Page 75 of Damaged

“The dress and all.”

“Darn. Here I thought you were hoping to get in my pants.”

“You’re not even wearing pants. Or underwear for that matter.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He tilts his head to one shoulder. An expression that says,guilty as charged.

James orders a bottle of wine, and after I’ve had a glass along with a couple pieces of focaccia that melt in my mouth, I feel confident to start to get deeper than small talk.

“That night in Morocco… Why didn’t we finish what we started?”

“We’re about to,” James says in a deep voice and runs his hand up my leg under the table. Electricity. Heat.

Pop rocks jumping in my stomach.

I have to take a deep breath to keep talking. “It took you some time to change your mind.”

James goes quiet for a moment. Curse this wine. I need to learn to just keep flirting. But I want to know more of this man’s mind. It’s not just his body and face that drive me wild.

He licks his lips. “Listen to me, snowflake. I’m not simply into sex.” He grips my thigh closer to my crotch. My breathing stops completely for a moment.

“If we do this, you’re mine. Do you understand me? Not another man’s. Not on the market. Until our relationship runs its course, you. Belong. To me.”

“Completely and utterly,” I whisper. “Yours.”

“Good.”

The waiter comes by, and James gently releases his hand and slowly sets it back on the table.

“Are you ready to order?”

I’m too turned on to speak, but James seems to know this.

“Yes. She’ll have the pappardelle con funghi, and I’ll have your tagliatelle.”

“Excellent, sir.”

James hands the menus to the waiter. The pappardelle was exactly what I wanted. Yet I didn’t mention it. Did he see where my eyes lingered on the menu? Did I even mention that I like mushrooms ever?

Maybe it was just a coincidence. I don’t want to act impressed. I don’t ask how he did his trick. I’m not even surprised.

It feels like James Callaway being able to read minds wouldn’t be that shocking. What more talents could the man have? I think he’d have to fly or turn invisible for my jaw to drop.

The food comes out quickly, and as delicious as it is, I try to focus on getting my thoughts straight. Do I want this? Tobe James’s? Of course I do. My body does at least. Just sitting across from him is like I’m holding on to an electric fence. My skin, pulse, and breath are all so sensitive to his lightest touch.

But I can’t help but feel like my feelings are deeper than his. It’s why he didn’t go further in Morocco. He knows he can’t love me like I love him.

It’s this fact I’m grappling with. I wish I could turn my feelings off for him. Be as stoic as he is when it comes to sex. But how could I want another man?

I grimace as I have another sip of wine. To lose him… To go back to men who have sinks full of dirty dishes and can’t keep their fingernails clean… To go back to boys… Maybe that’s what I’m risking. Seeing just how greener the grass can be.

Is it all worth just a good night of sex or two? To be his item for as long as he wants until he tosses me out?

I’m not sure, but at this point, I’m no longer certain I have a choice. I’ve given control to my impulses.

I’ve given control to James.

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