Ignited & Unhinged (Billionaire Secret, Book One)(Billionaire Romance, New Adult Romance, College Romance) (13 page)

“Wow, it’s like so awesome out here,” a slurred female voice declares.

I look over Damon’s shoulder. I can’t see anyone. The alcove is shielding us, they must have gone to the left side of the roof.

If they come to the right side there would be no hiding.

“Look at the orange clouds, they are so…poufy,” another drunk girl adds.

“That band is so hot, makes me want to go to California,” says Girl A.

“Is that the only reason?” Girl B.

“No, there’s like the ocean and surfing,” Girl A says dreamily.

Girl B laughs hard. “You’re so wasted!”

They giggle together in agreement.

What should we do?

I can hear their voices starting to travel.

I look at Damon questioningly.

When he doesn’t move I try to extricate myself from him.

He stops me.

Instead, he thrusts into me slowly while holding my gaze. His hunger sucks me back into the feeling of him, of the moment.

I stop thinking about the girls and focus on him inside of me.

Damon is so controlled that we are completely silent. I stop breathing as he takes me inch by inch.

“Wow look over here! You can see the people still standing in line. Hey there’s Rick and Charlie,” Girl A.

“You SO want to hook-up with Charlie,” Girl B.

“Please, like you wouldn’t do him too?” Girl A answers sarcastically.

“I’d do both of them…at the same time!” Girl B says with a snort.

Then they both launch into a fit of drunken giggles.

The sound is getting louder.

I stiffen when their laughter is just a few feet away.

Damon pushes the remaining way and holds himself there, looking at me intensely.

I bite my lip to keep from screaming out. He continues his controlled rhythm.

They’re getting closer.

Damon doesn’t let me look away from him. He keeps me focused on him.

He keeps fucking me slowly while the drunk girls are just a few feet away.

“Do you hear that?” Girl A.

Oh geez
.

Damon stops, he’s all the way into me. But instead of remaining completely still he circles his hips and hits some new pleasure center deep inside me.

It’s too much. He knows I’m about to lose it so he puts a hand over my mouth.

I bite his fingers.

His eyes dance with a new layer of hunger as he keeps circling his hips into me while I bite down on him.

“You’re just drunk.” Girl B. “Come on let’s go hit on those guys at the bar.”

The door opens and their conversation about Rick and Charlie disappears behind the door.

The second the door closes. Damon pounds into me. In and out, hard and fast.

He circles his hips and slams into me.

I cry out, both of us completely unable to stay in control.

I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved we hadn’t been discovered.

I feel like an animal. I just want to be fucked.

I hope someone is watching from one of the taller buildings around.

Someone, somewhere is getting a show and I am giving it to them.

It’s too much. I let myself go, my body shudders and falls into Damon.

I scream and bathe in the blinding light.

Ripples of aftershocks hit me, one after the other.

Damon finds his own release and holds me to him as I continue to tremble.

When the aftershocks stop, he scoops me up and slides to the floor with me in his lap.

I laugh softly.

“What?” he’s panting.

“That was hot,” I say between breaths.

“Agreed.” He flashes his wicked smile. “Admit it, you kind of wanted them to see.”

I hide my smile in his chest. I’m not sure why but admitting this still makes me blush.

“Let’s pick-up some sustenance and continue this at my place,” he whispers in my ear, “and by sustenance I mean omelets from Mickey’s and a bottle of Cristal.”

“Why are you whispering?” I whisper back.

“Because I don’t want anyone else to hear,” he whispers again.

After what we had just done?

I look at him skeptically.

We laugh together. And it feels great. 

“Come on,
that’s
your most embarrassing moment?” Damon prods.

“Um,
excuse
me? How is that not embarrassing? Did I mention he was the head of the California Highway Patrol?” My voice rises, all the anxiety of the situation coming back.

“He asked the senior class who they would most like to see drunk on stage—everyone chanted my name. And then I had to take a sobriety test with the “tank” goggles in front of said senior class?” I shake my head at him like he’s crazy not to think that was anything but mortifying.

“Yeah, but you should be flattered. You left enough of an impression that people nominated you to be drunk,” he offers.

“What?! You have a very different view on life, you know that?” I chide.

“Well that’s an understatement,” he allows, “but seriously, you passed the sobriety test every time, even after he had you put on the
I’m so drunk I should be passed out
goggles?”

“Yeah, but that’s beside the point! It was the whole experience,” I insist.

“Hate to break it to you, but having the head of the CHP get you “drunk” in front of your entire senior class at their behest and then passing all three sobriety tests at different stages of drunkenness made you look like a badass.
Not
embarrassing.”

“A badass?” I smile in spite of myself. I was suddenly a fan of his take on the world.

“Huh, I never thought of it that way. Still, at the time I was mortified.”

“Yeah, try again gorgeous,” he teases.

“Oh OK, this past week then.” I take another bite of my ham and tomato omelet.

He tenses slightly. “And what happened this past week?”

“Well I started going to the ballroom team practices and we had to try on some of the Latin costumes in preparation for an upcoming competition.”

He looks shocked. “You joined the team?”

“Not exactly, I was invited to join so I went this week. I’m supposed to let them know in a few days, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to do it.”

The idea of dancing competitively gives me a whole new set of butterflies.

I’m excited.

“Anyway, I was wearing this really short Latin costume,” I gesture across my upper thighs where the dress stopped, “the whole idea was to get the newbies used to the feeling of dancing in those super skimpy outfits so they made us wear them for practice. We were learning some new moves in the rumba. At the end of the class they stopped teaching so we could practice the routines to music without interruption.”

“Oh my God, does this story have an ending?” he pokes at me.

“Shut up! You asked. So I was dancing for about five minutes straight when I noticed that the costume had ridden up and my underwear was showing—so yeah, I flashed everyone for I don’t know how long before I fixed it. People seemed pretty focused on their own dancing so I’m not sure how many of them noticed, but I definitely wanted to crawl under a rock,” I finish, turning bright red.

“Not sure how I feel about you flashing the ballroom dance team.” He narrows his eyes at me.

He looks more perplexed than miffed.

I scrunch up my face, “Please, if you were to have it your way I’d be doing a whole lot more than showing my underwear to people.”

“Is
that
what you think?” he sounds unconvincingly shocked.

I just stare.

“Oh I see, you think I’m walking you up some sexual escalator that leads to having sex while thirty people watch.”

Thirty?
Wow
.

I must have looked alarmed because he holds his hands up and shakes his head.

“Easy. That was a joke, but from the look on your face am I right that you think something along those lines?”

“Maybe,” I admit.

What other conclusion was there? “It definitely feels like you’re leading me down some voyeuristic path, one step at a time.”

Not that I mind so far.

“Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoy exposing you to new sexual situations. Watching you let go of your inhibitions bit by bit is a real turn on, BUT, my only interest in furthering your sexual exploits is for our mutual pleasure.”

He pauses. Giving me his most earnest look, I think, “My interest in voyeurism through The Society extends only to the point where it furthers my pleasure and now your pleasure.”

He waits for it to sink in before continuing, “I am not actively trying to get you to some level of sexual freedom that concludes with me being able to fuck you in front of a room full of people.”

It’s hard to believe. “But isn’t that what you like? Why you’re in The Society?”

“I enjoy a lot of things, Elle. With you I seem to enjoy a lot more than I did. I’ve never had so much vanilla sex in my life and yet vanilla with you is…fucking amazeballs.” He shakes his head incredulously.

I get the feeling, I’d managed to stump Damon Wright.

“Oh really,
amazeballs
? Where’d you pick that up?”

“Oh you know, from some high school girls touring the campus today,” he laughs and I feel compelled to kiss him.

He breaks away holding me at arm’s length.

“The point is, what we end up doing or not doing will have everything to do with what feels good, what feels right at that moment.”

He stills, thinking through something, “In fact, at the moment, the idea of possessing your body in front of a room full of people does not sound like a good thing to me. They’d all be fucking you in their heads, and for some unknown reason which I will undoubtedly uncover in a future therapy session, that…irks me.”

His expression turns accusing.

I don’t know what he’s thinking.

Instead, I try to wrap my head around his take on West. “OK, keeping this whole blunt honesty thing going, if you don’t like the idea of other people fucking me in their heads, then why are you so OK with the idea of West
actually
fucking me?”

The logic doesn’t exactly flow, but I’m not sure I want to push this particular point.

Although, I guess it’s best to have it all out there.

“Not that I’m complaining,” I add quickly so he doesn’t misunderstand.

He looks down at our two hands intertwined. I start to get nervous when he doesn’t answer right away.

The silence grows.

His answer is stripped of all bravado, “It isn’t that I get off on the idea of you and West. I definitely don’t enjoy the thought, but I’m also realistic. This is college. A time for exploring, for unlimited potential.”

He plays with my hand. “We will grow as human beings more quickly during this time in our lives than any other. I never want to hold you back from an experience, just as I don’t want to be held back.”

He looks up from our hands and into my eyes.

“Does that make sense?” he asks, exposed.

This feels…intimate.

“Yes. I don’t want to hold you back either,” I answer honestly. “We’ve been clear from the start, we aren’t exclusive. When I say that I’m fine with you seeing other people, I mean it.”

“Oh I know you do.” It sounds more like
trust me, I believe you
.

“I think it’s really important to be honest, but I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about this next bit of truth,” he starts.

Should I be nervous? Had he been with someone and then failed to use protection with me?

My insides twist.

He opens his mouth, I try to read his eyes, they look grave, like he’s about to confess something major, “I haven’t seen anyone else this entire semester.”

I wait for the bomb to drop.

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I take my pleasure very seriously. I am very sexual and have very few inhibitions,” he continues.

“OK,” I say slowly, not sure where this is going.

“Things have never been this…
slow
for me.” He says this in a pointed way like I’m supposed to read between the lines.

The problem is I don’t know what language we’re speaking.

When I don’t say anything he looks down at our hands again.

What am I missing?

“Has junior year been kicking your ass? No time for the ladies?” I tease nervously, feeling out of my depth.

What was he saying?

“Elle, school is the same. You are what’s different,” he looks up as he says this.

His eyes are unguarded. He is naked in front of me.

“I haven’t seen or hooked-up with anyone else. Since that first night you walked up to me and introduced yourself…you were awkward and brave and trusting.”

He smiles to himself as he remembers. “I haven’t even thought of anyone else,” his voice drops.

There is a pause, like he is really thinking about how to say the next part.

“I have always followed my pleasure, always. The thing is my pleasure led me to you and as far as I can tell there isn’t a path that leads away from you.”

My stomach tightens, a prickle runs up my spine. It isn’t a shiver, it’s a different sensation, rooted in fear.

I believe he is telling the truth and at the same time believe that what he is saying is unbelievable.

Damon Wright is experienced. He is like sex on a stick.

It was one of the reasons I had allowed myself to see him—he was safe.

He couldn’t fall for me and so I wouldn’t fall for him.

“Trust me, I’ve looked for a path that leads away from you, I’m just not…interested,” he answers the incredulity on my face.

What is he saying? “OK, so what does this mean? You don’t want us to see other people?” I’m really confused.

He’s going to have to spell it out for me.

“I’m not saying that. I’m only being honest. I care about you and I wanted you to know that this is different for me.”

He takes one of my hands and squeezes it, “Don’t freak out, this isn’t a declaration of undying love. This is simply a guy telling a girl that he likes her and that he doesn’t feel the need to see anyone else.”

My mouth drops open.

But he continues, “And should that change he will always be honest with her.”

I close my mouth. “Really, the third person?” I reach for the humor in an attempt to relieve the tension building in my stomach.

His eyebrows draw together. “Hey, admitting all this isn’t easy.”

I feel a pang in my chest. I’m instantly sorry for making light of the situation.

Damon’s clearly in foreign territory, just like me.

I try to put it together, “So for the foreseeable future you won’t be seeing anyone else, but you are OK with me seeing other people?”

He considers this, “OK with? Hmmm…that might be overstating things. Logically, I comprehend that you are attracted to…
other
people and that for your own personal growth and pleasure you ought to indulge those attractions…is more accurate.”

And long-winded
I want to joke, but I stop myself.

“So if I had sex with West in the near future, you would still want to see me?”

He answers without hesitation, “Yes, I would. I wouldn’t be shaking the lucky bastard’s hand or anything, but yes I would still want you.”

“Is this…normal?” I wonder out loud.

“Well I don’t know what you mean by normal. If you’re talking about this relationship? No, I suppose not. People date, they become exclusive et cetera, et cetera.

“If you’re referring to a guy being the one not to see other people? Then, no. If you’re referring to your promise not to fall in love with me? It’s a no again.”

I see some of the bravado returning to his face as he considers the last part, “That’s especially peculiar, I mean how could anyone not fall in love with me?”

I shove him playfully.

He feigns injury.

It’s my turn to be serious, “Will you promise not to fall in love with me?”

If he fell, what would prevent me from falling? I’m so young, just getting started.

“I will make no such vow. I promise to be honest,” he offers in a strained voice.

I’m worried.

His face changes suddenly.

I recognize the look. The hunger.

He’s about to change the subject, take evasive action.

He shifts onto his knees and starts towards me. I lean away and fall back onto the bed, landing on my elbows.

My heartbeat pounds loudly in my ears in anticipation.

“I do promise,” he brings his head down to mine until our foreheads are touching, “to fuck your brains out tonight.”

And then he delivers on his promise.