Drawn (21 page)

I do everything I can to try and keep busy, to try and stop myself from turning my phone back on to see if he’s still trying to call me. I try to be strong, focusing on what I heard and the fact that Aaron – the nicest guy I know – thinks
Damien is no good.

My resolve lasts maybe ten minutes before I’m powering my phone on again. The moment the screen loads, it bursts to life in my hand with
Damien’s name and number displayed on the screen. I send him straight to voicemail and a moment later, a message comes through telling me I have fifteen messages.

With a shaking hand, I dial through to my message service.

The messages all follow a similar vein. They start off calm.
“It’s me. We need to talk.”

Before becoming more demanding.
“Answer the phone Henrietta.” “Answer the phone!”

And then he becomes frustrated.
“Fuck!”

“Shit,” I hiss, as I hear the last message.
-
“I’m coming over.”

As soon as I switch off the phone, I rush over to the window and look out, I can hear his car coming.

“Shit,” I hiss again, jumping back from the window, running my fingers through my hair as I try to decide what I want to do.

“Henrietta?!” he calls from outside, banging on the door.

“Go away,” I call from the other side. “I don’t want to do this anymore Damien.”

“You can’t back out now Henrietta. This isn’t ending.”

“Yes it is. I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. I heard you, and I heard her. I can’t…” I stop, my heart constricting in my chest as I remember the moans. “You said I could trust you. You said it was just portraits.”

“It is. Open the door.”

“Portraits don’t moan Damien!” I sob.

“Henrietta!” he yells, trying the door knob then slamming his body into the door. “Open the door or I’m going to break it!”

Stepping back, I cover my mouth, watching the door rattle with each thump. I don’t want to open the door, but god help me if my housemates come home to it broken in.

“Alright!” I screech, my breath catching as I turn the tumblers to unlock the door.

The moment it opens, he slams his body against mine. I don’t even get time to react before I’m pressed up against the wall, and his mouth finds mine, kissing me aggressively.

I push my body against him, my hands on his shoulders as I try to fight. But it’s
Damien, and the moment he’s in my headspace, I can’t seem to say no to him. Slowly, my body starts to relax and my hands curl into fists, gripping the fabric of his black t-shirt, as I attempt to pull him into me.

Small whimpers begin to escape my throat as his hand slides down to cup my buttocks, pulling me closer to him. His erection presses firmly into my hip
, and I find myself rubbing against it.

“You are mine, and I am yours Etta. Don’t forget that,” he growls
, as he grabs the waistband of my panties and drags them down my legs.

With a swift movement, he has his arm under my thigh, lifting my leg as he frees his cock,
deftly slamming it into me.

“Oh god!” I gasp
, as he fills me, pumping his hips skilfully, driving his shaft back and forth, frantically inside me.

“You don’t
get to end this,” he growls, thrusting into me forcefully, causing me to explode. Gripping on to him, I moan, rolling my head back as I feel him pulse inside me.

Calming down, he kisses me softly then pulls out of me, moving his hand to cup between my legs.

“You’re the only one I do this with,” he whispers, as he pushes his fingers inside of me, rubbing our combined orgasm between my thighs. “You’re the only one I think about. The only one I see.” His fingers circle my clit, causing me to pant, to whimper. “The only one I want. Come home with me. Stay with me. I want you by my side. I want you in my bed.”

Moaning, my body takes over my mind, clouding it with whatever pheromones
Damien produces.

“Do you want me
, Etta?” he asks, his voice warm and soft, like gentle fingertips, caressing my mind.

“I want you,” I gasp, rocking against his hand as his fingers move around my clit, sliding into my opening, then pulsing back again, over and over.

“Then why did you come to my apartment? I told you to stay away,” he growls, his fingers pumping faster as he adds another.

“I…I…” I gasp, unable to find my words while my body and mind are screaming with arousal.

“You said you would be here. Studying. I need to be able to trust you, Henrietta. This thing won’t work without trust,” he whispers, his fingers pushing inside me, rubbing against that spot that makes my eyes roll back, and my body ready to explode. “Why were you at my apartment?”

“I was…I was…” I pant
, as he adds another finger, filling me further. “Oh god!” I cry out, shuddering around his hand, struggling to stay standing.

Languidly, he continues to move his fingers inside me. “Tell me.”

“I was with Aaron,” I admit.

“What were you doing with him?”

“He had… oh god, I can’t think with you doing that,” I gasp, my orgasm building inside me again.

“What were you doing with him?” he repeats, ignoring my struggle as he pushes his hand in deeper.

Whimpering, I try my best to form an answer. “He had… some papers for me. I went and saw a movie with him.”

“Did he try to fuck you?” he asks
, with an upward thrust.

“No. He’d never… it’s not like that with us…” I pant, my head feeling drunk as he removes his hand and starts to roll his fingers around my clit again.

“When you tell me your plans. I want your plans. They don’t change Henrietta. I need to know where you are,” he whispers, slipping his fingers into me once more. “Do you understand?”

“I… oh god… yes, I understand,” I gasp as his whole hand slips inside me, pressing firmly against my g-spot.

Lowering his mouth to meet mine, I struggle to move my mouth against his. I’m so overwhelmed with the sensation of his hand moving inside me that I can’t even see straight. “Good girl,” he whispers as I explode again, my orgasm ripping through me, causing me to fall against him, exhausted.

Slowly, he removes his hand from between my legs, and bends dow
n, scooping me up into his arms to carry me up the stairs. I lay limply against his chest, every ounce of my energy spent. I can’t even remember why I was upset anymore. It all seems so trivial. Being in his presence seems to make everything ok. When he’s near, I don’t care about anything else – just him, and what he does to me, body and mind.

As he carries
me to the bathroom, I stay quiet, laying my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and his breathing. Once inside, he settles me on the edge of the bathtub and runs the taps in the vanity sink.

Using a washcloth, he cleans between my legs, his movement gentle yet deliberate. Feeling a swell of emotion toward him, I run my hand over his head – through his hair
and down his face to cup his cheek. Closing his eyes, he inhales deeply, kissing my palm.

“We need to start using protection,” I tell him. “I’m not on any birth control.”

“We’ll be fine,” he says, continuing our clean up.

“How do you know?”

“Because I do.” It’s all he says, before he lifts me up again and walks me to my room. Setting me down on the bed, he begins to rummage through my drawers, pulling out clothes and setting them on the bed beside me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.
I thought he was just getting something for me to wear – I’m still in the dress I wore last night and nothing else, my underwear probably still on the floor near the door.

“Packing,” he states simply, moving to my wardrobe and opening the doors. Reaching up, he removes my suitcase from the top shelf and drops it on the floor by his feet, going through my hanging clothes and dropping items in.

“Damien. I don’t know about this…” I start. “I only just moved in.”

“It’s alright. I’ll bring you back. You’re not moving out. You’re just… staying with me. I need
you with me. Here,” he says, walking over to me, a pair of jeans in his hands.

“Do you have something against underwear?” I ask.

“On you? Yes,” he states, reaching down and pulling my dress off my body. He selects a fitted navy blue singlet top and slides it over my head, before helping me into my jeans, holding his hand against my mound as he pulls up the zip, to protect me from any accidental catches. “There,” he finishes, sliding his fingers through my curls as he removes his hand from my pants.

“What am I supposed to tell my roommates? I haven’t even spent the night here yet,” I ask
, as he places the last of the clothing, and a few toiletries in the bag.

“That you’ll see them on Friday.” Zipping my suitcase, he lifts it and holds his hand out to me expectantly.

I take it. Of course I take it. Can I do anything but say yes to this man? Something tells me that I can’t, and for the life of me, I wish I could explain why.

“What are you doing?” I ask in a whisper, watching as Damien draws an intricate floral design over my outer thigh. I’m lying on my side, naked on his bed after spending hours in his arms, lost in his body, in this feeling we share.

It’s almost 3am, my body is buzzing from a night filled with love making and refusing to sleep
, for fear I could miss a single moment with him.

“Branding you,” he murmurs, planting a kiss, just next to where he’s begun drawing a butterfly.

“It’ll wash off, won’t it?” I ask, grinning as I watch the concentration on his face – the gentle crease of his dark brow, the slight narrowing of his light brown eyes, the pull of his lip by his teeth. He’s beautiful.

“Eventually.” He smiles slightly, as he blows gently over my skin, drying the ink.

“What kind of a pen is that?”

“Don’t move. You’ll ruin it.”

“Damien,” I complain, but I stay still anyway. I wouldn’t dare risk ruining this – he’s drawing flowers and vines curving down my thigh, and to my knee. He’s adding butterflies to it at the moment that look like they’re about to set down upon the flowers.

“Yes Etta?” he asks, glancing up at me, his mouth curved into a half grin.

My eyes drag over his body, lean and carved, as it flexes and ripples with his movement. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, causing his grin to broaden.

“Not as beautiful as you are,” he informs me.

“
You
make me feel beautiful,” I confide, my voice soft and intimate.

“Don’t you think you are
?” he asks, placing the cap back on his pen.

“No actually, I don’t. I’ve always felt… big. I mean, I know there’s nothing wrong with my weight or anything – I’m fit, but I’m big. I wish I was dainty like a lot of other girls, I wish I was
hourglass curvy. But I’m not. A lifetime of being called an ‘Amazon’ makes you feel like people see you as this towering angry woman.”

“You see being called an Amazon a bad thing?”

“Well, isn’t it? It makes me feel like a bit of a freak, then the red hair to top it off…” I roll my eyes and huff out my breath, turning onto my back. “We don’t need to go through my list of insecurities.”

He climbs on top of me, and kisses me gently, my lips swollen and tender, but never having eno
ugh. “Most men find the idea of Amazon women very sexy,” he murmurs, planting soft kisses between my breasts. “They’re tall, strong, beautiful, intelligent – everything wonderful in a woman. They can take care of themselves, and don’t need men. So to capture the heart of one, is very special indeed. To be the man who protects a woman who is capable of protecting herself… you’d be hard pressed finding a man who didn’t find the idea of that hot.”

“You’re making all that up,” I giggle, but loving every word.

“Am I?” he asks, rolling off me, and the bed. “Come,” he says, holding his hand out and helping me up, leading me to the bathroom. “Now, look in the mirror. I want you to see what I see.”

“I only see you,” I smile, my eyes locked with his as I drink him in, every line, every detail of his beautiful stubbled face.

“Look at yourself. I’ll tell you what I see.” He sweeps his hands through my hair, smoothing it out and settling it over my left shoulder. “I see beautiful, soft milky skin.” He traces his fingertips over the curve of my neck, and I can’t help but admire his long fingers as they drift over my flesh.

“Not me Etta, look at yourself,” he whispers. I force myself to focus on my skin, instead of his fingers as he continues. “Your hair, is like a silken blanket, soft and warm as it falls about your face, accentuating the rose that blooms in your cheeks and over your lips when I touch you.”

My breathing quickens, and my skin heats beneath his fingertips as he runs them down my back and over the curve of my behind. “Your body, soft, and firm in all the right places, tight and warm where it counts,” he whispers, his own breathing growing heavy as his hands slide between my thighs. “Wet, every time I touch you.” His fingers slide through my folds, my juices silken beneath his touch. “Look into your eyes Etta. See what I see.”