Nobody's Perfect (48 page)

"Yes! Harder!"

Damián's teeth sank into the flesh at the top of her butt and sent her over the edge. "Oh, Chico! Yes! There!"

She sobbed her release, never expecting to get there today after so may false starts. Her emotions rode a wild roller coaster. She didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry, but as she came down from the high and felt Damián's arms around her, his lips kissing her lower back and ass, she choked back a sob at how badly she wished it had been Damián inside her, making her come, and not a plastic vibrator.

"That's my good girl. Chico's pretty proud of his slut for coming like that."

Dirty slut.

Savi tensed.

Damián sighed. "Where are you, Savita?"

She couldn't speak.

He released her, stood, and came around the sling to stand in front of her. Cupping her chin, he raised her face toward his, bringing her focus back to him. "What triggered you? Your response seemed more intense even than when I called you 'good girl' earlier."

She shook her head. "Don't make me say it."

"I'm not going to play games. I couldn't have been Chico. Hell, you were screaming his name before you came."

She flushed with embarrassment. She had?

"Tell me what sent you into a tailspin?"

They sat for several minutes in silence.
Come on, bebé. Open up to me once more.

"I'm a dirty slut."

Her barely audible words caused him to lean closer, then his eyes opened wider as realization dawned. "That must have been buried deep. It didn't even surface in our clothespin scene."

He stroked her cheek. "You know,
bebé,
there's nothing dirty about being a slut. It's an honor when a Dom uses the endearment for his special sub."

"You've got to be kidding. How could anyone want to be called something so degrading?" She couldn't let him call her that and enjoy it.

Damián smiled. "We have much more work to do,
querida
."

Savi looked into his eyes. "More work?" He still wanted to work with her?

"Make arrangements for Angelina or Karla to keep Marisol tomorrow night. You and I are going on a date."

"A date?" She sounded like a frigging parrot, but couldn't help herself.

"Yes, a date." He tweaked her nose.

"I don't think—"

"Exactly. You are not to think. I will plan everything right down to what you're going to wear—and not wear. Because we'll be starting and ending at the club, I'll have a new outfit laid out in the bedroom you used here at Dad's. What size?"

"I've gained weight. I don't think I'm the same size anymore." Most of her clothes had gotten tight, but she hadn't wanted to ask to go shopping. She'd been enough of a financial burden on him already.

"What size were you before then?"

"Zero."

"Zero? What the fuck kind of size is zero?"

Already on edge from being called a slut, she lost control and allowed her temper to boil over. "I was a size zero so men like you wouldn't leer at me, okay? Men pay no attention to women without curves."

He seemed surprised by her outburst, then grinned. "
Mamacita
, I assure you I noticed—and you have beautiful curves in all the right places." He reached up to tweak her nipple. "In fact, one of the first things I noticed was that your breasts were bigger than when I first saw them at nineteen."

She didn't want him to think she'd done anything else to enlarge her breasts. "I breast-fed."

He continued to tug on both nipples now, making her nipples engorge again, but there was a sadness in his eyes. "I wish I could have been there to watch."

Her body heated when he gave her a smoldering once-over, lingering a little longer before and after on her breasts. He met her gaze again.

She reminded herself to breathe. Time to get this conversation away from her boobs. "I don't think I'm that size anymore, the way you guys keep making me eat." Would he lose interest in her if she got fat?

"And we'll keep feeding you, too. Doms like their girls to have a little flesh on them—otherwise we'll be afraid we'll break them too easily."

She wondered what it would be like if he were her Dom and not her Top.

"Okay, for starters, I'll bring over clothes in Size Two. When you've grown into those, we'll move up to a four. What's your bra size?"

She blushed. Boobs again. "I have plenty of bras."

"What. Is. Your. Bra size?"

She glared at him. "Thirty-two B."

"Done."

"Damián, I'm not a child. I can dress myself."

"Whose body is this?"

"Yours, Sir." She began to shake again.

"Good girl. Now, breathe."

She found that calling her a good girl didn't bother her nearly as much as when he called her a slut.

He reached up and released her hands by undoing the Velcro on her cuffs. She started to pull her arms down and groaned. So stiff. Damián stopped and massaged her shoulders and upper arms, helping to release the tension until the blood flowed into them again.

"There,
bebé.
How does that feel?"

She moaned. "Wonderful."

Her eyes flew open, and she frowned. How was she supposed to take him? He was a sadist, but never gave her pain beyond her limits. He wasn't repulsed by her background, her body, her shame. He took such good care of her.

Damián reached out and cupped her chin. Staring into his warm, confident, brown eyes, the shaking ceased. "I know it's not easy to let go of the crap muddying up your thinking. It's going to take what I think you call adjustment therapy."

"Behavioral modification."

He grinned. "Call it whatever you want. We're going to do some modifications and make some attitude adjustments."

"So, you're in the business of psychotherapy now?" At least he could practice his without a license. She was in limbo, unable to start the licensing process here in Colorado, which would just bring the hounds of hell after her again.

When would she ever get her life back on track?

* * *

Damián thought the timing couldn't be worse, but he'd made a promise years ago to never miss a Colorado funeral with the Patriot Guard Riders if he was home. Fallen heroes deserved nothing less. He ran his finger under his leather wristband. He hoped Sergeant Miller had received a hero's welcome on his final trip home.

If Damián had been keeping up with the email alerts, he wouldn't have been blindsided by this one early this morning. Afghanistan. Ambush. Another Marine dead.

To keep his mind off the funeral and what lay ahead, he had gone to the mall and purchased the outfit he wanted Savi to wear for their date tonight. Might have to go out a little later than planned, but she'd understood. He should make it back in time for their date, then he'd work on redirecting some of the negative messages that continued to clutter up her head. He'd sure as hell have to work on slut, because she'd hear that a lot if she spent any time around the club's great room or any public scenes there.

"Sure you don't want me to get you some lunch before you leave?"

He looked up to find Savi standing in the doorway to the kitchen, dressed in her tight jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Tonight, he'd get rid of those damned sleeves in public, too. He took another sip of coffee. "Nope. I need to get going." He walked across the room and gave her a peck on the cheek. She didn't pull away. Progress. Slow and steady wins the race. He just hoped he could hold out to the finish line, which sometimes seemed to be nowhere in sight.

In the living room, he picked up his helmet and opened the door. "Keep the door locked. Remember you guys are always under surveillance, at my apartment or Marisol's school, so no one can get to you. I should be home by 1800."

"Yes, Sir." She grinned.

"Six, I mean."

"I know." The smile left her face. "Just be careful and take care of yourself. I know today has to be hard for you."

He nodded.

"Don't worry about us. We'll be fine. Karla's coming over in the Hummer. You're right, Mari loves it. We'll go together to pick up Mari after school."

"Sounds like a plan." Damián lingered a moment, wishing he could be here with her, but duty called. The Patriot Guard had given him a purpose in life—honoring the remains of fallen heroes, while protecting their families from protestors and any dirtbags who wanted to make a political or religious statement, or seek media attention at their expense.

"It's a good thing you're doing, Damián. I'm proud of you. Now, go. You don't want to be late."

He nodded, too choked by emotion to speak. He walked out the door and closed it behind him. A quick survey of the parking lot revealed Victor's SUV in the corner. Someone equally trustworthy would be at Marisol's school. If those bastards came anywhere near his girls, they'd have to go through the Marines to do so.

Damián strapped on his helmet as he walked down the stairs. He got astride the hog, fired it up, and pulled out of the lot onto the street. His focus now turning to the mission ahead. Another combat casualty. Would it ever end?

Not fucking likely.

* * *

"Damián, someone's here."

Fuck
.

The urgency in Savi's hushed voice over the cell phone sent adrenaline surging through him. He was still twenty-five minutes from home. "Where are you and Marisol?"

Her frantic whisper shook with fear. "We're in the bedroom closet." He'd hoped to eradicate that emotion from her entirely, but he understood her fear—and helplessness. This time, he had to admit, he was afraid, too. He wished he was closer to them. He accelerated well over the suburban area's speed limit.

He should have been there to protect them. What happened with Victor or whoever was supposed to be watching them?

"Don't say anything else. Just listen,
bebé
. My seabag is hanging on the left side if you're facing the closet doors. Get Marisol inside there, zip it up, and then cram the hanging clothes against it to hide her. Tell her to stay quiet until she hears Daddy's voice. Tell her I'm coming." Marisol would follow instructions. He hoped the shitheads weren't too smart and would only look at the floor and miss the seabag altogether.

"Are you both wearing your necklaces?"

"Always."

"That's my girl. After you get Marisol secured in the seabag, I want you to move to the other side of the closet to divert their attention from her." He hated that he hadn't been able to convince Savi to carry a sidearm, but her fear of weapons would have just made the situation more deadly to them both.

"If they find you," and they would, if the good guys didn't get there ASAP, "tell them Marisol is with me." So fucking helpless. "I'll be there as soon as I can,
mi sueño
. Be brave for me." Not wanting her whispers to give her away any sooner than inevitable, he said goodbye and disconnected the call.

Por favor, Madre de Dios
, protect them. Don't let anything happen to them. They're my whole life.

He called Dad to report the situation. "Fuck. Victor called ten minutes ago and said something was wrong with Patti. I'm headed that way now, but I've hit rush-hour traffic."

"Just get there. They're in the bedroom closet. Call in reinforcements, too." Damián ended the call and drove the last two fucking miles having to go closer to the speed limit, stuck in the same traffic situation. If he could have ignored all the traffic lights, he would have. The Harley roared into the parking lot and pulled up next to Dad's Hummer. Damián looked up to see Dad entering the apartment. The door was already ajar. Damn.

Grant's Jeep screeched to a stop near the stairs. Not bothering to park in a marked spot, she exited with her sidearm drawn. Grant took the stairs two at a time with Damián right behind her, his fucking foot slowing him down. He needed to get inside. Fast.

Damián and Grant rounded the corner and entered the living room. Grant had both hands on her sidearm as she moved in front of him while sweeping the room. Rage tore through him. While there was no sign of a struggle, he knew they were gone. Dad stood ready to charge into the bedroom. Damián gestured to Dad and Grant that they would go in together and provide him cover. They hugged the walls, listening. No sound.

Dad and Grant entered the bedroom first, sweeping the perimeter as Damián prepared to take the bastards down, but there were no hostiles. Grant gave the bathroom a quick check and the all-clear sign.

Damián's focus went to the closet where Savi had made the call. Maybe the shitheads hadn't found them. They'd better hope they hadn't, because if those fucking bastards had touched a hair on the head of either of his precious
chicas
, he'd rip their god-damned throats out.

Damián's heart pounded as he walked over to the opening on the right side of the closet, where he'd told Savi to wait. Empty. He slid the doors to the right and his body sagged when he saw the seabag hanging there. No movement.

"Not you, too, Marisol."

A shrill whistle rent the air.

"What the fuck is that?" Dad asked.

Damián grinned. "
Mi
muñequita
."

"Your what?"

"My little doll." Damián reached for the seabag and unzipped it. Huddled inside, the Christmas necklace's steel whistle clamped between her lips, he found Marisol.

"Daddy!" The tears staining her cheeks broke his heart.

"Well, I'll be." Dad held the flaps of the seabag open so Damián could reach inside and pull his shaking doll-baby into his arms. She latched onto his neck and held on almost as tightly as he held her. He breathed in her sweet baby-shampoo scent.

Damián quickly pulled her the rest of the way out of the bag. She pulled away and stared at him. "Daddy, we have to hurry. We have to rescue Maman from the evil prince."

"Don't you worry. Daddy's going to find Maman and bring her home, but you're going to go stay with Karla."

"No! I have to help!"

"Don't argue with me." She glared at him, but backed down. His fierce baby warrior was going to be a force to be reckoned with someday.