“Damion -” I beg and he moans – it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard and I flood in my panties.
“I know.” His voice is a gruff whisper. “But not yet, angel. I need to do it right.”
Fuck. If this is him doing it wrong I’m definitely going to explode and die if he does it right. My body won’t survive that kind of ecstasy and pleasure.
He starts to push me away, but I’m not a patient woman. I grab his head and slide my fingers through those silky black strands, pulling his head back to mine and into a kiss. An eager one, rough and demanding, with tongue and spit and hunger. He moans again and I almost levitate into the air with lust.
“Mel,” he groans my name out as a question.
At this moment I am so far gone he can ask anything of me or do anything to me without any objection from this side.
“Will you go on a date with me?” He persistently pushes me back. I sigh and bite my tongue for saying all those stupid things before. My coochie twitches as if it blames me for not getting what it wants. And rightfully it should. Going on a date first … take me for a nice dinner … what crap is that? Right now I can kick myself in the gut.
I try to convince myself that maybe it’s for the best.
“Do I have to laugh at your lame jokes?”
“Yes.” He must take my hesitation as a rejection. “Eh … no.” His fingers move and I realize he’s still clutching my ass. “No, you can snort at them. Or ignore them.”
“Are you taking a condom?” I need to know what to mentally and physically prepare for.
“No.” My throbbing vagina screams at me, while my nipples pout.
“Should I take one?” I ask stupidly. He grins wickedly as if thinking it over.
“Not this time.”
“Okay.” I snort. “But I must let you know that my womanly bits are rather pissed for not being acknowledged.” Where this blatant bravery comes from I have no idea.
“Noted,” he chuckles lowly, “I promise to give them all the TLC they deserve. And more when the time is right.”
He stands up, lifting me with him as if I weigh nothing, and slides me down to my feet. Turning around he takes a towel from the bed.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to take a very cold shower,” he smirks and winks at my flustered face.
“I think I’m going to watch you take that cold shower.” I’m not sure when or how I became such a brave slut. His shocked expression rapidly changes to one of amused awe as he seems to process my words carefully.
“Okay,” he says hesitantly, “But you stay fully clothed and no touching.” He unbuttons his jeans and already my throat contracts. Together with my gut and southern parts.
He turns around and drops his pants, walking back ass naked into the bathroom. And what a perfect ass it is. I wait until I hear the water running before I follow him.
The shower is smaller than the one at his house but still takes up one full corner all in clear glass – a little steamed up already. But it doesn’t hide the tall, muscled man standing inside.
Naked.
In all his glory. And there is lots of glory.
The water rains down on his broad tanned shoulders to roll down his strong spine past his narrow hips to drip from his mouthwatering sexy butt. Oh, my horny goblin bits, this man’s body is a work of art, that’s for sure.
He looks over his shoulder at me with a wryly amused grin. The man is comfortable in his own skin. And why not – his skin, and everything beneath it, is damn fine.
Then he turns around. Offering me a first-class view of –
“Holy, cow.” My mouth drops open. My first official eye lock with a man’s organ. And what an organ it is. It’s straight and thick and stiff as a nail.
And that’s where my hormonal mind kicks in and I whirl around, running back into the bedroom to bump into the open, now broken, cupboard door.
“Ouch.” I give it a big shove and it slams shut just to fling back open, hitting me against my shin. I jump up and down a few times on one leg, glaring at the stupid door.
“I felt sorry for you, but now I think you deserved the punishment.” Shoot, I’m officially going mad, I’m talking to a freaking piece of furniture.
Then I see the paper stuck on the inside of said door. I read the heading written in thick black capital letters at the top: RULES.
So these are the famous rules, the ones that keep Damion on the right path. I glance over it and see that there are 10 of them.
Control.
That’s what everything is about I realize. These 10 points are a way of managing each aspect of his life – from racing to sex. Why does he need to control everything? What will happen if he breaks these rules? Would he fall apart?
He comes out in just a towel, but this time I know what’s hidden below. I blush at just the thought of it. He chuckles but doesn’t say anything.
“Eh,” I stutter, “I guess if we’re considering a … eh … relationship … I’ll have to get to know you better.” He flops onto the bed, still only wearing a towel.
“What do you want to know?” Everything. But where to start? I scan the room and see a photo of a black horse on one of the shelves. I pick it up. The animal is majestically beautiful.
“That’s Midnight,” he says. “He’s outside in a paddock.” He shakes his head and smirks. “Cost me a few hours in jail that one.”
“Jail?” He sniggers and oh boy, I think I’m addicted to his laugh.
“Yeah.” He pushes his fingers through his hair and falls on his back, sliding both hands under his head. Oh, good lord, that holy, defined, six-pack abs get me drooling.
“I stole him ’cause he was underfed and being abused. The owner had me thrown in jail, but when I explained everything to the judge, and since I was only 15, the charges were dropped, and the owner got a hefty fine. And Midnight got his forever home with us.”
I stare at the photo again. He truly is a beautiful stallion with that shiny raven black coat – a fitting horse for the devil.
“He’s stunning,” I say. Damion looks at me without moving his head.