Hailee
Oneweek.Sevendays.
That’s all it took of maintaining a professional facade before Dameon reached his breaking point. He stormed into our bedroom with the contract in hand, making a dramatic show of ripping it up. Frustration poured off him as he paced back and forth, his hands linked behind his head, declaring that he couldn’t go on like this. He wanted me, all of me, mind, body, and soul, and above all, my heart.
I may have laid it on extra thick with the perfect little sub routine—perhaps a bit too much. But it worked like a charm.
And I’m relieved he broke first. Because that week was a struggle. Reconstructing my walls and locking my heart away for safekeeping again was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Opening up to him, baring my feelings, only to face his hesitation at the idea of a real relationship, was agonizing. I hovered on the brink of surrender, unsure how much longer I could hold out. Despite reassuring him of my patience and willingness to wait until he was ready, the uncertainty was grating on me by the seventh day. How long would I have had to wait? A month? A year? He might never have been ready.
The realization that love alone might not have been enough to bring us together was tortuous. Despite knowing his feelings for me, the fear of getting hurt again loomed larger. Yet, after just one week, he made another breakthrough, and I couldn’t be prouder of my man for taking a leap of faith.
Now, as I lounge by the infinity pool with Beth, I smile as I replay the magic moment he confessed his love in my mind.
“This is heaven,” Beth says, stretching on the sun lounger. Her scar peeks out above the neckline of her swimsuit.
“Mmhmm,” I agree, tilting my face toward the sun, soaking in the vitamin D. “Don’t forget to cover that scar with sunscreen. It can’t be exposed to the sun.”
“Yes, Mom,” she drawls.
Her happiness is another reason to be satisfied. I knew Beth would love it out here.
“I’m gonna miss this place when the contract is over,” she sighs.
Three weeks have passed since Dameon dramatically tore up the contract. That same night was also my first experience in making love. For the first time in my life, I learned the difference between being railed and lovemaking. Don’t get me wrong, I love being bent over and fucked raw, and I certainly don’t favor one over the other. However, I now appreciate the depth and intimacy it brings to the equation when you look deep into your man’s eyes while he tenderly thrusts inside you.
These three weeks have been bliss, like floating on a cloud. We’ve effortlessly slipped back into our old rhythm, sharing jokes, deep conversations, and just having fun. I love bringing him pleasure and seeing him happy. Dameon’s been absolutely amazing, fully embracing our relationship with no reservations, jumping in with both feet.
However, I haven’t told Beth that we’re officially dating now and that the contract is done and dusted. I’m not sure what’s holding me back. Maybe it’s my guilty conscience, that nagging voice in the back of my mind that won’t let me forget the compromises I’ve made, the lines I’ve crossed. The awareness of the gray area of our relationship, the moments where right and wrong blurred into one another, leave me questioning my own moral compass.
Or perhaps it’s how it all started, the shadow of our unconventional beginning casting doubt on the legitimacy of what we now share. One of the risks of being involved with a former client is the lingering fear of being taken advantage of, used for free sex. It’s not like that with Dameon; I trust him. Still, there’s a part of me holding back, waiting to see where this relationship will lead.
I’m head over heels in love with him, utterly swept off my feet by his affection and attention. But at the same time, there’s a tiny reservation that maybe he rushed into this too quickly and he’s going to do a one-eighty on me. Healing from trauma is a journey that takes time and effort, and it can rear its ugly head when you least expect it if not properly addressed. Noticing the signs is half the battle. My only hope is that I can help him through it when the time comes, and that it doesn’t tear us apart.
“There’s only three months left,” Beth says now. “Where are we going to go? We moving back home or somewhere else?”
“Don’t know, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. There’s still time,” I reply. I look out to the ocean, sparkling like a sapphire, and enjoy the fiery kiss of the sun on my skin, tempered by the soft sea breeze. Surfers bob up and down with the swell, and I’m reminded of Fuck-Face, also known as Jacob. I silently hope that whatever Dameon organized with his “acquaintances” brought him the karma he deserved, and then some.
Massaging sunscreen into my skin, I take care to cover every inch, before adjusting my bikini straps. My modest pink polka dot suit covers much more skin than the one Dameon prefers. I’ve kept my promise, wearing it only for him. That bikini holds a special place in my heart, filled with many cherished memories. From the day I picked it out with Cora, to our adventures on the cruise, and the charity gala where I shocked poor Evelyn.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Nothing… just thinking,” I reply, unable to wipe the smile off my face.
“Something dirty?” she teases.
I shake my head, laughing.
The balcony doors explode open with a deafening crash. Beth and I whip our heads around in shock, to see Dameon storming out toward us. His face is twisted in animalistic fury, and I inhale sharply.
Something’s wrong.
His cold eyes glint as they lock onto mine, sending a shiver down my spine. I jump up, discarding my hat and sunglasses, and meet him halfway. Beth does the same, standing beside me.
“What’s going on?” My heart hammers in my throat.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” he snarls.
Chapter thirty-one
