I felt sick to my stomach. This whole charade was a bad, bad idea. The second we’d snuck into the house from the back I’d felt like a criminal, and seeing Jon so happy and thrilled to meet “Shane” had actually hurt.
Because this wasn’t Shane, this was Damon, and the reality was, Damon wasn’t my boyfriend.
He wasn’t even my Dom, not really.
He was my Dom-on-demand, an occasional hookup, a friend with—admittedly—many benefits, who was doing me a favor to save my ego, and he was only here to get away from being pestered.
But every time Damon put his arm around me, every time he called me babe, every time he leaned in to kiss me…I felt a glow inside. I felt it again now, as he led me away from Jon and Cooper, heading toward the drinks table near the back of the room, and I tried to remind myself that the glow wasn’t real.
“You okay?” he asked, leaning in to put his lips to my ear. “If you really want to bail on this, we can. I can say there’s a medical emergency back in New York or something.”
The glow only intensified. Having Damon's attention was like basking on a sunny beach, and it was hard not to feel better just having his arm around me and his face so close to mine.
“I freaked out,” I admitted. “I feel bad about putting you in this whole situation—”
“Hey, now,” he said gently, stopping us next to a wall. He put his hands on my arms and looked into my face. “Listen, Blakely. You didn’t put me into any situations. I put myself here. And I think we could even enjoy ourselves, if you loosen up a little. Quit second-guessing things, you know? But if you want to call it right here, we will.”
Thoughtfulness.
That was what I really liked about Damon. He was always so thoughtful and considerate, made me feel safe and cared-for, so I knew even in the most edgy play, he was aware of the risks, looking out for me.
Besides, he was right. I hadn’t blackmailed him, or threatened him, although I had begged a little—but this was a man who appreciated a begging sub. He was here of his own free will, and this was going to be a fun party, a fun wedding, where I could celebrate my best friend’s joy and catch up with people I hadn’t seen in ages.
And once the party was done, no one would have to know that Damon and I had been pretending together for a few days.
Damon smiled at me, rubbing the back of his knuckles across my cheek. “Think I see a little of that fire coming back, huh, Blakely? You get that look when I pull out Big Blue.”
Big Blue was an enormous, sapphire-hued rubber fist that Damon liked to use on me sometimes.
“I’m up for a challenge,” I told him with a smirk. “Although this wedding will probably be less of a challenge than Blue.”
“That’s my boy.” He ruffled my hair, and we were about to head for the nearest bar—I needed a soda to help chase away the dry mouth—when a shout stopped us.
“Omigod, Tyler!”
I’d know that squeal anywhere. “Brandon! Hi! Meet Shane.”
Brandon released me from a hard hug, then bounced on his toes doing a delighted golf clap. “So nice to meet you,” he cooed to Damon, and then to me, in a loud whisper, added, “When’s he gonna put a collar you?” Before I could even splutter, he reached a few feet behind him and pulled a tall, lanky guy up to us. “This is my sir, Heath Porter. Sir, this is Shane McAuley and his sub—my friend—Tyler Blakely.”
More small talk ensued. Heath seemed nice enough, and Brandon talked a mile a minute, which meant there was no need for Damon or me to tell any fibs. As annoying as Brandon could be, I was glad for the interaction because it showed me, for once and for all, that things would be fine.
“Nice collar,” I said, when he paused for breath.
“I know, right?” He beamed at me, tipping up his chin proudly. His eyes went to my neck, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Heath spoke one word.
“Brandon.”
I almost laughed. I had never seen Brandon shut up so fast.
“That Brandon guy was…chatty,” Damon said diplomatically, once we’d escaped them. “And I’m not sure if I caught it, but there’s a real live English Lord coming to this shindig?”
I had to laugh. Brandon had dropped the name Lord Arden about fifty times in sixty seconds. He and Heath were driving into New York to pick them up tomorrow afternoon.
“He’s still talking about us,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at Brandon, who was watching us walk away and leaning in to speak out of the side of his mouth to Heath. Brandon raised his hand and gave a wiggle of his fingers, along with a fake smile.
“Shit,” I muttered, as we lined up to wait to be served at the bar, “do you think he suspects something?”
Damon cast a look over his shoulder, then down at me. His hand ran around the back of my neck and pulled me into a hard, dominant kiss that left me gasping at both the speed and the ferocity. “Might as well give him something to gossip about, huh?”
