Page 110 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
His voice is bland. I glance at his features to find a mask, devoid of emotion.
"Damian, what’s wrong?" I clear my throat, "Please, talk to me."
He cleans off the remnants of our joined cum from my thighs, then flings the cloth aside. He steps back, reaches for my clothes and hands them to me. "Get dressed," he orders.
I stare at him for a moment; he glances away.What the hell?
My heart begins to race. This is crazy. We just made love… Okay, we fucked, and it was insanely hot, and the orgasm? Why the hell does each one seem better than the last? And now, why is he turning away from me? I pull on my jeans, tie up my sneakers and straighten my shirt the best I can.
"Sit." He gestures to a chair, then walks around to the other side of the bed. Like that would put enough distance between us?
I watch him as he paces the carpet, Riley’s now mussed-up bed between us.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He pauses mid step. "About what?"
"This." I point at his daughter’s bed, "How long has this been going on?"
"Since she died in a car accident, a year ago. Her mother drove her car with the two of them over a bridge."
"Oh, my God," I gasp. "I am so sorry, Damian. I can only imagine—"
He holds up his hand, then turns away. "Save your pity," he throws at me over his shoulder, "I’ve had enough of it."
I purse my lips, wait as he continues to pace, back-forth-back.
"Meredith—?" I finally venture.
"Is aware that I am in therapy."
"So, when she comes over to help—"
He nods. "It’s the only way I can manage to leave the house, if I am confident I have someone at home with—" He squeezes his palms at his sides. "At home."
"I understand," I reply.
"Do you?" He tilts his head.
"Of course, I do." I tip up my chin, "You're in therapy and this is one way of helping you get through the ordeal. It may sound strange to an outsider, but grief can do the most bizarre things to anyone. I am happy she has been there for you when you’ve most needed support. I only wish—"
I draw in my inner lip, glance away.
"Tell me." His voice softens, "You know you can say anything that's on your mind to me, Flower."
I release the breath I'd not been aware I was holding. "I wish you'd let me in earlier. I wish you hadn't felt the need to hide the situation from me. I wish it had been me that you'd turned to for help."
His shoulders uncoil, and that's when I realize how nervous he'd been about sharing this part of himself with me.
"I… I do understand, Damian," I say softly.
"Do you?" He laughs. "The delusional rock star who messed up the only thing that was of any worth in his life."
"Don’t say that." I frown.
He continues to pace back-forth-back as I track his movements. Finally, he stops, then turns to me. "What?" he barks.
"I didn’t say anything," I point out.
