Drawn (18 page)

Securing a towel around his own waist, he takes another and rubs it over my body, drying me from head to toe. When he’s done, he wraps the towel around me, securing it at my chest. He then lifts me again, and sits me on the vanity next to the sink where he proceeds to brush his own teeth. When he spits, he reaches for mouthwash, pouring a small amount in the lid and holding
it to my lips.

Opening my mouth for him, I let him pour the hot mint liquid onto my tongue. He repeats the same action for himself and watches me as I swish it about in my mouth and spit it in the sink along with him.

He then scoops me up again and carries me over to the bed, standing me beside it as he removes my towel, then his, hanging them both neatly over the back of his desk chair.

Leaning forward, he pulls the sheets back, guiding me so that I’m sitting down
, before helping me slide my legs in. Everything is so strange, yet so right, this isn’t something I would have thought I’d go along with. But here I am. Letting him take care of me, when all I’ve wanted for years, is to do that for myself.

Pulling me close as he nestles in beside me, he plants soft kisses on my shoulder and up my neck, sending warm ripples curling through m
y body, lulling me off to sleep - wrapped up inside of him.

An overwhelming sense of warmth and bliss urges me to consciousness. My eyes flutter open slightly, met with the darkness of the room. The only light coming from the streetlights, as they shine brightly behind the blinds.

“Are you awake?”
Damien whispers, kissing the curve of my thigh, just next to my entrance. I hum, reaching down between my legs and sliding my fingers into his hair as I adjust my body beneath him.

“Do you want this Etta?” he asks, running the tip of his tongue, softly around my clit, being careful not to touch it.

I shudder, pulling at his hair, rocking my hips toward his mouth.

“Uh, uh, ah,” he tuts, pulling his mouth away and kissing the inside of my thigh instead. “I need to hear your answer. Do you want this?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “I want this.”

“Tell me exactly what it is you want,” he commands, kissing over my folds, driving me mad as my insides start to throb.

“I want…” I pause, not knowing exactly what to say.

“You want what Etta? Tell me.” He takes a finger and runs it every so lightly over my folds, causing a surge of need to grow inside me. “You obviously want something, you’re dripping,” he murmurs, taking his finger into his mouth and sucking the end of it. “Mmmm, I like the way you taste.”

He continues to run his fingertips between my legs, but never exactly where I want them.

I lift my hips. “Please,” I beg, wanting him to touch me more.

“What do you want?”

“I want your tongue on me. I want your fingers inside me.”

“Are you ready for me Etta?” he murmurs, leaning down and brushing the tip of his tongue lightly on my engorged clit.

“I’m ready,” I pant, as his mouth comes down around my clit and he sucks me into his mouth, the added pressure has me gasping and calling out his name within seconds as my orgasm builds strongly within me.

Holding on, I grip his head with my thighs and his hair in my hands as he enters me with his fingers, pulsing back and forth, swirling his tongue, sucking with his mouth.

I can’t take it for long, the pre
ssure builds inside me until I’m soaring, erupting from within as I spasm beneath him, my calls echoing out into the quiet of the morning.

Lifting his head, he kisses up my body, keeping his fingers inside me, pulsing gently, bringing me back to earth.

“I want you inside me,” I whisper, as his kisses reach my neck. My arms pull him against me, clawing my fingers into his flesh. It’s as if I’m trying to merge with him. I want him that much.

Withdrawing his fingers, he leans his arms either side of me, hovering over me, the weight of his erection, leaning against my thighs, leaving a damp trail of arousal as he rubs it against me.

Moaning, he dips his head, taking my mouth in his, kissing me languidly. My juices, mixed with the taste of his mouth, only leads to my wanting him more.

“Please,” I beg, lifting my hips toward him.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers again.

“I want you inside me,” I say immediately, not willing to beat around the bush this time.

He moves his tip over my thigh, sliding it through my juices, his voice rumbling erotically in his throat as he touches himself to my slick wetness.

“You’re not asking the right way,” he growls, his voice thick with arousal.

Desire smothers my mind like a thick fog. I want him inside me, my body screaming internally for him to fill me. “Just fuck me Damien. Please,” I gasp out, tilting my hips up, trying to coax him inside me.

“Wrong,” he says suddenly, rising from the bed, striding straight to the bathroom and slammin
g the door. The movement and change in demeanour, so sudden that I flinch, my heart thumping in my chest as I stare after him and wonder what the hell just went on.

I sit up, suddenly feeling way too naked and reach over to the desk chair to grab a towel. Wrapping it around myself, I walk over to the bathroom door and listen for a moment before knocking gently.

“Damien?”

The door bursts open, revealing a now clothed
Damien, a calm controlled expression on his face as he gives me a cursory glance and moves straight past me, heading for the couch where he picks up my bag.

“What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly feeling as though he
’s about to tell me to go home - that he doesn’t want me anymore. Tears spring to my eyes as the thought of not having him squeezes my heart. I don’t know what it is, but in such a short time, I feel so connected to him. The thought of not being around him seems soul destroying.

“Get dressed,” he says, throwing me my dress and underpants from last night.

“What’s going on?” I try again, as I catch it.

“Get dressed,” he repeats, more insistent this time.

Looking at the dress in my hands, and back to him, I ask, “Can I at least have my bra?”

“No. Get dressed Henrietta,” he tells me again, the use of my full name again like a slap in the face after being called ‘Etta’ all night.

“Ok.” I nod, moving to go to the bathroom to change.

“No. Get dressed right there.”

“But – ” I start, wanting to say that I need to use the bathroom, my bladder is full.

“Right there Henrietta,” he demands, folding his arms over his torso as he stands by the couch watching me.

For a moment I just stand there, not one hundred percent sure on what I should do.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Get dressed. Please.”

The intensity with which he watches me, overwhelms my senses, and I find myself capitulating, opening my towel, I let it fall to the floor, dropping the dress over my head before sliding my underpants on.

When I’m dressed, I meet his eyes again. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now you can use the bathroom.”

I step into the bathroom,
my mind reeling as I place my hand on the door, ready to close it so I can relieve myself in private, but he places his hand against it. “Leave it open,” he tells me quietly.

“What is your problem?” I cry. “I’m sorry ok! Whatever the hell I did – I’m sorry!”

“You said you were ready,” he reminds me, obviously seeing my discomfort.

“I
’m just… I’m a bit confused.”

“Use the bathroom, Henrietta. Leave the door open. I won’t be watching you,” he states
, as he steps away.

I contemplate shutting the door anyway, but I reason that with the angle of the bathroom, he isn’t likely to be able to see me. Besides, couples do this stuff in front of each other all the time right? It’s just happening a little sooner than I’d like here.

Forcing myself to relax, I relieve myself, wash my hands and face, then brush my teeth. When I leave the bathroom, he’s standing in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water.

“Better?” he asks, as he sets the glass aside. I nod, watching
him warily as he reaches into the fruit bowl and removes a banana, breaking the stalk with a satisfying crack before peeling the skin away and dropping it in the bin.

Moving
toward me, he holds it out. “Eat this,” he says gently, holding it up to my mouth. Meeting his eyes, I relax a little as I reach up and lean forward to bite the tip off it and remove it from his hand.

He returns to the fruit bowl and grabs a banana for himself, before heading toward the door, grabbing my bag along the way. The action causes a pang of pain to thud in my chest as the sweet fruit I’ve just swallowed threatens to rebound out of my stomach.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice so soft that I take it as sadness. He’s kicking me out. Great. I don’t understand what he’s so annoyed about. Everything was going fine, and then…this happens.

Forcing myself to swallow the last bite of banana, I walk out the door, attempting to take my bag from him on my way past. He keeps hold of it however, and just inclines his head, telling me to go ahead of him.

“You’re being a jerk,” I tell him, tugging again at my bag.

“It’s time to go,” he says, still refusing to let go. Rolling my eyes, I shake my head in annoyance and walk ahead of him to where he parked his car last night.

Getting into his car, he of course clicks me in. As he reaches across me, I turn my head to the side, not wanting his scent to cloud my head any further, feeling hurt by his actions and just wanting to go home so I can bury my face in my pillow and cry for a while. 

Sitting quietly, I look out the window. The sun is starting to come up and glow pink and peach in the sky as it rises above the houses we drive past. Weaving through the streets, I realise we’re not going toward my house. Instead, he
takes a different route and turns down the street where my father’s gym is then pulls into the parking lot.

“We’re training?” I ask, turning my head toward him, confused. I was sure he was taking me home. He seems annoyed with me. “
I told you I don’t want this. And I’m not really dressed for it.”

“You need it,” he states, his voice still calm and soft. “Besides, you won’t be dressed for it if you ever need it in a
real fight, will you?”

“I guess not,” I say, rolling the hem of my dress between my fingers
as I contemplate my situation, running the events of last night and this morning over in my mind. “Damien? What is going on with us?” I ask suddenly, laying my head against the seat as I turn my head to meet his eyes.

“
You said it yourself – it’s everything,” he whispers, reaching his hand out and brushing his knuckles down my cheek. The tenderness of his gaze, the softness of his touch, has all of my worry melting away as I close my eyes and sigh.

“I thought you were done with me. I thought you were taking me home.”

“I’ll never be done with you Etta,” he murmurs, leaning toward me, kissing me softly. All I want is to be in his arms. It’s all I can think about as I move my mouth against his, my hunger for him growing.

Dropping his chin, he breaks the kiss, our breathing heavy, the air around us thickening. “Come.” He unclips my seatbelt, gets out of the car, and walks over to my side, opening the door before holding out his hand and leading me inside.

Holding fast to his hand, I follow him through the gym as he flips all of the switches and disarms the alarm. As we move down the hallway, I notice photos of tournaments and see Damien in more than a few, looking as he does now. But as my eyes drift over the older ones featuring my brother, I notice the boy he used to be.

“Is that you standing with my brother?” I ask, pointing out one as he unlocks the door to the dojo.

“Yeah. He always beat me,” he smiles.

“Well, you’ve met his dad,” I reply, reaching up and lightly touching the
image. “I’m glad you knew him.”

He leans against the door jab, watching me, as I go over the photos
, pausing to study them and drink in the images of my brother. Smiling. Serious. Proud.

“I’ve always felt like he never left. I mean, everything is still the same. He’s here, he was at home. I’ve spent the last six years expecting him to walk back through the door
. But he won’t. It’s all just memories…” Letting out a forlorn sigh, I turn my attention back to Damien who is still listening to me quietly. “Do you still compete?”

“No. Not anymore.”
He moves to the side, then follows me as I head inside the dojo and remove my heels before I step on the mats.

“Why?”
I ask.

“It just doesn’t interest me anymore. I don’t care about the trophies.”

“I’ll bet my dad isn’t too happy about that.”

“He wants me to compete, yes. It’s good for the school. But there are others capab
le of competing at a high level. I’m not the only one.”