Restore Me Page 8

  The distance between us is unwelcome.

  “When do you plan on selling Sutton’s property?” He asks the question like he’s asking about the fucking weather and it’s a slap in the face.

  “Ah, I wasn’t planning on selling his house or car at all.”

  I watch Zombie Damon as he seats himself robotically on the shitty sofa on the other side of the coffee table. I plop down across from him.

  “Those are things you need to be thinking about. You have no use for the property, Josephine. You can’t leave it empty. It needs regular maintenance and upkeep. So does the car.” He consults his phone. “I’ll have Brian look into selling them.”

  “You most certainly will not!” I blurt. “I’ll rent the house and drive the car some. Noni from The Diner is actually hoping to move out of her place, so maybe I’ll rent it to her for cheap. Just the cost of maintenance stuff. And taxes.” I lie my ass off to his face and I already feel bad for it. I’m just not ready to get rid of Captain’s house, and if worse comes to worse and Damon and I don’t work out, I’ll need a place to live.

  It’s obvious that he doesn’t buy my line of bullshit. For a second, his expression is stern, his fingers poised to call Brian.

  “It’s still too fresh, Damon,” I tell him honestly.

  “I know. Talk to Noni, then, please.” He gets up from his spot on the couch and starts to walk away. He pauses for a beat when he gets near me. His hand goes to my face and his thumb makes one pass over my bottom lip then falls away. He really is trying, but his eyes are still empty.

  I’ll just have to be patient and take what I can get. I want my sweet Damon back so badly I think I’d do just about anything.

  My ringing phone distracts me from watching Damon disappear into the hall leading to his office. I pull the phone from my bag and tap the answer button on the screen.

  “Hey, Brianna.” I laugh at my funny and inwardly pat myself on the back.

  “Like I’ve never heard that one before! I kind of like it when you say it, though, Jo. All badass. Maybe I should start doing drag just so I can use that name,” Brian purrs, sounding all kinds of flamboyant.

  “If you do sign up for a drag contest I’ll be your biggest fan. You can borrow my Jimmy Shoos. I mean Choos.”

  Brian bursts out laughing as I check the time and head into the kitchen to graze through the pantry for something to make for dinner.

  “Okay, so I would have texted you, but it would take forever and a day.”

  I roll my eyes. It’s kind of fun to have a friend to chat with on the phone. “What’s up?”

  “The designer for the store? Orange Cream Carrie or someone else? She called today asking a billion questions, but I didn’t know what to tell her, so I just took a message.”

  It’s my turn to laugh my ass off and I do. “She may be the exact shade of a creamsicle, but I bet she doesn’t taste like a frozen treat,” I sputter out between giggles.

  “Ask Damon, he might know.” Brian realizes his mistake the moment he says it.

  “He fucked her?”

  “Aw, shit. I…he…um…I’m not sure. Fuck, he’s gonna kill me.”

  Jealousy rears its hideous head and I can feel my blood start to boil. He fucking hired some stupid twat he slept with to decorate the store? My store?

  Oh.

  Hell.

  No.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I assure Brian. “It’s no biggie. I’ll handle Orange Cream Carrie. I wonder how he’d feel if I hired Handy Andy to come screw in some stuff around here.”

  “Ough, burn! Wait, who’s Andy?”

  I snicker mischievously into the phone. “He’s this ultra-hot maintenance guy at Grams’ retirement home. He and Damon had a staring contest when Damon came to get me today. It reeked of testosterone. He’s even hotter when he’s pissed, by the way. You probably knew that, though.”

  We both laugh. I turn to lean my back against the island and big fucking shock. There’s Damon. Great!

  “Hang up,” he growls. His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches.

  I contemplate ignoring him but decide against it. I don’t need to provoke him.

  “Oh shit. He’s in the room, isn’t he?” Brian whispers, even though Damon can’t hear him.

  “Yep. Call ya later, Brianna.” I hang up and set my phone on the counter behind me and prepare for the confrontation. I hope he’s ready, too, because I’m still not exactly happy about him hiring Orange Cream Carrie. I fold my arms and wait for it.

  “I don’t ever want to hear you talking about that asshole again.” The veins in his neck and arms are bulging as his anger gets the best of him.

  “Well, I don’t want to working alongside some bitch you screwed!” I snap. He doesn’t even flinch. “Although, I bet it’s all kinds of convenient for you; your current girlfriend working with your ex. It must allow you to keep your options pretty open.” So much for not provoking him. Fuck!

  “What are you doing in here?” he demands.

  In the kitchen? He has me confused now. “What? I was looking for something to make for dinner. I’m starving.”

  “We’ll order takeout.” He stalks toward me and I know I’m in trouble. Looks like a blindfold and bondage kind of night.

  “I can cook something quicker than—”

  He interrupts me by putting his finger over my lips and pulling me away from the island. He steps around me and sweeps my hair to one side with his hand. His lips come so close to my neck that chills consume me from head to toe.

  “Takeout,” he reiterates.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. He’s testing what little patience and self control I have.

  “We have some things to clear up before we order.” His moist lips go to my neck and he kisses me softly, drawing out the connection.

  A moan flies out of my mouth before I can stop it. It shows just how desperate I am for him. I’m desperate and needy for his touch; for his lips on my skin; for my Damon.

  ***

  Damon’s breath taunts my sensitized skin. “There’s not room for jealousy games in this relationship,” he whispers into my ear, coaxing a shiver. “We have enough going on.”

  His hands slip around to my front. One hand splays low across my back, holding me to him, while the other slides painfully slowly in between my thighs. My body is flush against his, chest to chest, and I can feel every muscled inch of him. He presses his bulging erection against me, making my body stir with desire. White-hot arousal makes my flesh slick and my cheeks burn. He teases my wanton body with slow, circular passes over my clit. I writhe in his grip.

  “Is this what you want?” he croons. His movements find a delicious, decadent rhythm; my heart begins to pound and I start to pant as his fingers work me closer and closer to orgasm.

  “Mhmm,” I moan, desperate for relief.

  His movements slow, leaving me frustrated. What the fuck, man?!

  “Walk,” he demands.

  I startle, but comply with a tentative step. He guides me all the way to the living room with one hand on the small of my back, the other still making slow circles over my clit. He releases me abruptly and I moan from the lack of contact.

  “Take off your clothes,” he demands, lounging back on the sofa and watching me closely.

  I take advantage of the attention and undress as slowly as possible, taking my sweet ass time folding each and every piece of my clothing, including my sopping wet panties.

  “Am I what you want?” His voice is hoarse and I catch him adjusting his pants.

  His question seems stupid, but I’ve come to understand that Damon has a rhyme and a reason to everything he does.

  “Of course.” I nod expressively. “Always.”

  He crooks his fingers and motions for me to come to him. “Take what’s yours, Josephine.”

  I step between his legs and immediately drop to my knees. I unbuckle his belt slowly, taking my time the way I know he likes it, and pull the leather from the loo
ps, tossing it to the other end of the couch. He’s watching me carefully, eyes dark with need. I unbutton and unzip his pants with ease and push them to floor. His hard cock peeks out from the top of his underwear and lies heavily against his lower stomach. I edge his boxer briefs down his hips, revealing inch after delicious inch. Every vein is pulsing, causing his heavy cock to twitch with each beat of his heart. I take it in my hand and give it one tentative stroke. Leaning in, I push his boxers to the floor and run the tip of my tongue from root to tip, swirling lightly across the top of the wide head. Damon groans deep and low in his chest and leans his head back against the couch, fisting the pillows on either side.

  I suck the tip of him into my mouth and take him as deep as I can manage. The head of his cock butts against the back of my throat with each pass. He whimpers and his hands move to cup my head, his fingers tangling into my hair. His skin is silky soft against my tongue and I take my time exploring every ridge and vein of his cock. The feel and taste of him on my tongue is a heady combination that has me aching to be filled. He thrusts his hips and I take as much of him as I can, stopping every once in a while to look up at him. Apparently the sight of a girl on her knees sucking cock is even better when she makes eye contact, because as soon as I do, he sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. His body tenses and he tugs my hair. With a jerk and a guttural moan, he comes deep in my throat. I’m pleased with myself as I swallow every drop and take my sweet time licking him clean.

  “Come here,” he orders. His cheeks are stained pink and he’s breathing hard and fast.

  I comply, standing slowly and stretching languorously before climbing on top of him. My opening hovers just over his still erect cock.

  He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Next time you say something about Handy Andy, just remember whose cock has claimed that filthy mouth of yours.” His words have me even hotter for him and before I can say a word, he positions himself at my wet opening and pulls me down on him. The exquisite feel of him driving deep into me, inch by velvety inch, steals my breath.

  “Now, get yourself off.” He interlocks his fingers behind his head and watches me with heavy eyes.

  I glance down at our connection, watching his cock disappear over and over into my body. It’s fucking perfect. My body accepts him so readily. I press my hand to my lower stomach, reveling in the feeling of physical completeness. His eyes follow my hand to my stomach then come back to meet mine. I grind my hips into his then begin to move up and down. I lean forward to grip the back of the couch, rubbing my clit gloriously against him. Damon’s hands go to my breasts, squeezing them almost painfully and tweaking my nipples. He leans forward to suck them and it sends a zap through me, making me grind harder on him. I moan as I approach release.

  “Don’t stop,” he growls through gritted teeth, burying his face between my breasts. “Please. Don’t stop!”

  A momentous surge of energy rips through me, stealing my breath as it goes. I throw my head back in ecstasy. “Fuck!” I cry out, my body clenching around his length over and over. I ride out my orgasm for everything its worth.

  Damon’s hands go to my hips. His fingers dig in as he makes another hard thrust and then comes apart. I feel him jolt as he empties himself deep within me again. God, he’s amazing.

  “Look at me.” He grips my jaw, forcing me to look him in the eyes before I’ve recovered. “No games.”

  I nod, knowing full well what he means. “If you fucked her, I don’t want to see her around. At all.”

  He taps my hip with his hand. It’s my cue to get off of him. So much for that moment. I ease him out of me and get to my feet. Damon stands up and tucks himself in his pants and gets zipped up.

  “It was one time and it doesn’t matter. Tell Brian to help you find another designer, if you want, but I won’t discuss it anymore. And I don’t want you going near that asshole Andy again.” He points his finger at me like its fucking loaded.

  Cold and uninviting Zombie Damon is reemerging. He’s damn good at making me feel used. We just had sex. Amazing sex. He came twice, for crying out loud. That’s practically unheard of for a guy. And already he’s acting like it was nothing. Like I’m nothing. I’m fucking sick of it.

  I snatch up my clothes from the floor and hold them protectively in front of my chest. “You know, I believe you when you say you’re trying, but don’t forget that I am too!” I snap.

  Damon runs his hands through his hair and watches me blow up.

  “You refuse to just talk to me. You fuck me then walk away. It makes me feel like some used up piece of trash, Damon! I love you and I’m waiting for you, so if you think I give two fucks about some maintenance guy, you’re dead wrong!” I shove myself into my clothes and storm off in search of Hemingway.

  I find my pup and plop down on the floor to pet him. I need to take a drive or something. I snapped at him, but it felt good for all of five seconds and now I feel like I’m the asshole. I don’t want to yell at him. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m trying hard to find out. If he would just open up and tell me, I could help him.

  Every bit of an hour has passed since I stomped upstairs. I know I should go find him and apologize. That’s what couples do, right? They fight, and then apologize, and life goes on. I pat Hemingway on the head then hop to my feet. I pad barefoot down the stairs, then down the hall to his office. He’s always in there. I don’t even have to guess where he is anymore. If he isn’t in his bed or the kitchen, he’s in his office. I hear a big thud when I get close to his office door and I waste no time swinging open the door.

  Damon is walking away from that damned cabinet with a limp. The bottom of one of the cabinet doors shows a crack in the wood. Small splintered pieces protrude in all directions. Christ. Maybe I should get him a punching bag. It’d be safer than kicking the furniture.

  “What’d the furniture ever do to you?!” I demand loudly.

  He turns to see me, his eyes glistening with tears. He’s been crying. Fuck. I really feel like shit now. He flops down in the chair behind his desk and I rush to him, climbing awkwardly up to straddle him.

  “Listen to me.” I take his face in my hands and force him to look at me. “I’m sorry. We’re both trying and that’s all that matters. It’s not perfect and it doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be. Just being is enough. It’s fine. It’s plenty. We may be fucked up but at least, we’re fucked up together, right?”

  I swipe my thumbs across the moisture beneath his gorgeous, sad eyes and lean in to kiss his forehead. He doesn’t do much to respond and that’s fine. It’s not always the most wonderful relationship, but it’s mine and I wouldn’t give him up for the world. He needs me and I know it, even if he can’t or won’t say it.

  ***

  One month later

  It’s the same thing every day. Damon gets up and goes to “work,” which usually consists of him spending most of the day in his office on the phone and on his computer. He owns a string of clubs, bars, and other businesses that require his attention. He delegates a lot of stuff to Brian and seems to have good faith in all of his site managers. He makes site visits to the bars and clubs every once in a while, but for the most part he works from home.

  I get up and pretend to be handling his distant behavior just fine. I’m not. I’m lonely and still grieving for the old Damon. I do most of my thinking on my drive to the bookstore each morning. I try not to make a big deal of it at home because I don’t want to throw it in his face. I have to believe that he’s working on getting himself together.

  Every other week, I drive my swanky new Volvo SUV over to Captain’s house and drive his car around. I can’t bear to sell it and Damon seems to be okay with me keeping it as long as I drive it often so it doesn’t just rot in the driveway. I’m still trying to get Noni to rent the house; I’m thinking of throwing the car in as part of the bargain.

  Captain’s sensible Taurus sedan comes to life with a contented purr. Driving his car makes me
feel close to him. I can still smell him in here. It smells like his awful, cheap, bright blue aftershave; I know because he used to ask me to pick up a bottle of it for him when he forgot to buy more. I’d bring it to the store and he’d twist the cap off and douse it on. It smelled like rubbing alcohol mixed with a bar of soap and I hated it. Now I’m tempted to go to the store and buy a bottle just to smell it when I want to. To remember that he was here. To remember that my Captain was just that; mine. He was my family.

  I spent seven years in his company and the only thing that can steal that from me is time. I have memories; for now. But they’ll fade, just like my memories of Maman and Papa. After 16 years, my precious memories have faded so much so that I strain to remember the sound of Maman’s voice when she would sing to me. I have to close my eyes and concentrate hard to picture Papa’s face smiling back at me.

  My memories of Captain are still fresh. It’s been over two months since he died and I still see him with my eyes open. I still smell him in this car. I still hear him in my head. But I know it won’t last; time will pass and rob me of more memories. I’m so fucking tired of getting the short end of the stick. I’m pissed off that I can’t be one of those lucky bitches cruising through life with a stupid grin on my face and a pleasant little life to show for it.

  Without paying much attention, I’ve somehow arrived back at the penthouse in one piece. I groan and park Captain’s car and debate going inside or taking the car back to his house first. I’m so damn overwhelmed and I just feel like hiding. I don’t want to be strong and brave anymore. I want Damon to magically get better already. I want my grief to miraculously disappear. I want the store to renovate itself. All while I hide; preferably in Damon’s arms. All of that shit is wishful thinking. I have no choice but to get my shit together and to push through all of this.

  “One thing at a time. Tackle one thing at a time. Damon first. Brian can always take the car back later,” I say to myself and the steering wheel. I should call Grams. Talking to her always makes me smile. I’ve bonded with that comical old bat over the past two and a half months. I love her like crazy and I have Damon to thank for bringing the two of us together. She and Versan are singing the same damn tune, though, and it’s called sit and wait. Be patient, they say every single time. I’m tired of this song and dance. I’m close to losing my head over all of this.