Курок Дуглас Пенелопа

“You guys dating?” Misha asked, and I guessed he was talking to Will and me.

“No, man. She’s Damon’s.”

“Damon Torrance’s?” Misha said it like he was spitting out food.

Will tightened his hold. “I know, right?”

“I’m not Damon’s.” I shook my head.

“Yeah, she is,” Will shot back.

I didn’t want to be talked about like I was property. That kind of conversation was fine in private, but Misha’s tone definitely relayed that he had an opinion about Damon. And not a positive one. He didn’t know me. I didn’t want him drawing conclusions.

“Who’s Damon?” Ryen asked. “Have I met him?”

“God, no,” Misha blurted out. “Let’s get some beers before he shows up. Later, man.”

“Bye,” Will called out as they left.

I let out a sigh, reminded that a lot more people than just me had a past or perception of Damon. He had his work cut out for him if he wanted a future in this town. That was, if he cared about what anyone thought, anyway.

“To be fair,” Will said, setting his chin on my shoulder. “Misha hates everyone.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” I said. “If anyone knows what I’m getting myself into, it’s me.”

He breathed out a laugh.

And then he stood up straight, still holding me tight. “Having Damon around was the only time I ever felt solid in my life,” he told me. “He’s powerful. But painful.”

The corner of my mouth turned up in a small smile, knowing exactly what he was talking about. The highs with Damon reached the sun.

But our kind of fun had a price.

He pulled away from me, leaving my back, and I stood there as everyone danced around me, wondering where he just went. I moved my hands around my sides to feel for him. Did he leave?

“Alex,” I called.

Where did they go?

And then someone was at my back, the height and broad shoulders covering every inch of me, the cloves drifted on the air, and I knew it was him.

His hand reached around my neck, cupping my face and turning my head, as I closed my eyes and felt him come down, pressing his forehead to mine.

Damon.

His other hand came around my stomach, touching me and pressing me into his body, his chest rising and falling behind me. He felt like five years ago. Like seven years ago.

And I wanted it.

“You’re supposed to be wearing your uniform,” I whispered, feeling the jeans and brushing the hoodie with my hand as I reached up to touch his face.

“This is how you knew me then.”

I appreciated he wanted to be who I fell for in high school.

But they were always the same person.

“As long as you’re Damon Torrance, I don’t care what you wear,” I told him.

He kissed me, melting his mouth into mine and tipping my head back, cradling it in his arm so he could deepen the kiss and sink his tongue into my mouth.

A swirl of excitement spun all the way down to between my thighs, and I was already panting as his heat just made me want so much more right now.

A bed. A whole night. Just him.

“Did you like it?” he asked against my mouth.

“Huh?”

Did I like the kiss? Wasn’t it obvious? My body was a puddle in his hands.

The fountain?” he clarified when I didn’t respond.

He turned me around and lifted me up, and I could feel the draft under my skirt, so I knew it was riding up, but I didn’t care.

Just take me home.

“It was incredible,” I told him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Perfect for sitting.”

Just like we liked to do.

We kissed again, harder and deeper, and I gripped the hair at the back of his head, forcing us to go slow every time he wanted to speed up. I hovered, teasing him, and dipped in for a kiss only to pull away again.

“Winter,” he growled low.

We stayed there, nose to nose and breathing each other in, not wanting to pull away for a moment, even to get out of here and find a bed.

But he put me down and took my hand, leading me off. “Follow me.”

We walked through the crowds of people dancing and hanging out, the music pounding and the smell of grilled food hanging in the air, and I trailed close, holding his hand and his arm, too.

I still wasn’t sure how to feel about a lot of what had happened and what was happening now. What was prison like for him? Did I feel badly about any of it?

What about Arion? What were his intentions with both of us, and what about my father? Did I resent that Damon was the one who exposed him?

I gripped his arm, overwhelmed with just the need for him, and I couldn’t care about the rest right now. Just hide with me. Just hide us away.

We wound deeper into the park, passing some voices here and there, but the music and hustle and bustle of the party were far behind, leaving us on our own the farther we went.

He stopped and rose up. “Steps,” he told me.

I followed him, still holding his hand and arm as I followed him up a small flight of five metal stairs.

We took a few steps, and he paused again, telling me, “The Midnight Maze.”

I smiled curiously, cocking my head. I didn’t remember this, but my pulse quickened at the thought of another maze.

He let me go first, the mobile structure sounding quiet and feeling still. We must be the only ones out here.

Putting my hands out like I did with the fountain this morning, I touched the plastic panels on both sides, hearing them shake as we both walked inside and began down a path. The walls ended here and there, showing me how the maze diverted into different trails, and I stepped quietly in my Chucks, smiling about how silent I could be and getting an idea.

“Marco,” I called.

After a moment, he answered behind me. “Polo.”

I spun around, and he grabbed for me, slipping his hands up my short skirt, but I pushed them back down again, touching his face.

“Close your eyes,” I told him, making sure his lids were closed. “Keep them closed and find me.”

“And if I find you?”

I grinned at his loaded tone and backed away, getting a head start.

“You won’t,” I teased, immediately finding a diversion in the path and slipping off to the left.

I moved slowly, careful of my steps and knocking into the plastic panels, which I assumed were clear, since it felt exactly like the funhouses I’d been in at carnivals when I was younger. He’d better not cheat. He could see me through the panels. I couldn’t see him.

Traipsing down a path, heel to toe in soft steps, I felt the wall end, and I turned right this time, slipping through the narrow opening.

I didn’t know if Damon was moving, but I heard his voice after a few moments. “Marco?” he called, and I heard his voice echo from off to the right.

“Polo,” I replied, trying not to laugh.

I crept along the path, darting into another lane and accidently hitting the toe of my shoe on a panel.

It made a noise, rocking between its screws, and I froze, putting my hand over my mouth.

Shit.

His heavy footsteps made the floors creak, but since this thing was on a trailer, the whole damn floor whined, so I couldn’t gauge where the hell he was coming from.

Until he said, “Marco?” And I gasped, hearing him right on the other side of the panel in front of me.

I winced, squeaking, “Polo.”

A slam hit the panels, and I jumped, knowing he knew exactly where I was and dashing away as fast as I could, not caring that I was loud and clumsy.

“Marcooooo?” he sing-songed, hitting the panels and taunting me as he got caught up in the hunt.

Jesus. Even blind, he was a lion.

“Polo,” I said quickly, slipping into another avenue, unable to control my giggling.

“Marcooooo,” he threatened from somewhere behind me.

Oh, my God. I stepped quickly, banging my hands all over the panels and searching for my way out, but I couldn’t find it.

Where is it?

“Marco!” he called again.

Where is it? Where is it? I searched, flailing my hands and patting the walls.

Finding an opening, I slid through, relief washing over me and finally answering, “Polo.”

But then he was there, snatching me up and wrapping his arms around me. I screamed.

“What’s my prize?” he teased in my ear.

I shook, caught between laughing and fighting to breathe.

“What do you want?” I shot back.

“A piece of clothing.”

I shook my head, but he pushed me back against one of the plastic walls and knelt down, reaching under my skirt and peeling my panties off. He pulled them down my legs, the rough fabric of the plaid skirt now rubbing against my sensitive skin, and lifted up my feet, sliding the underwear off.

The cool air caressed me, and being bare and exposed made me extra aware and crave him even more. I started to run, but he caught me and pushed me back again, lifting my knee and pressing it back against the wall at my side, opening me up for his mouth as he came down on me, sucking on my clit.

Fireworks went off in my thighs and belly, spreading down my legs as I gasped and whimpered.

“Damon…” I half-moaned and half-protested. He couldn’t do this to me here.

But God, it felt so good. He kissed and massaged it with his tongue, and I tipped my head back, unable to not groan, and I didn’t care who heard me.

I finally pulled away, stumbling off to the side, and I heard him breathing hard.

“Marco,” I panted, digging my nails into the walls.

“Polo,” he growled back.

I stepped backward more. “Marco.”

“Polo.”

“Marc—”

But he grabbed me by my necktie and yanked me into his body.

I sucked in a breath, slamming into him.

He got in my face, still holding me by my tie and asking, “What do I get now?”

“You cheated,” I argued. “You opened your eyes.”

There was no way he would’ve found me that fast.

But he ignored my protest. “I want your bra.”

Cute. I’d have to take off my shirt, then, too. Clever.

But I was way ahead of him. “I’m not wearing one.”

He exhaled hard, wrapping an arm around me and walking us backward, deeper into the maze.

Setting me down, he forced me back up to a wall and ripped open my white uniform blouse, the night air hitting my bare skin as the buttons flew, hitting the walls and floor.

He pressed his body into mine, reaching under and lifting my leg to nudge himself between my thighs. “Winter,” he murmured.

I kissed him, caressing his tongue with mine, and letting him know, with every breath, moan, and rub of my hips that I wanted him right now.

He slid his hand farther under my skirt, and I held his bottom lip between my teeth, as I reached down and slid my hand inside his jeans.

I took his cock in my hand, hard and hot muscle filling my fist, and I started stroking him, making it harder and harder.

“Now,” I breathed out. “I want you now, Damon.”

He sucked in air between his teeth. “Say that again. With my name.”

“I want you now, Damon.”

He lost it. He gripped my jaw, sinking his mouth into mine for a hard, rough kiss, and then he pulled away to unfasten his belt and jeans while still holding me against the wall.

I leaned back, my shirt ripped open but my tie still hanging from my neck down the center of my chest. I felt him pull his cock out, fit himself at my entrance as I held onto his shoulders, and thrust his hips, pushing himself deep inside me.

Yes.

He hauled me up into his arms, my legs circling his waist as he propped me up against the wall, and I tipped my head back, moaning as he pumped his hips into me again and again. His cock slid out and back in, deep and fast, his hips pounding between my legs and making the whole funhouse shake. I brought my head back down, forehead to forehead as he fucked me, starting to roll my hips in little movements, meeting his thrusts.

“Yeah,” I whimpered. “You feel so good.”

“Winter,” he said like a prayer, and I could hear the pleasure-pain in his voice.

I kissed him again, dying to feel his skin and have all these clothes off, but there was no way I could stop.

We heard a throat clear off somewhere near, and I hid my face on the other side of Damon’s, mortified even as need built deep inside me.

Please, no.

But Damon wouldn’t stop. He just kept riding me, rolling his hips into my body, the rhythm and pace staying steady.

“Sir, your father is calling, demanding to speak to you,” Mr. Crane said.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to tell Damon to stop, but my orgasm was coming, and all I could do was hold on.

“Watch the door,” he bit out to Crane. “No one comes in.”

“Yes, sir.”

His father must be pissed if Crane came in here to bear witness to this. Shit.

Damon held my face with one hand, my body with the other, and my eyes started to tear up, feeling him drive deep and fill me up. And then it was coming.

“Damon,” I whimpered, my chest caving again and again.

“Say it again,” he growled.

I gasped. “Damon.”

“Who’s fucking you?”

Oh, God, I was coming. “Damon Torrance,” I breathed out.

And then my body convulsed, I held my breath, and I froze, letting Damon finish me as my orgasm exploded all over my body.

My head floated off, heat raced under my skin, and I cried out, feeling my body get wetter as he kept going.

Every limb weakened, and I felt like I was going to fall as exhaustion took over.

He put me down, spun me around, and shoved me into the partition, my breasts crushed against the clear plastic as he reached around and spread my thighs wide, thrusting back inside of me from behind.

He dug his fingers in the inside of my leg, holding me open, with his other hand wrapped around the front of my neck and bending it back to meet his mouth.

He fucked me, pressing me into the wall. “Mine,” he said against my lips. “Don’t ever leave my body.”

His hand on my neck scaled down, squeezing my breast and running over my stomach, and came back up to my neck, holding me tight.

“Don’t ever leave my body,” he chanted again.

“I won’t,” I whispered.

“Say you love me.”

I swallowed, my throat so dry.

“Say you love me,” he demanded.

“I love you,” I told him, surprised by how easily it came. “I love you, Damon.”

And he wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, and this was it. Right here. Everything I wanted to feel that brought me even more happiness than dancing did.

He was still the boy, promising to kiss me again someday, and I was still her, never wanting to leave whatever little private world we created when we were together.

Later, after he held me and touched me and kissed me some more, we made our way out of the park, toward the lot where Mr. Crane was parked. Damon had given me his hoodie to cover up my ripped shirt—or Rika’s ripped shirt, actually—and he held my hand, leading me past the crowds, the music, and his friends who were smart enough to know to leave us alone when he ignored their calls for him.

We approached the car, and I felt sprinkles of rain hit my hand as he held the door open, and I climbed in.

“Just drive,” I heard him tell Crane.

Thunder cracked overhead and rolled over the sky, and I heard shouts of excitement coming from the park as heavier drops hit the roof of the car.

He climbed into the backseat next to me, and I laid my head down on his lap, my eyes heavy and my body already feeling the residual ache of what we did against that wall.

I slid one of my hands in the center pocket of his sweatshirt, feeling my panties and smiled lazily.

I was glad he didn’t leave them on the floor in there.

Mr. Crane drove, and I reached up with my other hand, running the back of it over Damon’s cheek and neck, caressing his ear, too.

The gravel under the tires crackled, we jostled as he pulled onto the road, and then the pavement turned smooth as he coasted down the late-night highway.

I told him I loved him. But he hadn’t said it back.

It was okay. I didn’t need to hear it yet. He seemed to need to hear it himself, though. Like in the treehouse when we were kids. Desperate to keep me safe and by his side.

I got the impression from his friends that he was possessive with more than just me. If he found something good, he fought to keep it.

It could be a scary thing.

But it also meant he knew what was important. He worked to keep what he valued. Would he be so devoted to a wife?

His children?

I continued touching him, just savoring the feel of his skin and the feeling of peace at just lying here with him.

“What’s your tattoo?” I asked quietly, remembering how my friend noticed he had one.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, or ask how I knew, but then he answered, “A decaying snowflake.”

I raised my eyebrows. A decaying…

“Why?” I asked.

“Because of Winter by Walter de la Mare,” he replied softly. “Something still beautiful, even after what I did to her.”

Her. Me. The snowflake represented winter.

My throat tightened, and I kind of smiled and teared up at the same time. How did he do it? How did he always break my heart, especially in ways I loved?

“I wish you could see the sea,” he suddenly said, changing the subject. “The choppy waves and moonlight on the whitewash. The rain spilling from the dark clouds under a sliver of moonlight.”

I pictured it, what he was seeing, and I wondered if he felt guilty about what happened to me and all the things I could no longer see.

“I hear it,” I told him in a quiet voice as I listened to everything around me. “The drops on the roof, heavier or lighter in certain areas, because the trees are catching some of it not hitting us.” I caressed his neck, finding his ear lobe with my fingers as I listened for more. “The storm drains we pass every minute or so, because the tires are hitting where the water pools as it flows into the underground.” And then I smiled, telling him, “And the rhythm of the wipers and how they sound like We Will Rock You when the two in front go and then the one in the back does, and it’s like “swipe, swipe, SWIPE”.” I imitated the beat of the song and how the wipers mimicked it.

I heard him laugh under his breath.

I continued. “The way I know he’s driving over the speed limit, because it wasn’t windy tonight, but the rain sounds torrential as it hits the windows.” I wetted my lips, feeling his hand move to my hair and smooth it over and over again. “There’s more thunder over the sea than there is over the forest,” I said, analyzing more sounds in my head, “and it’s getting closer to us.”

I brought my hand down, tucking both in the pocket again to keep warm.

“How, with everything going on out there,” I went on, “I feel like I’m wrapped in a blanket in here—warm, dry, and safe. And all the world living and breathing and raging outside makes where I am seem like a world within a world. Like a fountain in a maze.” I paused, musing, “Like a home.”

Everything with him was like home.

“I hear so much more than when I could see,” I said, my voice turning to a whisper. “I don’t think I’d ever want to not hear all that now.”

I missed not seeing things and enjoying the world the way so many others did, but…I also saw the world so much more differently now. One kind of beauty was replaced with another.

I rested my head to the side and closed my eyes, lulled by all the little sounds and hoping that tomorrow would be more of this with no doubt between us.

“I do love you,” I told him again before I drifted off.

Just so he knew.

 

 

I woke the next morning in Damon’s bed, naked under the sheets, everything from last night slowly coming back to me. The party. The maze. The drive in the car.

The whole lot of extra energy he had in bed throughout the night when we got home.

I broke out in a smile, blissfully exhausted but more awake than I’d felt in a long time.

Reaching over, I didn’t feel him in bed, though. Patting his sheets and pillow, I landed on a piece of paper, it crinkling under my hand.

He wasn’t dumb enough to leave me a note, was he?

I picked it up, noticing the little pokes in the paper, and I laid it in my palm, running my fingers over the raised dots and instantly recognizing the Braille.

Moving left to right, over the cells, I deciphered the message.

 

Stay in bed. I’ll be back for breakfast. Then after breakfast, we’ll eat.