Chapter 17

Amelia

An entire wave of memories sweeps across me as I step into the house, yet it feels so distant, like it was mine in a past life. It still smells like coffee beans, like lemon-scented cleaning products, like Jackson.

Damian's arm is tight around my waist, but instead of it feeling smothering, it feels good to have something grounding me.

"It's okay," he murmurs. "It's just a house."

He's right. It's not even a house Jackson or I picked. It's a house owned by MVM that we were given on loan while Jackson was in the president's seat. It's cold and distant, and we didn't have the energy or time to personalize it. I'm only realizing that now as I wander into the kitchen.

I vaguely remember a cleaner coming through, tidying up all the dirty dishes, hanging all our clothes back in the closet, taking any soiled food out of the fridge, so there's nothing here to symbolize I'd once lived here with Jackson. There's no sign of Jackson at all.

The array of coffee bean packets that used to be all over the bench is now stacked neatly in the display cabinet in the kitchen. His keys that he always threw on the kitchen bench are gone—assumedly Edgar picked them up—and gone are his clothes that usually trailed through the house as he realized at the last minute that the shoes weren't right, or the socks too tight, or the tie the wrong particular shade of blue, so it would come off in a hurry, littering the floor like a panicked strip tease for me to come pick up after.

I shift away from Damian, my arms coming around myself as I walk carefully upstairs to the bedroom. His clothes are still in the closet, but they look frozen, as if behind museum glass. They weren't him. He hated the material of his work shirts. It was always too itchy, made him want to jump out of his skin, he said.

His side of the bathroom has his cologne. I take an unsteady breath and reach for it but can't bring myself to open the bottle. Damian doesn't follow me upstairs, and I'm grateful for it. I squeeze my eyes shut and open the cap, breathing in the scent that I haven't had for too long now.

Confusion washes over me as I inhale. That's not what Jackson smelled like. I open my eyes and look at the label. It was his, no doubt about it. He wore it every day. I'd buy him more of it the second it was nearly empty. He wouldn't wear anything else.

But, still, strangely… it doesn't bring him back to me. It doesn't trigger memories. It's as impersonal as testing a scent at the beauty counter.

My shoulders relax, and I put it down again, almost relieved at the sensation. I'd thought this house would be nothing but memories, but it's not. It's just a house, as Damian said.

I walk back downstairs to find Damian standing at the bottom, his gaze soft and concerned, and I'm suddenly struck with something that, God, might be love. I loved Jackson, but Jackson meant work. Constant work. Checking my own emotions, balancing them against what Jackson was feeling as to whether he could help me with them. Anticipating what he might be feeling when he got home and making adjustments when I couldn't figure it out. It meant I was always on guard to be a mother to a grown man who needed more help than I could offer. It was a second full-time job that I'm only realizing now that I couldn't handle.

I continue down the stairs and fold myself into Damian's arms, leaning my head on his shoulder and exhaling.

"What did the doctor say?" he murmurs, stroking my back. "You seem in better spirits."

I lean back and give him a soft smile. "Everything is looking okay. I still can't have sex, but I'm allowed to have orgasms now. A couple of times a week. She very explicitly said that I wasn't allowed to have too many."

He raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes sparkling. "Oh? So it means it's not just me getting off and you sitting there anymore? I think we should call that doctor. You know, we don't want to hurt the bab—"

I hit him gently in the arm, and he grins. "No, sweetheart, that's good! It means the lying in bed all day is doing something good."

"I've also been doing way more than just sitting there. I hope you can remember. If not, then I will just sit there and see how far you get." Damian beams, and I bite my lip with a wince as I continue the news. "She also gave me permission to do two days of work back in the office."

That doesn't earn as good a reaction as the orgasm news. "Amelia," he says with a frown.

"Just two days. It's two days where you can focus on the restaurants, and it gives me a chance to keep an eye on what's going on."

"So, you don't trust me?"

I frown. "Damian. The employees know we're distracted. We have a court case on our backs, and other lawsuits breathing down our necks. We need to be on top of this. It isn't you." I take his hands. "You need some help. I don't want…" I gulp and look around at the empty house. "I don't want another house that I can't walk into. If this job causes the death of yet another Garrett family member, I'm—"

"You'll be questioned probably," he murmurs.

I give him a weak smile. "Two days."

"Fine." He turns to walk away before turning back. "But, on the three days you're at home, you're taking care of yourself, okay? You're letting me help. You're going to listen to me because all I want is to keep you and the baby safe."

"I promise."

He looks sulkily at me before conceding. "Fine. You win."

I hum in surprise. "That was easy! I was expecting to have to do all sorts of dirty things to get you to agree."

His eyes darken. "I take it back. No. You're not going to work two days a week." He steps towards me and lifts my chin. "Now, what dirty things did you have in mind?"

I let a slow grin cross my lips before I press them to his. "Why don't I show you?" I murmur seductively.

"H-Here? In…"

I take his hand and lead him through the house to the room in the rear that had been the designated study. Neither Jackson nor I used it, but the leather couches and the wood paneling had always sparked a desire in me for as long as I'd lived in this house. Jackson wouldn't have ever entertained the idea, so I hadn't mentioned it.

I might not be able to have sex, but I'm going to get off in this room and make Damian do the same.

I shut the door behind him as Damian whistles at the room.

"Christ," he mutters. "This looks like something out of a romance novel."

"You read many of them?" I murmur.

He exhales a laugh and turns to me. "No, but I can assume." He tracks me as he leans his ass against the solid wooden desk. "Can we make a date?"

"A date?"

"Mm… in however many months it is until you're no longer pregnant and you're ready for sex again, let's make a date to come back here and, fuck, Mila. I'm going to help you live out all the fantasies in your head, and by the looks of you right now, there's a lot."

My breathing is already quickening, and I catch his smirk as he notices.

"What are they?" he murmurs darkly. "What do you want me to do to you in here?"

So much.

He smirks when I don't answer. "You know what I like about us, Mila?" He doesn't wait for my answer as he starts ambling around the room, studying the bookshelves, running his finger seductively over the desk before reaching my side again. "It's that you might be the boss of MVM, you have complete power and control over every person in your life." He tilts my head with a gentle grip on my ponytail. "But when it's you and me together alone like this…" His voice drops as his gaze sweeps my face. "You give that all over to me. Don't you?"

"Yeah," I hum. "So you'd better know what to do with that."

He grins and leans forward but stops before our lips meet. Instead, he drifts away from me again, easing into the desk chair. "Take your jacket off," he murmurs, watching me closely, his hands holding the arms of the chair firmly.

I keep his gaze as I slowly peel my jacket off my arms, holding it up to my side before letting it fall to the floor. Damian's eyes gleam in the low light.

"Shoes," he whispers. They're not very sexy; tennis shoes built for getting me from one place to the other without falling over and going into labor, but he doesn't seem to care. Not now that they're off my feet and joining my jacket on the floor.

"Shirt," he demands. "Slowly."

He leans his head back on the chair and appears calm, but the grip on the arms tightens as I tug the shirt off my shoulders. I wore one of the new maternity bras Olivia got for me a few weeks ago, and I'm glad when Damian's mouth goes slack and he shifts a bit in his chair.

"Pants," he whispers.

He moves so his hand is resting across his mouth, tracing his lips with his fingers as he greedily stares at everything I'm putting on display.

My panties match my bra, and I smirk as his gaze doesn't reach past my neck. "What next?" I murmur.

"Bra." My breasts spill out as my bra follows the rest of my clothes on the floor. "And take your hair down."

I slowly shake it out around my shoulders, and he breathes heavily.

Damian doesn't need to say the next, and instead of my panties joining my clothes, I throw them so they land on Damian's lap.

He licks his lips before gesturing to the leather couch. "Sit down. Make sure you're facing me. You're feeling good?"

"Mm…" The leather is cold, but it's only adding to the sensations assaulting my senses. "You going to come over here?"

"No, no, baby. Not this time. I'm watching. Close your eyes."

I take one last look at him before getting comfortable on the sofa and letting my eyes fall shut. Knowing he's there, seeing me completely naked is thrilling. He can see more of me than I'm able to.

"You know what hurts, what feels good." His voice breaks through the quiet of the room. "Show me. Teach me."

I hear the zipper of his pants as I rub my hands over my sensitive body, growing a human being inside that should make me feel strange and like I'm no longer myself, but here, in Damian's vision, I'm wanted. There are no insecurities when I have a man watching me so intently. My nipples are too sensitive, so I don't linger there for long, knowing Damian's taking mental notes. When my fingers brush over my clit, we both sigh in relief.

"That feel good, Mila girl? You've been denied it for so long. I can't wait to get back inside you. You get me so fucking hard, baby girl."

"Damian!" I gasp, even though he's over on the other side of the room, enjoying the show as much as I'm enjoying performing it.

"You're so gorgeous. Just think, it won't be long before I can be over there with you. How would you want me? Tasting you? Using my fingers to get the spots you can't reach? Filling you until you can't get enough?"

"All of them," I whimper, my fingers moving faster on myself as I chase the impending orgasm. "Oh fuck. Your tongue."

"You want me to give you an orgasm with my tongue, sweetheart?" His breathing sounds as labored as mine, and I open my eyes to see him stroking himself firmly as he watches my hand. His gaze lands on my face, and I lock in on it as I reach the peak. "That's it. Cum for me."

I cry out, my head dropping back on the back of the sofa as I ride the aftershocks of the pleasure I've been unintentionally holding for weeks. I glance over, panting, and Damian's recovering from his own moment of pleasure, grabbing a tissue from the box on the edge of the desk. He groans softly as he gets off the chair and perches next to me on the couch. I'm too weak-limbed to move, but Damian smiles knowingly and bends down to kiss me, his tongue darting into my mouth to remind me of what we talked about. I hum around it and kiss him back harder.

He laughs as he moves out of my reach. "You shouldn't have multiple orgasms at one time."

"I don't think that doctor knows what she's talking about."

He splutters out another laugh and smooths my hair. "Are you okay? Shall I help you put your clothes back on?" He gives me an approving glance over my body before shifting onto the floor so he can inspect it closer. He presses a kiss to each of my breasts before kissing my baby bump. "God, you're stunning, Amelia Garrett."

I reach down and stroke my fingers through his hair, content to stay like this for a few more moments. "Your earlier plan to turn this into a restaurant. What would this room be?"

"My office," he says with a wicked grin. "No one's allowed in but you and me, and I would fuck you up and down it."

I let the smile overtake my face, and he chuckles along with me.

"Come on," he whispers, kissing my knuckles. "Let's get you back home to rest."