Silence pervaded the space between us, and I was grateful for the little window that separated the front of the car from the back—at least the driver wasn’t subject to the awkwardness.
The car started and drove off.
“My address,” I said, suddenly, turning to Damien. “I forgot to—”
“He already has it.”
“What? How?”
“I remember where you stay,” Damien replied, smoothly, lounging on the leather seat, his jacket fully unbuttoned now, and the white cotton shirt underneath hugging his muscles. “You didn’t really think I’d forget, did you Hazel?”
“We haven’t spoken in fourteen years. Why would you remember?”
“How could I forget?” he asked.
I wouldn’t fall for this. It was bullshit. Just another ploy for him to get in my pants. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“Ditto,” Damien said. “I’ve got plans for you, Miss McCutcheon, ones that don’t involve multiple orgasms, as I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear.”
“W–what?” I spluttered it out. “Plans?”
He smirked at me, and I was back in the past again, that smile directed at me in the hallways of the high school while the popular girls looked on in hatred and anger. “That’s right,” he replied. “Plans. But that doesn’t matter now. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, over lunch.”
“No. I have work tomorrow. And I want nothing to do with you or your plans.” I gave him my saltiest look. “Understand me now, Woods, this is the last time you’ll see me ever again. Ever again. All right?”
“You’re still so fucking bitter over a fuck in high school.”
“You took my virginity!” I snapped. “And you left without saying a god damn word. And from what I’ve heard, I’m not the only woman you’ve done that to. You’re a pig. A sexist, objectifying pig.”
“Believe what you want to believe,” he said, shifting his gaze to the window and the city streets flicking by. “In fact, it’s probably better if you think that way.”
It’s a trick. He’s saying the things you want to hear.
“Whatever.” The rest of the ride passed in silence, him completely relaxed and occasionally looking over at me, the scent of his cologne heady and overwhelming.
I tried not to stare. I hated the guy. Or rather, I had hated him, and I would never trust him. He was an asshole.
We arrived at my dad’s house, all the lights inside off, and Damien got out of the car. I opened my door before he could get to it and try to bullshit that he was a gentleman. He offered me a hand regardless.
Once again, I walked past him. He followed me through the front gate and all the way up to the front door. He stopped on the concrete landing, towering over me as I fumbled my keys out of my purse. I dropped my bag like a total idiot, and we bent at the same time to grab it. Our fingers brushed, and electric heat shot through me.
It tore through my chest and down into my abdomen, lighting me up inside like he’d set off fireworks in my core.
“Jesus,” he said, clearing his throat and meeting my eyes.
“What?” I managed not to stammer.
We straightened, with him holding my glittery clutch. He stroked his thumb over it, dark eyes on me.
“What?” I repeated.
“You’re the only woman who’s ever done that to me, Hazel.” He handed me the purse, and we touched again.
Another shot of pure heat, and my nipples puckered. “Fuck you,” I said. “Fuck you, Damien. Fuck you.”
“Say it one more time, and I’ll make your wish my command.”
I pressed my tongue to the back of my teeth, my fingers trembling on my clutch. There’d only been one other man since Damien. A long relationship that had been painful and empty because I’d refused to open up properly to him, because I couldn’t trust anyone. The sex had been vanilla, nothing that made my pulse pound.
Standing here, looking up at him, despising him and wanting him in equal parts was more excitement than I’d felt in the fourteen years since he’d last touched me.
“Say it,” he said, touching a hand to my cheek.
I opened my mouth, my tongue darting out and tracing my upper lip.
“Come on, Hazel,” he growled, slipping his fingers around the back of my neck and twining them into my hair. “Say it, and I’ll do it. I’ll make it come true.”
You’re insane. This is not… helping anything. It won’t—
“Fuck you,” I hissed, the combination of arousal and anger driving me over the edge.
Damien brought his lips down on mine, crushing me to his body, his cock hard and urgent against my silk cocktail dress.
My eyes rolled back in my head, and heat exploded from my core outward, pressure pulsing through my veins to the tips of my fingers and toes, to the soles of my feet, my palms, and my breasts, the planes of my stomach, and the apex of my pussy.
No tongue. He’d done that without inserting his tongue into my mouth.
What was this power he had over me? I wasn’t this girl. I didn’t let people make me feel things.
“Say it again,” he whispered against my lips. His second hand traced down my side, along the curve of my hip and then up again.
“Fuck you.”
Damien pressed me up against the front door with a dull thump. He slid his hands down the front of my dress and cupped my breasts, playing with my nipples, the silk sending shots of pleasure through me.
The second kiss was deeper than the first, and I opened my mouth to him, allowing him inside. His tongue was warm, wet, persistent then darting back and toying with me.
I grabbed fistfuls of his suit jacket, ripping him closer, nipping his bottom lip hard. “Fuck you,” I repeated. “Fuck you.”
“I’m going to make you come right here, right now, in front of the whole fucking street if you
