“Yes.”
He follows me inside. The quiet hits harder now that he’s here. I move toward the kitchen automatically. “Drink?” I ask.
“Water’s fine.”
I pour it slowly, buying time. Buying courage. Okay. I have to get the conversation started. “Damian?—”
He steps closer. “Perry.” And then his hand is at my waist, and he’s turning me toward him and kissing me.
Not polite. Not tentative.
That kiss. God. It steals the air out of my lungs and replaces it with heat. Electric. Immediate. The kind that travels from my mouth straight down to my spine and erases rational thought on contact.
I make a small sound I don’t recognize as my own.
His hand slides up my back, and suddenly every intention I had about sitting him down and carefully explaining generationalbombshells evaporates. He pulls back just enough to look at me. “You were about to say something, but I couldn’t wait for that.”
I should say it. Right now, before I get in any deeper. I really, really should.
Instead, I pull him back in for another kiss. The guilt flares hot and sharp somewhere deep inside me. But so does the want. And right now?
The want wins.
I wrap my leg around his to bring him closer to me, and he pins me against the counter, his arms bracketing my hips when they lean on the quartz. When he kisses back roughly, his stubble burns my chin. I’m trapped by him, but I haven’t felt this free in a long time.
My fingers find the edges of his buttons, and I work them free as fast as I can. He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine. “Perry, I want to make good on a promise.”
My head is fogged, so I’m lost. “Promise?”
“Told you that if I got the chance, I’d make it up to you. The fact that you got me off, but I haven’t done the same for you.”
I’d forgotten all about that. “Um, you don’t owe?—”
He kisses me harder, rougher. “Yes, I do.” He drops to his knees, lifts my skirt, and hooks one of my legs over his shoulder.
“Damian—oh,” I gasp when I feel him shove my underwear out of his way. His tongue slides over me there, and I have to grip the countertop so I don’t fall.
No, that’s not true. Damian would never let me fall.
He carefully slides my other leg over his other shoulder and lifts, seating me onto the countertop with his face still between my thighs. Vaguely, I’m grateful he chose this spot next to the sink, where I don’t have a cabinet to knock my head into. But even that thought fades when his tongue swipes over my clit and his fingers slowly stroke around my entrance.
I lace my fingers into his silver hair, pulling to aim him where I need him. That stubble grinds against me just right, and when his fingers gradually make their way inside of me, my body lights up. I can’t control my moans, not even when I say his name.
It makes him growl on my clit, and that growl sends me over the edge. He keeps at me, licking and sucking and biting, until I beg for mercy. Eventually, he stands up between my legs, looking shiny and satisfied. He kisses me again, and I taste myself on his mouth. He groans, “Fuck, Perry, you taste so damn good.”
Usually, I’d say something about feeling better than I taste or some other seduction line, but right now, I can hardly make words. I slide off the countertop, grab his belt, and pull him to my bedroom.
Once there, he doesn’t look around. He only looks at me. “Take off your clothes.”
He strips fast, and so do I. Then I shove him onto my bed and climb on him. I have never wanted someone more. Just as I’m about to sink onto him, he pauses. “Protection?”
“Got a copper IUD after birth, and I don’t have anything. You?”
“I’m clean.”
“Then we’re good?”
He bobs his head, so I line us up, feeling that wet kiss of his body meeting mine. His eyes roll back as he growls his approval. “Fuck, you feel good.”
