleaning out my closet," he continued blithely. "I really don't know what you're expecting to find."

"A few collared shirts and ties would be adequate," I managed to say. "Just enough to say you donated something."

His mouth twisted, looking thoughtful as he gestured for me to enter. "Collared shirts I've got, but I don't think I own more than one tie for weddings and funerals and stuff."

I stepped into the apartment and looked around. The decor wasn't ostentatious, not that I'd expected it would be. As wealthy as Damon was, he was more of a down to earth kind of guy. From what I could see, his living room held the standard matching sofa and armchairs, along with a few coffee and end tables. Nothing too crazy.

Then I turned around and gaped. The entire far wall of his apartment was decorated floor to ceiling with vinyl records, face-out to show the cover art.

Damon noticed me staring. "You like my collection?"

"How many are up there?" I asked. "There have to be a dozens."

"I lost count after a hundred, actually," he said easily.

"So you play guitar, drive vintage cars and collect vinyl records." I turned to stare at him. "Are you competing for the title of coolest guy in the world?"

"Aw, you think I'm cool?" Damon smirked. "I thought I was just an immature asshole."

"You've been downgraded to jerk face, remember?"

He laughed. "Come on, I'll show you the disaster zone that is my walk-in closet."

I thought he had to be exaggerating. When he opened the closet door, I missed a step and stumbled.

"This is…" I started to say.

"It's a bit much," he agreed, surveying the mess of clothes. Piles and piles of clothes, just tossed on top of one another in mountainous heaps. The hangers and shelves were practically empty and unused.

"…gross," I finished. "How do you find anything?"

"I just kind of get in there and toss things around until I find what I need."

"Are these clean at least?" I asked.

"Everything in the closet is clean," he said. "I put my dirty clothes in laundry hampers."

"Thank god for small favors," I said. "Why don't you hire a laundry service? The kind that washes and folds for you."

"I do," he said. "When it's delivered, I try to put everything away nice and neat, but then I start looking for one thing in particular and I forget to hang things back up and then…" he shrugged helplessly. "So if you want business clothes, we're going to have to do some searching."

Some searching turned into two full hours of tidying, folding and sorting clothes. I found a couple suitable outfits and set them aside. I continued helping Damon put the rest of his stuff away, just because I couldn't leave someone to live in such a mess. It was sad and pathetic.

When the last pair of pants was placed on a hanger, I thumped down on his bed and pretended to wipe the sweat off my brow.

Damon sidled up to me and put his hands on my thighs. It was just like the first time at that boring corporate event. My reaction was exactly the same. Heavy breathing, flushed face, rapid heartbeat. But this time, instead of feeling overwhelmed and out of sorts, my hips rolled forward, encouraging him.

He spread my legs wide and settled his hips between my thighs.

"Thanks for the help," he said. "I know it wasn't too much fun."

"I'm exhausted," I said. But my heavy breathing had nothing to do with exertion, and everything to do with the hardening length pressing against my thigh. "As far as second dates go, this one has to be the weirdest."

"Second date?" He leered. "Sweetness, a real second date will leave you exhausted for completely different reason."

I raised an eyebrow. "So there's going to be a real second date? I didn't think you did those."

"I usually don't," was all he said. "But here we are."

He tilted my head up and capture my mouth in a blistering kiss. I opened my mouth, letting our tongues brush and glide against one another.

He crawled over me, pressing me down into the mattress. His length burned into me, even through his jeans. I reached down and cupped him, feeling the outline.

My heart jumped at the size of him, even as my insides melted at the thought of him inside me. Heat pooled in my stomach, flowing to my core, dripping down my thighs.

There had been too much teasing. Too much foreplay. I needed more.

I needed this man inside me.

With my eyes locked on his, I popped the jeans button and slowly pulled down the zipper. His gaze seared into mine, heat flaring up.

I pulled him out and wrapped my hand around him gently. I looked down. I swallowed hard. He was even more impressive than I'd expected. With soft, experimental strokes, I examined the shape of him. Thick and hard, with a visible, pulsing vein. His cock jumped in my hands. He let out a hiss.

He reached into the side dresser and pulled out a square foil packet. With expert skill, he rolled on protection.

He pressed his mouth to mine in a wet, messy kiss. I opened my thighs wider, urging him in between them. He lowered himself onto me, keeping his weight from crushing me with his arms on either side of my head. His cock brushed my inner thigh. My insides ached with want. With need.

He tilted his hips until the tip was nestled between my folds. He held himself there, the tip just at my entrance, waiting.

"Please," I whispered.

"Please, what?" he asked, teasing me, darkly amused.

I growled and wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him toward me. "You know what."

"Say it," he ordered. "I want to hear you say the words."

"Fuck me," I said breathlessly, giving in to him again. "I need you to fuck me."

With one single thrust, he pushed into me. We groaned in unison. I fluttered around him, trying to accommodate his size. He slowly withdrew, the blunt head scraping against my inner walls. Pleasure shot through me with every inch of withdrawal. He pushed back in, parting me again. I squeezed him, pulsing wildly.

"Fuck," he cursed. "So fucking sweet."

I tilted my hips sharply, changing the angle, sucking him in deeper.

He groaned again as he bottomed out. "Sweetness, you're killing me."

"More," I demanded.

He obliged, thrusting in and out, speeding up the pace. My nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as I clung to him. He crashed his lips back onto mine. His tongue mimicked the motions of his hips, darting in and out.

His movements soon became wild, uncoordinated. I knew he was close. He reached down and pressed a thumb to my still sensitive clit. I gasped. He rubbed in circles, pressing down hard. It was enough to send me over the edge. I shrieked, but his mouth on mine muffled the sound.

His hips sped up, jerking and snapping against mine. With a final thrust, he let out a choked moan. His cock twitched and pulsed inside me. I shook and trembled from aftershocks just as his arms shook with strain.

We panted into each others mouths, eyes locked, until our muscles relaxed. I lowered my legs from his hips and removed my nails from his back.

He lifted himself from me, kneeling above me on the bed. He was still wearing his shirt, his jeans only pushed halfway down. I was still wearing my bra and shirt, my skirt having been pushed to my waist.

"That was…" I huffed out an exhausted breath, not able to continue.

"I know," Damon said, still sounding equally breathless.

We stared at each other, basking in the afterglow until our breathing slowed.

He grinned suddenly. "I worked up an appetite. You want dinner?"

Dinner at home, with Damon. My heart thumped. Was he going to cook for me himself?

"I can order a pizza or something," he offered.

I laughed inwardly. Sometimes Damon surprised me, but other times he was exactly the guy he seemed to be.

"You like Asian food?" I asked. "Maybe some Chinese?"

His eyes lit up. "I know just the place. They've got amazing take-out, and they're fast."

Damon was right. We barely had time to wash up, put on our clothes and get the plates and cutlery ready, before there was a knock at the door. Damon was in the kitchen getting paper napkins so I went to answer it.

A man stood in the hallway. I paused, taken aback. He didn't look like a delivery boy, and he didn't carry any bags in his hand. He was older, with greying hair. He narrowed his dark eyes at me.

"Can I help you?" I asked politely, wondering if he was some sort of solicitor or canvasser.

"You can let me in," he said. His breath smelled of whiskey. Warning bells sounded in my head.

"Is the delivery guy here?" Damon asked as he came out of the kitchen. "Let me give you some cash for a tip." Damon saw the man in the doorway. He froze.

The man spotted Damon at the same time. He pushed his way past me roughly, forcing me to step aside. I was too shocked by the rude behavior to say anything.

"Nice place," the man sneered, looking around. "Still doing well for yourself?"

This wasn't the delivery boy.

"What are you doing here?" Damon replied.

Shivers went down my spine at his voice. Cold, chilly, but with a simmering undertone. Damon's fists clenched at his side, shaking.

The man pinned Damon down with a frightening familiar smirk.

"That's no way to speak to your father."