Page 34 of Damron
He finally faced me, and for a second I saw the man from a decade ago—the one who once made me come on a roof inAlbuquerque, then nearly got us killed two minutes later. “You got any coffee?” he said.
I led him to the kitchen. He watched me grind beans, eyes never leaving my hands, as if I might slip arsenic into the French press. When it was brewing, I leaned against the counter and let the silk robe slide an inch down my shoulder. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s a little much.”
“Little much is what’s keeping you alive,” he said. “You’re not safe here.”
“That’s the point,” I said, letting a smile flicker. “If I wanted safe, I’d be in witness protection, or dead. Maybe both.”
He took the coffee, sipped, made a face like I’d served him battery acid. “This is shit.”
“It’s organic,” I said, deadpan.
He stared at the mug. “It’s still shit.” Then, softer: “You could’ve told me about the apartment.”
I shrugged, because what else could I do? “Old habits. I kept it after the divorce. Sometimes I need a place to disappear.”
He nodded, like that made sense. “You disappear, people get worried.”
I snorted. “You mean you get worried.”
He didn’t bite. Instead, he set the mug down with a thud and stepped in close, crowding my space the way he always had—deliberate, not quite threatening, but loaded. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?” I asked, annoyed at how quickly my heart started to hammer.
“That it’s not just you on the line. It’s everyone who ever mattered to you. Your campaign. The club. Me.” His hand drifted up, fingertips grazing the lapel of my robe, not quite touching skin.
I batted it away, forcing a laugh. “You planning to chain me to this life forever?”
“If it means keeping you alive,” he said, “fucking right I am.”
I couldn’t decide if I wanted to slap him or drag him into bed. Instead, I backed up, arms folded, and tried to look unimpressed. “You’re enjoying this a little too much, Damron. Playing the big bad wolf.”
He grinned, all teeth. “You always liked the wolf better than the sheep.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang—a shrill, insistent warble that could only mean politics. I checked the caller ID. “It’s campaign. I have to take this.”
He gestured, a mocking little bow. “Don’t let me stop you, Senator.”
I retreated to the bedroom, phone pressed to my ear, Damron’s silhouette still visible in the kitchen. As the voice on the other end launched into damage control over yesterday’s fire, I stared at him through the doorway. He stood with his back to me, arms folded, head cocked, every inch of him radiating the promise of violence and the threat of something more dangerous.
When the call ended, I exhaled hard and wondered—not for the first time—if there was such a thing as a safe place anymore. Even surrounded by deadbolts and alarms, it never felt like enough.
Not when the wolf was already inside the door.
I returned to the kitchen for another shitty cup of coffee. I leaned against the counter, facing Damron as I sipped. His eyes landed on me with dirty intent. He approached slowly, eyes never leaving mine. His hand slid down between my knees and then began working upward toward my wet pussy.
"Aren't you a little eager?" I asked, my voice dropping to a husky whisper despite my attempt at sarcasm.
"Fuck," he growled, pushing my robe up my thighs. "You've been teasing me since you walked in with this fucking silk thingbarely covering you that delicious cunt of yours. You know exactly what you are doing."
His fingers found my already slick entrance, and I gasped as he slid two thick digits inside me without warning. My head fell back against the cabinet with a thud.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he muttered, his eyes darkening. "Always ready for me, aren't you?"
I wanted to deny it, to maintain some illusion of control, but my body betrayed me as I ground against his hand. "Don't flatter yourself," I managed to say, but the words dissolved into a moan when his thumb found my clit.
Damron smirked, that cocky half-grin that had always made me want to both punch him and fuck him senseless. "Your mouth says one thing, but this sweet pussy says another."
In one swift motion, he lifted me onto the counter, knocking my coffee mug to the floor where it shattered. Neither of us gave a damn. He yanked my robe open, exposing my breasts to the cool morning air.
