15. Orion

FIFTEEN

When Damien walks into the bedroom—or, as I can't keep from thinking about it, my new, updated prison cell—about an hour and a half after he walked out of it, I want nothing more than to work up the energy to hate him more than I already have.

And then I see what he has curled up against his chest?—

"Orion!"

It doesn't even occur to me to pretend like I couldn't care less that he's carrying the orange and white cat into the room. I probably should have. The other night, he asked me if there was anyone I cared about, and I told him no. I'd been talking about people at the time, since prison cost me any friends and family I had before and plotting revenge took up too much time for me to make any now. But Orion… at a time in my life that I was ready to just give up and end it, he was the reason I didn't.

Seeing him again after I was sure that my impulsiveness and need for revenge would be the death of my baby… I rush toward him, tears burning my eyes as he hold out my arms.

I swear to God, if Damien jerked him out of my reach, I think I might've gone for his throat. Doubt I'm strong enough to overpower and strangle him, but for my cat, I'd try.

That's not what happens. Instead, hefting my confused cat up, not even scowling when his claws snag on his jacket, Damien passes Orion over to me.

My cat lets out an annoyed mrow as I squeeze him tight, but he lets me love on him, my tears spilling out, dampening his fur as I bury my face against his back.

While I'm whispering apologies to Orion, Damien disappears again, but this time he's only gone for a minute or two.

I catch sight of him walking back into the room, holding a laundry basket full of shit.

No.

Orion's shit.

Damien drops it by my feet. "I brought everything I could find. The water fountain with the plug. The glass bowls. These two ratty toys that I'm assuming are supposed to be mice… and the food. I brought it all back."

He also has an oversized brown bag hanging off his wrist. Reaching inside of it, he shows me a large, fuzzy cat bed before adding it to the top of Orion's supplies.

"He didn't have a bed that I could see so I stopped at the pet store and bought one. I didn't know what to get so the girl at the shop helped me. I hope it's right."

It looks right to me. And there's a pretty good reason why Damien didn't see a bed: because I couldn't afford to get him one when he could sleep with me. All of my extra money went to food, treats, and litter. It seemed kinda pointless to buy him a bed.

But Damien… the lead Dragonfly himself… did.

"That's because he slept in my bed."

"I hope he was the only male who did."

I ignore that as I rub my chin against the space between Orion's triangle-shaped ears. My cat purrs for the first time since I got him back. It sounds like music to me.

"Ah, well. It doesn't matter." Oh. It doesn't, Damien? I'm not so sure I believe that… "He'll sleep in the bed I provided. I won't let some animal sleep in mine."

Is that so? "Don't you listen to the scary man, Orion. If you don't want to sleep in that bed, you can curl up with me."

"Scary man?" Damien almost sounds offended. "After I got on my hands and knees to persuade this creature to come out from under your bed?"

Wait—what?

"You did it? I… I guess I thought you got one of your cronies to do it."

He's offended that I called him scary. A man who rules half of Springfield with an iron fist and a sharp stiletto… he doesn't want to be scary. And yet, when I point out he has cronies, he doesn't react at all other than to say, "I told you. I rarely do what anyone expects of me."

I'm beginning to notice that.

He forced me into marriage. He insisted that I pleasure him one way or the other, accepting my offer of a blow job before making one of his men act like my jailer.

But then he brought me a bed of my own. I pointed out that I didn't have any clothes. He got me them. I admitted my cat was abandoned in my apartment…

And I have him purring in my arms, everything he needs in that basket, with a pet bed he bought specifically for Orion.

I'd brush it off that he was just secretly a cat guy, but then he says, "Just remember that, when you're in my bed, wife, he can't come with you," and I have to admit it's not that.

He wasn't trying to save my cat. He was retrieving Orion for me.

Because he doesn't want me to have a reason to leave. That's all it is. And with Orion here, I just gave him another way to control me…

…and, right now, I can't find it in me to give a fuck. I have Orion. That's all that matters.

And if Damien wants to make an effort so that we don't murder each other outright, I guess I can, too.

For now.

"You've never had a cat before, have you?" I tease. "They're not like dogs. You can't tell Orion to stay out of your bed and think he'll actually listen." Especially not this cat. "Besides, who says I'm sleeping in your bed?"

"I said you could have a choice, Savannah. My bed or yours. Don't you think I get to choose, too?"

He's kidding, right? I can't tell with this man, who can be hot or cold, teasing or stoic, sometimes all in the same conversation. But he wouldn't have gone to the trouble of bringing a twin-size cot up here for me if he planned on joining me on it. I don't even think we'll both fit!

Spoiler alert: we do.

And you know how I know that?

Because about an hour after Damien insists that we both turn in—and he does settle down into his bed for the first time since I've been here, while I curl up on the cot with Orion—I'm still awake, reliving those long, awful nights in prison when it's like fucking deja vu.

In prison, I rarely slept. When I did, it was only after I checked to make sure Portia was out at least five times. I'd woken up to her deciding to return the favor, licking my pussy to orgasm while I was half asleep too many times to count. Then, when I got mad at her for it, she played the victim—and insisted I give her head while we were both conscious as soon as it was lights out.

It was her way of being a consummate sexual predator. She got off on assaulting me while I was sleeping, then enjoyed the control factor of using her connections against me so that I would drop to my knees for her whenever she snapped her damn fingers.

I became numb to it after a while. The actual physical act of oral sex, I mean.

Close your eyes. Lick. Get it over with…

It's why I didn't care when Damien did the same thing. Penetrative sex with a penis is a little different, and I haven't had any since before I went to prison, so I had to stop him before he tried to fuck me. But blowing him? That was nothing.

Oh, no. I'm so twisted up when it comes to that kind of sex, it doesn't bother me. But when someone tries to slip in my bed…

The only reason I was able to fall asleep the last two nights was because I did, knowing I was alone in Damien's room. Now that he's in here with me… I'm waiting until I hear the soft snuffles of his snores before I even think about shutting my eyes.

They never come. And, after an hour, the moment I was dreading happens.

The cot dips and groans as a second—well, third—body climbs on top of it.

I guess he wasn't kidding after all when he said he'd choose my bed and expect to be allowed into it if he wanted to.

"You're still awake."

Into the darkness, I whisper softly, "Yes."

"You must be tired. Close your eyes. Nothing will happen to you while I'm here."

It's that he is there that's the problem.

He's spooning me. That's all. One arm nestling on my hip as we both lay on our sides, he's squeezed onto the bed—but he's not doing anything else.

"How can I trust you?"

Damien is silent for a moment. All I can hear is the thudding of my heart and Orion's gentle purr as he sleeps near my belly.

"I swear on Genevieve's life that you have nothing to fear from me while we're in this room."

There's a weight to his words that makes me want to believe him. Genevieve… "That's your sister, right?"

"It is."

The same sister he was willing to slice my throat open for after I made a tiny reference to possibly making her a target.

And he's swearing on her life?

"I'm just going to lay here. To hold my wife close. To know that I own you. Capisce? But, in return, I will protect you. From the nightmares that keep you awake, and from whatever made you like this." He doesn't say it, but I know what he means: desperate enough to attempt to kill a man like him. "That's all I ask of you, Savannah… until you ask me for more."

The soft way he whispers those promises into my hair has my stomach twisting. Where is the monster I spent so long believing he was? Ask him… "You mean beg you, don't you?"

"No. When I see my wife on her knees again, it'll be because she chose to be, not because she thought it would be enough to keep the brute away from her."

I arch my back, bumping my ass into his erection. In the silent darkness, the sound of Damien sucking in a breath seems impossibly loud.

"It didn't work."

He sucked in that breath, now he shudders it out. His hand lands on my hip, burning a brand through my jeans. "No, ragna mia. It didn't."

Ragna mia.

My spider.

And, with Orion curled up in front of me because Damien brought him to me, I can't help but feel a little less murderous toward my ‘husband'...

I sleepthrough the entire night like a baby, and when I wake up and feel a body behind me, for the first time in years, I don't feel my stomach sink.

Worse, my heart flutters—and what the fuck is that about?

The twin is not big enough for all three of us, just like I thought. Orion is gone, and I'm scooted all the way toward the edge. Damien is still right there, though, spooning me. One arm is thrown over my waist, the other tucked under my head.

Oh my God. I've been using Damien Libellula's arm for a pillow.

Slowly, I try to sneak out from his embrace. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I can get away before he wakes up…

"Your cat is sleeping on my bed."

My eyes close for a moment. Damn it. "Huh?"

"Your cat, wife. He's curled up on my bed."

Part of me wants to tell Damien ‘I told you so'. The king-sized bed is massive. Orion's probably never seen anything like it, and once he got booted from the cot, he probably was like: score.

But then I remember how he made it a point to say that he'd never allow Orion up there.

Uh-oh. I pull myself into a sitting position, ready to scold Orion and shove his rump onto the floor if I can reach him. Only, before I can, Damien moves, too, and I barely notice until he's suddenly gripping my chin, turning my face so that he can kiss me—which is exactly what he does.

Things like morning breath and I hate him and what does he think he's doing all rush through my mind… but that doesn't stop me from kissing him back, does it?

I do break the kiss first, though. I have a little pride, I guess, though not much because all it takes is the tiniest of winks from Damien before I'm wondering if it would really be so bad to take advantage of this situation while I can.

A kiss can't hurt. I might even be able to make this work. If he wants to kiss me, sooner or later, he might forget what I'm capable of and…

And…

"What the hell was that?"

"Another expectation, my dear. My wife will kiss me when we wake up in the morning, and before we go to bed at night. It's the least you can do for me looking the other way as Orion sheds all over my Egyptian cotton sheets."

But why?

And I don't just mean the kiss, either.

Why—

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

Being nice to me. To my cat. Treating me like I really am your wife… "You know."

"Maybe I do." He runs his finger along the edge of my jaw. "And maybe, when you answer my questions, I'll answer yours."

Before I can think of a way to respond to that, Damien is out of my bed and halfway to his closet. Shifting my weight on the cot so that I don't disturb Orion, I watch as he steps inside of the walk-in, returning in a moment with another one of the suits he wears daily on a hanger including the dress shirt, with a fresh pile of his underclothes—tank, underwear, dress socks—tucked under his arm.

Something must be wrong with me because I don't notice that he stripped down to his boxer briefs until I watch his sculpted back and his tight ass pass in front of me before he heads into the bathroom.

I blink. Did he… did he sleep behind me in his underwear and I had no idea? I guess that makes sense. When I think of Damien Libellula, I think of the styled hair, the charming smile, the tanned skin, and the suit. He's still human, though. Despite his immaculate appearance when he's out and about, why the hell would he sleep in a suit?

More importantly, how the hell did I not notice he was nearly naked behind me? Especially since he was certainly hard before I finally fell asleep—and, fuck, I can't believe I felt comfortable enough in a bed with the head Dragonfly to actually nod off.

By the time he finishes his shower and comes out in a cloud of tempting perfume, looking like he stepped off the pages of GQ, I've schooled my features into a look that says I wasn't affected at all by his half-naked walk to the bathroom.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Why? Are you going to miss me?"

I huff. "You wish."

His answer is a tiny half-smile. "I'm sorry, but I won't be able to join you for breakfast this morning. I'm needed at the office."

The office. He knows damn well that I know what kind of business he's in, and yet, he insists on acting like he has a legitimate job that he goes off to everyday. Honestly? I think he's trying to get me so pissed that I finally blurt out that I wanted to kill him because he runs a mafia—but I'm not about to give him the satisfaction.

"That's alright. I'll share with Orion."

He didn't want my cat in his bed. He'll probably hate the idea of an animal eating off of his plate.

Come on, Damien. Say something bad about my cat. Remind me why I'm supposed to hate you so fucking much…

He doesn't.

Damn it.

"I'll be home by dinner, and that will be for just you and me. Until then, if you want to leave the room, I think it's only fair that you should be able to."

Really? "Why?"

He doesn't answer me. Going on as if I hadn't asked anything at all, he says, "The third floor is off-limits. You can go to the first floor if you'd like, but that's usually where Vin is when he's home. Our cook, too, our maid, and Frankie, my valet, who's in charge of the staff."

Ah. The grey-haired man who brings me each of the three meals Damien insists I'm served, whether he's there to eat with me or not. I knew he was Frankie, but at least now I know what his job title is.

"As for the second floor where we are," Damien continues, straightening his blood-red tie. "Feel free to explore it. The television out there is much bigger, and I have a couch that, once you sink into it, you'll never want to leave."

Since he still is insisting I can't, maybe that's a good thing.

But why now? I've only been here four days. He trusts me enough to leave my gilded cell?

The tracker, I remember. Even if I try to leave, I can't without him coming after me. I can't even try to remove it, either. For one thing, no one in this manor will let me have a knife; trying to cut my steak during dinner with a spoon is proof of that. For another, the subdermal tracker is so fucking tiny, I could hack off half my bicep and still never find it.

"Aren't you afraid I might mess with some of your stuff?"

"Why would I be? This is your home now, Savannah. The second floor is ours. It belongs to us. Enjoy it."

I just… I don't get it. I don't understand him. I made it clear I hate him, even if I refuse to explain myself. So, no. There is no ‘us'. There is no ‘our'. There's only Damien versus me.

Isn't there?