Page 18 of Mine to Tease

“Yes,” I say. “But not for me. For you.” At that, I lower my hands to his belt buckle once more. Only, like before, I’m met with his resistance.

“Easy there,” Damon says, taking a step back from me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

“Nothing, uh—” Damon lifts his hand to his neck as if massaging away some tension. I’ve noticed him do it a few times. Perhaps it’s a nervous tick or something he does when he needs to think through his answer.

Unable to keep the hurt from his rejection from rising inside me, I ask, “Why won’t you let me touch you, Damon? Or see you? In all this time, you’ve never even taken off your shirt. And I know it’s not because you’re insecure.”

Damon lowers his hand to his side and shakes his head. Feeling a disconnect between us, I reach for my shirt and quickly slip it on over my shoulders.

“I just…this is still new, Anastasia. I’m okay pleasing you, but to ask you to please me is something different entirely.”

“It’s not that new. It’s been a month, Damon, and we’ve known each other for nearly three. But if that’s how you feel, then okay. Explain to me why though. Why would me pleasing you be so different than you pleasing me? Because I want to, Damon. I want to please you. I want to touch you, taste you, see you. I want to feel close to you.” As the words leave me, I wonder if that’s the problem. Is he afraid I’ll become too attached to him? We have gotten close, I mean… Maybe he’s right, but something about this feels off if it’s only one-sided.

“I just think we should take this slow. There are still things you don’t—” Damon stops himself before finishing his sentence, which only leaves my mind to wander. Things I don’t what? Know? Know how to do? Maybe he fears my inexperience just as much as I do. Embarrassed, I shrink into myself and lower my head. I place my hands in my lap and pick at my cuticles despite my fresh manicure.

“Hey, don’t stress about this, okay?” Damon says. He closes the distance between us and comes to stand before me. Reaching me, he wraps his hands around mine, forcing me to stop destroying my nails. “Anastasia, look at me.” His voice is soft and gentle, as is his gray-blue gaze as I comply. “You are amazing and beautiful and perfect, just the way you are. My issues have nothing to do with you.”

“But I want to understand them. I want to understand you. I want to know the man who touches me, and I want to be able to touch him, please him, the same way he pleases me or else?—”

“Or else what?” It’s then that the slam of a door and voices downstairs draws our attention. It’s late on a Friday night, which I’ve come to know is one of his shop’s busiest times. If all his artists are occupied with appointments and walk-ins come in, he has to attend to them. “I should go check on that, make sure everything is okay,” he says then. I nod, not wishing to continue our conversation anyway.

I know this is just an arrangement. I shouldn’t desire to know him or feel close to him. The fact that I do would probably be enough for him to end it and I’m not ready for it to end—yet. But I’m not sure how much longer I can suppress certain urges, perhaps even certain feelings. The more I’ve gotten to know him and gotten used to having him in my life, the fewer reasons I’m able to come up with as to why I don’t want more with him.

When I first realized my attraction to him, it was his behavior that made me fight it. And when he said he wasn’t boyfriend or husband material, I believed him because I had no reasons not to. When he told me not to fall in love with him, I could’ve laughed in his face because how dare he think that I could love him. When this began, it was as emotionless and contractual for me as it is for him. At least, I think. But now… Now, I don’t know.

Damon gives my hands a final squeeze and leaves me with a kiss on the forehead. I pinch my eyes closed to savor it. When I open them, he’s gone. I sit in silence, unsure of how I feel, as Brinkley continues to destroy one of my favorite bras. I guess that’s what I get for getting involved with an emotionally unavailable fuckboy who’s only ever going to hurt me. Deep down, I know the truth. I know this is going to end in disaster. Once the orgasms stop, we’ll be back to fighting like before except now his verbal blows will sting even more because for a single second I gave a damn about him.

Maybe, in the beginning, I convinced myself this would be harmless. Now that I can see its tragic end, I can’t break free because I’m too addicted—to him, to the way he makes me feel, to what he does to my body, to how it feels to be wrapped in his arms, absorbing all his warmth. I can’t let that go yet. I can’t let him go, even though, in moments like this one, it doesn’t feel like I have him at all. “Ugh, I can’t think about this right now.” Especially not when my skin is still damp from his kisses. It’s late and I’m tired. Right now, the best thing for me is a quiet night at home—alone. If I am starting to care too much, then, for my own sake, I need some distance and detachment. Even if my feelings for him are changing, that doesn’t mean his feelings for me have. He is a man of his word and his word—his rule—hasn’t changed.

20

As I make my way down the wooden stairwell, I instinctively reach for the pocket knife I always keep in my back pocket. Wrapping my fingers around it, I ready myself for a quick pull. I’m sure it’s nothing, but since I can’t exactly keep my gun strapped to my hip without drawing Anastasia’s suspicions, I’m a bit more cautious than I’d normally be. Sure enough, as I step off the landing and round the corner to my parlor, I find Angelo stumbling around, slurring his words as he searches for me. Despite the gun on his hip, half hidden by his navy suit jacket, he’s not a threat. Although, he is a drunken disturbance I don’t want anywhere near Anastasia. His outfit suggests he’s been on mob duty and his state of inebriation lets me know something is amiss. Thankfully, my artists are with their regular clients tonight who know better than to ask questions and are all used to turning a blind eye when something like this happens. But, Anastasia is not so familiar with the drill, nor can I allow her to overhear whatever has brought Angelo here tonight.

I release the grip on my knife as I come up behind him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask. He spins around quickly as if I’ve startled him. His hand moves to the gun on his hip, but once he realizes it’s me, he opens his arms wide as if seeking an embrace.

“Damon!” he says, clearly unaware of his volume. As he takes a wobbly step toward me, I extend my arm with my palm facing him. He walks into my hand before noticing the annoyance on my face and the tension in my stance. “Well, you don’t seem very pleased to see me.”

“I’m not. Look, it’s late and we’re about to close. Whatever this is, it can wait,” I tell him. Taking him by the arm, I begin to lead him toward the exit.

“Damon, don’t be like this. I just need someone to talk to. This—this Cross fellow is?—”

“This is not the time nor place, Angelo,” I say, cutting him off before he can say more.

“He’s just an asshole. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” Yeah, no kidding. I’ve almost got him to the exit when Brinkley bails off the landing of the stairwell and darts out in front of us.

“Holy Hell! When did you get a dog?” Angelo asks.

“I didn’t,” I say, closing my eyes as I know Anastasia won’t be far behind him. As I register her footsteps, I know there’s no way I can get Angelo out of here before she reaches us. I turn to him, placing my hands on his shoulders. “Look, go wait for me in my office. We can talk there.” In truth, I have no desire to hear his complaints. I just don’t want him around Ana, not tonight or any other night. But right now, especially. He’s drunk and that makes him reckless and talkative. He gives me a nod and starts on his way, but is quickly distracted by Brinkley, who is sniffing his shoes. Fuck me.

“Pretty puppy,” Angelo coos as he picks Brinkley up. Brinkley immediately turns into a little devil, growling, yapping, and showing him his teeth.

“He doesn’t play well with others,” I say as I take Brinkley from him. I expect him to nip at me too, but to my surprise, he doesn’t. I guess we have worked through some of our issues over the past month with me taking him out to potty and occasionally feeding him some of my food when Ana and I share a meal. Whoever said bribery was a bad thing?

Brinkley settles in my arms just as Ana reaches the end of the stairwell and turns toward us. She’s got her purse and Brinkley’s go bag slung over her shoulder. Seeing Angelo, she uses it and her crossed arms to cover her chest as she takes a step toward us. Oh, right. Her bra. It wouldn’t have been a problem if I was walking her home like I’ve done most nights since we started our arrangement. She’d feel safe with me and no one would dare approach her or comment on her appearance with me by her side. But with Angelo here, I can’t accompany her home tonight.

“Sorry for the interruption. Hopefully, he didn’t bother you two too much,” she says, offering Angelo a small smile.

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