Page 55 of Protégé King

“It’s always been you,” he confesses.

I tremble inside and suck in a breath at the words I never thought I’d hear. “Damion,” I whisper.

He answers by turning me to face him, our mouths close as he says, “Always you,” and then his mouth slants over my mouth in a raging kiss that leaves me trembling all over again and us all over each other. At some point, he hikes me onto what I think is the kitchen counter and yanks my panties away, leaving me gasping in shock.

In a rush of kissing me and shoving down his pants, nothing separates us, and he scoops me into him, fingers in the slick heat of my sex a moment before he presses inside me. I pant with how hard he is, how thick, how he stretches me, easing into me, until he drives deep, and I’m moaning with the impact, clinging to his shoulders.

At some point he shoves down my bra and lifts me, holding all my weight, pulling me hard into his thrusts and pumps. It’s wild, erotic, frenzied in a wickedly fast way that has me shattering and he’s shuddering way too fast, and somehow not fast enough. I end up back on the counter, and his face is buried in my neck, my arms draped around him.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

I laugh and drag my fingers through his hair. “Why do you ask that?” He inches back to look at me, searching my face for confirmation, and I laugh all over. “Of course, I’m okay. I just had an orgasm with you inside me on your kitchen counter.”

“It’s not very romantic.”

The idea that he wants to be romantic pleases me almost as much as what just happened. “Are we trying to be romantic? Because it was hot make-up sex, and that ranks right up there with romantic.”

He studies me again, looking for something, I don’t know what, and says nothing until he lifts me again. “Come on.” I hold onto his neck and end up in a bathroom that looks more like a resort spa, with a claw tub, a rain shower and a window view of the city.

When I’m cleaned up, he backs me against the counter and presses his hands on the surface on either side of me. “I need you to stay here, Alana, live here with me.”

“Why?

“I want you here.”

“Why?” I press because it’s sudden, and I can read him. There’s more to this.

“My father will hurt you to hurt me. He sees you as my weakness.”

“Am I?” I ask, not liking this new role he’s given me, not wanting to be a weakness, or weak at all.

“Take him out of the equation and I still want you to stay, Alana. I still want you to move in with me.”

He wants me to stay. Not move in with him. Stay until he deals with his father. I feel confused again. “I need to get dressed, and for the record, you didn’t answer me about being a weakness, so I’ll take that as yes.”

I try to get off the counter and he cages me. “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Anyone who does is weak and distracted. It’s what he believes. It doesn’t make it true. It just tells me how he will come at me.”

I press my hand to his cheek. “I get that. I do. I just don’t know how to make this right. I don’t know a lot of things right now.” I grab his wrist and eye his ridiculously expensive watch. “We really do need to get dressed and get out of here.”

He hesitates but helps me down. A few minutes later, I’m dressed and have freshened up. I’m now standing at a window with stunning views that overlook the city while Damion changes. He’s the one who ended up wrinkled. I turn around and scan the magnificently modern and extremely expensive apartment. Lots of brown leather, books, art, and, of course, since Damion loves his sports, a giant big screen. He wants me to live here with him. And I would, I really would, if it really was him asking me for him, for us. But it’s not. It’s about his father. I feel like both of our lives have always been about his father.

Damion steps out of the bedroom in a gray suit, looking as handsome and powerful as ever, and, of course, my heart and belly flutter. I never see him without reacting, without feeling everything and more for him. I’m still not sure that’s even healthy. I’m also not sure I’m capable of fighting it or caring, at least most days.

“We should go,” he says, joining me, “but I need to give you something first.” He cups my face and kisses me. “I know I’ve fucked up my messaging, Alana.”

“You think?” I tease.

He reaches in his pocket and produces a velvet box and before I can react, he says, “You can’t be a fiancée without a ring.”

There’s a pinch of disappointed in my chest. This is not real, of course, it’s not real. “Okay,” I murmur.

He opens the lid and a stunning, heart-shaped diamond glistens and glows inside. My gaze jerks to Damion. “I used to love hearts as a kid.” I laugh but it’s sounds choked, even to my ears. “It’s kind of appropriate but it seems extravagant for a fake fiancée, Damion.”

“Because it wasn’t meant for a fake fiancée, Alana. Five years ago I got drunk and decided I could come back and get you. I chose the hearts because you always had them everywhere. You even drew them on me at one point.”

I can barely breathe. I can barely speak. “I—I don’t understand. We hadn’t talked and—”

He catches my chin, and leans in and kisses me, his lips lingering against mine for long moments even after the kiss ends. “This is me telling you, Alana, I meant what I said earlier. I might not have said it until tonight, but you have always been it for me. Always.”

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