Page 47 of Filthy and the Beast

Eight minutes past sunset.

That’s how long Damian and I take to drop the work shit and go at each other again. I’m in the garden, throwing the ball with the girls and fighting the urge to run to him. Already spilled my guts this morning. Even let him walk Petunia.

Then Damian strolls outside, wearing his overalls. The faded denim hugs him just tight enough.

I don’t fucking know. He looks hot.

We talk. He flirts. I grunt.

Next thing I know, I’m sucking his dick on the garden path, stone hard against my knees. Damian strokes my face and tells me how good I’m doing, guiding me to suck him, but not too hard. Thrusts his silky erection against my tongue and tugs at my hair.

No one’s ever done that. Pulled my hair. I’ve never let anyone touch me like this, let alone a man twenty years younger than me.

Never had a cock in my mouth, thrusting between my lips. Entering me.

All these new sensations leave me feeling vulnerable. I let my guard down, and now I don’t know how to get it back up.

Don’t want to.

Feel free.

We finish by rubbing our dicks together, cum everywhere. Damian’s been cooking a lot, so I insist on ordering delivery. While we wait for the healthy sandwiches he insisted on, he peppers me with questions about boxing. The mechanics of the fight, structure of the matches.

Smart questions. Answering them feels bittersweet, like I’m pretending when I don’t even know what career I think I’m going back to.

After we eat and wash up, I’m still buzzing, energy pulsing through my veins. Damian mentions wanting to watch a movie, and my brain freaks out. I suddenly need him to invite me to zone out with him.

Fuck, relaxing on the couch and just not talking would feel so, so good.

But he doesn’t invite me, exactly. So before I embarrass myself, I make an excuse and head to my room, and a minute later to my truck.

My heart is beating hard. I feel good, but anxious, too.

Think about going to the lake first, but instead, I call Nat. She’s home and open to a visitor, only a little freaked I called. When I get there, she’s in the gym, wearing running tights and a sports bra, and she’s still got the glow of working out, but she’s moved on to drinking beer.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she teases.

I go straight to the fridge for a cold one. “What does that mean?”

“It means you never call out of the blue, so I know you’re here for more than an update on my match.”

“I watched the match.” I twist the cap. She won. She almost always wins. “Your footwork stayed strong. Didn’t falter at all. And the left hook was right where it needs to be.” I nod. “Good job.”

Smiling, she clinks her bottle to mine. “Thanks.”

“Where’s Gwen?” I usually see her wife for a chat when I’m here.

“In the lab. She won’t be home until late.” She holds the beer to her temple, cooling herself. “Any more questions to delay the inevitable?”

I frown. “Fine. I think I need advice.”

“Sure.” Nat’s expression softens, and she pulls up a stool to sit. “Anytime. What’s on your mind?”

I lean back against the ring, resting my weight on the platform and the familiar feel of stretched canvas. “It’s Damian. I need him to stay, but his contract ends this week.”

“Oh.” She looks surprised, probably expecting something more pressing since I drove all the way over. “I thought you would be okay on your own. Did something go wrong with your recovery?”

“No. Didn’t think I would need him.” I swig the beer. “But now I’m going to be training full-time. And we’re, uh…” I wave my hand in the air, not sure how to say it. “Having sex or whatever. It’s just not the time for him to go.”

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