Chapter 4

4

DELANEY

I wake up the same way I fell asleep—thinking of Damien's kiss. I stretch out in bed before rolling over and grabbing my phone to check the time. It's Sunday, so I don't have work, and I can revel in a few extra minutes in bed.

I open my phone to a text from a new number.

Unknown: Good morning, pretty girl. Can I take you out for food? - Damien

My heart jumps, and I'm officially wide awake. I save his contact with a heart-eye emoji next to it, butterflies fluttering around my stomach.

Me: I'd love that.

It only takes him a minute to reply.

Damien: I'll come pick you up in half an hour. Pack your passport ;)

I frown at the instruction, a little confused, but giddy excitement takes over. Then my brain registers the fact that Damien's given me just half an hour to pull myself together and throw myself out of bed and into the shower.

Twenty-eight minutes later, I'm showered and dressed in jeans and a cute shimmery top. I twist my hair up with a clip and rummage around in my stuff drawer for my passport. I'm just tucking it in my handbag when Damien knocks on my door, ready to take me out.

I can't stop smiling as he leads me down to where a sleek black car idles by the sidewalk. Damien holds the door open for me, and I slide into the back seat, where he joins me seconds later. As soon as we're settled, the car pulls away, and Damien's hand covers mine on the middle seat. I expect the driver to head further into the city where most of the restaurants and brunch places are, but instead, he turns right to head in the opposite direction out of the city.

"Where are we going?" I ask Damien, far too curious to be patient.

Damien laughs, and the sound makes me feel all warm and cozy. God, he looks amazing in a white shirt and fitted black slacks.

"Patience, pretty girl," he answers cryptically, giving me no real answer at all. "I promise it's a good surprise."

"What did I need my passport for?" I push, hoping he'll give in a little. Anticipation swirls in my belly, and I'm practically bouncing in my seat with excitement.

I pretend to pout, glancing out the windows as though there'll be a convenient sign or billboard announcing exactly where we're going. Of course, there's not, and by the time the car turns off the main road, I think I might explode with unanswered questions.

I furrow my brows, confusion washing over me, as I catch sight of a plane out my window. Two seconds later, a sign above the entrance to a small but well-kept building announces that we've arrived at the Browne & Bright Private Airport.

I blink, rereading the sign as though I've suddenly forgotten the letters I spend my weeks teaching kids.

"Your name's on the sign for a … private airport?" I ask, astounded.

Damien's lip twitches in a smirk. "Well, mine and a business associate who shared the same need as I did—somewhere to house our private jets where no paparazzi could hound us when we're just trying to take a damn flight."

I know he's rich. More than rich. But I guess I hadn't really considered exactly what that meant until now. Damien Bright has a private jet, like all billionaires, I suppose. Meanwhile, the only flight I've ever taken was to Florida for a spring break girls' trip in college.

Damien notices the shock on my face and reaches for me, cupping my jaw gently. "I don't want to overwhelm you," he says, "But I do want to spoil you the way you deserve, Delaney. Let me."

I can only nod and let him take my hand and lead me inside. The driver helps with our bags, neither he nor Damien letting me carry anything myself, and minutes later, we're being greeted by a smiling flight attendant welcoming us aboard Damien's private jet.

Even with my very limited plane experience, I know the jet is insane . Luxury doesn't seem to encompass it. The seats are plush and comfy, practically armchairs. There's a sofa towards the back that looks far comfier than the one I have in my apartment, and a blue velvet curtain separates the main cabin from something else at the back.

Damien catches me staring as we walk to the seats and gestures to the curtain. "There's a bedroom back there for long flights or if we have to fly overnight. Jet lag's a bitch, after all."

I nod as if I've ever experienced jet lag, trying not to let my mouth hang open in awe as we sit.

"Will you tell me where we're going now?" I ask hopefully.

Damien grins. "I told you I wanted to take you out for food. So we're going to the best restaurant I know."

I want to ask him more, but then the pilot comes out to greet Damien and introduce himself to us, and the flight attendant pours us drinks and gets us snacks as the pilot preps for take off. She runs through a safety demonstration, and then the jet engine is rumbling, and we're speeding down the runway.

I clutch Damien's hand as we take to the sky, equally filled with adrenaline and a little nervousness, but it only takes a few minutes before we level out, and I stop feeling like my stomach's been left behind on the ground.

There's an electronic ding, and then the pilot's voice filters over the speakers. "Once again, welcome aboard. There's clear skies and good winds today for our route to Paris, and our flight time will be around seven hours. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight."

I gape at Damien, who's grinning at me.

"Paris?!" I gasp.

"Paris," he repeats back.

"But I-I didn't pack clothes or bring anything with me, and I have work tomorrow." Practicalities get in the way of my giddy excitement.

But Damien doesn't look the least bit concerned, with a knowing glint in his eyes and a smile on his lips. "I told you I'd take care of you, pretty girl, and I meant it. I'll take you shopping for clothes in Paris, and I've already spoken to the school."

"You … you spoke to the school?" I pause, catching up to what he means. "You're the Bright on the donor list," I say, remembering the list of donors that always sends the school a generous sum at the start of the year for supplies and training and whatever else keeps the school going. It's one of the best private schools in the area, largely because of the resources they can afford.

Damien nods. "I make sure to support Lola's education any way I can," he tells me. "It has the added benefit of getting to know the principal and your boss. I explained to him that you were going away on a last-minute trip and that you'd need cover for a few days. It's taken care of."

I choke on a shocked laugh. "You really weren't kidding about looking after me."

Damien's eyes darken. "I would never joke about that."

As I stare into his eyes, it feels like nothing else exists but us. A thousand feet off the ground, the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders for a few days. There's a tug in the center of my chest pulling me to Damien, and I'm hopeless to resist.

I don't know which one of us moves first but sparks fly over my skin as our lips meet. I moan as his hand sinks into my hair, and he takes over, kissing me so deeply I don't think I'll ever recover. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, asking me to open for him, and I know I'd do anything he asked. I whimper as his tongue sweeps against mine, needing closer, needing more. I feel like I've been set on fire with need, and I grip his shirt in my fists, unsure what I'm asking for but feeling like I might combust if I don't get it.

"Can I get you—oh!" The flight attendant's sentence cuts off with a startled sound, and I pull away from Damien so fast my head spins. My face heats, and I duck my head, unable to look the woman in the eye.

Damien just chuckles, unperturbed. I try to squirm away, realizing I'm still straddling his lap, but he hooks his arm around my waist and holds me against him. The message is clear and only makes me flush hotter—he's not embarrassed or ashamed. The flight attendant apologizes profusely, clarifying that she was just coming to ask if we'd like anything else and when we'd like our meal served. Damien answers her kindly while I bury my head in his shoulder and pretend to disappear.

I barely hear what Damien answers over the rushing of my own blood in my head.

"You okay, pretty girl?" Damien whispers into my hair, and I groan as I lift my head.

"Just not used to getting caught making out with someone," I mumble, laughing a little at myself. "I don't know how you're so chill about it."

"The entire world could be staring, and I wouldn't give a shit so long as you're in my arms, Delaney."

"How are you so perfect?" I whisper, my thoughts coming out unbidden.

"Money and privilege," he jokes, and I laugh at the expression on his face. I'm about to reply when my stomach growls, interrupting me. "Our meal's on its way," Damien assures me, placing a soft kiss on my lips before I pull away and settle next to him.

Minutes later, the flight attendant lays out a veritable feast in front of us. Pastries, sausage and bacon, pancakes, fresh fruit and champagne, and orange juice. I feel like I'm dining in one of those fancy brunch places I can never afford to go to rather than soaring through the sky.

"Oh my God," I moan as I eat a bite of pancakes topped with blueberry jam. Damien's eyes drop to my mouth, heat flashing in their blue depths.

I eat until I'm stuffed, drink champagne, and teach Damien the art of winning hangman by beating him in the game twenty times. I'm not entirely sure if he's letting me win or not, but either way, I laugh so hard my cheeks hurt, so it doesn't matter. The hours pass in a blur of happiness and good food and company, and by the time we're descending into Paris, I can't think of any other time in my life I've felt this happy.

Damien lets me squeeze his hand as we land, though the landing is as smooth as the entire flight has been. He keeps his fingers twined with mine as he leads me off the plane, through passport control, and straight to a sleek black car waiting for us at arrivals.

I expect to go straight to the hotel or wherever we're staying, but instead, we're driven to a beautiful boutique. There's security on the door, who nods and shakes Damien's hand, letting us in without a minute's wait.

The boutique smells like expensive perfume, decorated with luxurious minimalism that highlights the racks of delicately, intricately designed dresses. It's the kind of place I've looked through the windows of, admiring but never dreamed of stepping inside. I itch to run my hands over the gorgeous fabrics, but I'm too scared to touch them for fear I'll damage anything.

"Ah, Monsieur Bright!" a light, welcoming voice greets, drawing my attention from the racks to the sales lady who approaches us.

Damien kisses her on both cheeks, his hand in mine as he introduces me as his girl.

"What is it you're looking for today, Madame Bright?" she asks me, and butterflies explode in my stomach at hearing her address me with his name. I don't correct her, and neither does Damien, sparks shooting across my skin when he squeezes my hand.

"Whatever she wants," Damien instructs, and my mouth drops open.

"I can't possibly … this stuff is so gorgeous, I can't imagine how much it costs," I blabber out.

Damien raises a brow. "Money's no object, pretty girl. You deserve the best."

I'm too speechless to say anything else, and when the lady whisks me away to take my measurements and ask my preferences of color and fabric, I find myself grinning from ear to ear.

She hands me a silk robe and brings me dresses to try on. One of them is a deep pink silk, playful and sophisticated at the same time. The skirt flares out a little at the waist, hitting my ankles, and the bodice is structured and tightened with a corset back that makes it fit perfectly to my waist and accentuates the hell out of my boobs. I turn in the mirror, awe-struck.

"This was Monsieur Bright's choice," the attendant tells me with a grin as she smooths out the fabric. "He has a good eye, no?"

I nod, emotion rising in me fast. The way he's treating me, spoiling me … I've never felt anything like it. The connection between us is unlike anything I ever imagined, but I can't deny the need I have for him. He promised to take care of me, and he's proving he's a man of his word.

The consultant pulls back the satin curtain of the dressing room so I can show Damien his dress choice. I turn, finding that I'm nervous for him to see me.

His eyes go dark, and he shifts in his seat. His gaze roams over me hungrily, stealing my breath.

"Fuck, Delaney," he groans, biting his fist.

I shift, looking down at myself and then back up at him. "Do you like it?" I ask, biting my lip.

" Like is nowhere near a sufficient word for what I feel seeing you in that dress," he tells me. His eyes don't leave me as he adds to the attendant, "We'll take it."

I search for a price tag, sure that this dress must cost more than I make in a month, but the attendant shakes her head as she cups my elbow and says,

"You won't find a price on the garment, Madame," she whispers with a smile. "Monsieur Bright has taken care of it. It is yours. Now, we need accessories, yes?"

In a whirlwind of red bottomed heels and sparkly jewelry, Damien and the attendant transform me into a glamorous version of myself I didn't know existed until I saw myself in the mirror.

I feel beautiful. Damien makes me feel beautiful.

"Ready to eat, pretty girl?" Damien asks, holding his hand out for me to take.

We thank the shop attendant, and then he whisks me away to a restaurant that blows my mind just as much as the rest of this trip has. The restaurant has an incredible view of the Eiffel Tower, and the interior is dimly lit but not so much so that I had to strain to see. The atmosphere is cozy but upscale, and we're led straight to a private booth with the best view of the city by the front window.

"This is incredible," I breathe, gratitude smothering me.

"Wait until you taste the food," Damien says, smiling at me. "I meant it when I said this is the best restaurant I've ever been to."

There's no menu, but food and wine pairings begin arriving, each as amazing as the last. Damien tells me about the owners, how they're a mother-son team who built this place from nothing, and how he comes back every chance he gets. It warms my heart to see how much he so obviously cares about these people. He's a billionaire, but the money hasn't corrupted his heart.

With my heart and stomach happily full, Damien asks if I want to go back to his apartment with him. The fact he's asking, the silent offer of finding me somewhere else to stay if I'm not comfortable, only makes me fall for him more. I can't stop thinking about the kiss on the jet and the way he makes me feel. I want more, more of him, more of this.

Just like every other aspect of this trip, Damien's Paris apartment is amazing. It's huge and open but feels homely at the same time. There are touches of Damien's style throughout, books on the side tables and jackets hung up on the back of the door.

"Come here a lot?" I ask, looking around.

He chuckles, bending down to help me out of my heels. My feet ache, but it's worth it for how pretty the shoes are.

"I must admit I view this city as a second home," he answers, rising to his feet. "It's an escape but also a homecoming every time I return to Paris."

"That sounds amazing," I say with a sigh, unable to imagine such a feeling.

"I hope it will feel that way for you, too," he says quietly, wrapping his arm around my waist and drawing me close. I tip my head back and stare up at him, my heart racing in my chest. "I hope I can feel like home to you. A place to be yourself, a place where you're safe and loved."

My breath catches, and there are no words to express how much his words touch me. So instead of saying anything, I push up on my toes and kiss him. A fire ignites between us, burning me up the second his mouth is on mine.

He lifts me, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively, arms twining around his neck. I moan as I feel his hard length press against my core, my body desperately for more. He carries me over to the kitchen counter, sitting me on the edge.

"Thank you for everything," I whisper against his lips, panting and needy. "Today's been incredible."

Something flashes in his eyes, intriguing me. He licks his lips, pausing for a second before he surprises me by saying, "If you're going to thank me, I should teach you how to do it properly."

I blink at him, my heart fluttering at the dark lust in his voice, though I'm a little confused by what he means. "Properly?" I repeat, my voice little more than a breathy whisper.

He grins, and holy crap, I can feel how wet I'm getting just from kissing and being near him. "Say, ‘Thank you, Daddy,' " he tells me, voice dark and delicious.

I inhale sharply, surprised by the wave of desire that washes over me. I lick my lips, swallowing as I look up at him. He's patient, waiting to see what I'll do. I know that if I tell him no, this is too much , he'll drop it immediately. But I don't want to do that. I want to see how he reacts to me calling him that, to me giving him my submission. I've never done any of this with anyone before, and I haven't wanted to before now. Before Damien.

I take a deep breath, gripping the edge of the counter as my thighs tense together, and say, " Thank you, Daddy."