Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Frankie

I step inside the penthouse, and I'm hit with the smell of roasted garlic. I inhale deeply and let it out slowly. Damien is finally back at home, though I don't know what that means and it doesn't change what I have to do, so I quietly make my way to the guest room and shower off the day. As much as I'm not ready to see Damien, I also really want to see him.

I've missed him.

Also, I'm starving.

Inside the kitchen, Damien is casual in black jeans and a plain gray t-shirt that hugs his back and biceps in mouthwatering fashion. He looks just as good, if not better, than I remember. God, I've missed him. But his absence over the past few days is very telling.

I made a huge mistake by blurting out my love for him and while the words are true, I regret saying them the way I did.

Damien turns and stops with a smile so bright that it warms me to the bones. "Frankie. I've missed you." The words fall from his lips so easily that I want to believe him. I do believe him.

I flash a bland smile and glance around the kitchen. "What smells so good?"

"I'm making us dinner." He looks so proud and so happy that no one would believe he's been avoiding me for three days. A burgundy tablecloth is on the table with a single candle already burning bright and the low music are signs that this is a romantic dinner.

Romantic.

He's romancing me—again—after avoiding me for three days. That reminder is just the cold water I need to stand a little taller and fold my arms. "Damien. I'm going home tomorrow. I'm pretty sure that all the cameras are gone, and at least I'll be in my space."

He freezes with a handful of mushrooms hovering over the sizzling skillet, his gaze slowly tracking across the room until it meets mine. "Why?"

My gaze narrows. "Let's not do this, Damien. You'll have your home back and I'll have mine. It's best for the both of us."

"What about the killer? What about whoever was in your house?"

I shrug. "Staying here was a precaution, one I no longer think is necessary."

He drops the mushrooms into the skillet while shaking his head. "Stay here as long as you need. I insist."

He insists I stay, not that he wants me to stay. That's okay. It's fine, really. I flash what I hope is a polite smile. "We'll see."

Damien stops what he's doing, removing the skillet full of mushrooms from the heat and turning to me. "Francesca."

"Yes?"

He studies me for a long minute, and I swear it's like the man can see down to my soul. "I reacted poorly in Napa, and I am so damn sorry."

I shake my head. "It's fine. I didn't mean to say it, anyway."

His dark brows shoot up. "You didn't mean it? It was a heat of the moment admission?" He doesn't look so happy with that realization, and it gives me a small measure of satisfaction.

"I meant it and it was a heat of the moment admission. I realize it's too soon and I'm sorry that it made you feel uncomfortable. Can we stop talking about this now?"

His smile spreads slowly and he rounds the counter until he's standing right in front of me. "No, I don't think we should stop talking about this." He takes my hands and pulls me to my feet. "You love me."

I roll my eyes. "This isn't funny, Damien."

His smile fades. "No, Frankie, it's no laughing matter." He presses his forehead to mine in a sweet gesture that squeezes at my heart, letting out a heavy sigh as his hands slide down my hair to cup my face. "No one has ever said those words to me before and it threw me for a loop."

My heart stops at his words, and I pull back just enough to look into his eyes. "Never?"

He shrugs. "My mother, of course, but she died when I was a child, so it's been a really long time."

How can it be that no one has ever told a man like Damien, so brilliant and charming and beautiful, that he was loved? "It's unbelievable." I give him a small smile, but it's sad. "It just doesn't seem possible." I want to ask so much more about his mother and his childhood, but I kind of feel like the time isn't right.

"Maybe," he answers with a gentle smile. "Or maybe you're the only one smart enough to see beneath the billionaire businessman."

Oh, how I desperately want that to be true. "I am pretty damn smart," I say, to inject some levity into the moment.

"That you are." His lips brush softly against mine. "Stay," he whispers the command so gently it's almost as if he's giving me a choice, but that low, slightly husky order offers no chance to argue, reject or deny his desires.

Still, I need to know. "You want me to stay?" I hate how uncertain, almost needy I sound, but it's how I feel.

Damien shakes his head. "I don't just want it, Francesca. I need it. I need you." His hands are gentle as they mold over my curves before settling on my hips.

That's all I need to hear before I attack his mouth, flicking my tongue against his lips, teasing until he groans, and his fingertips dig into my hips. He pulls me close, and I feel him instantly hard against me as I lick his lips and then the seam until he opens up and our tongues collide. It's electric, it's fucking combustible the moment our tongues touch and begin the dance we're getting so good at when we're together.

Damien growls before pulling me close and leaning me back so he's fully in control of the kiss. I submit easily, pushing my hips against his with a soft moan at the way his cock feels, hard and tempting as hell. "Damien."

"Now, Francesca." His eyes are black with desire, his jaw carved out of stone as he grips my hand and drags me from the kitchen, but we make it no further than the living room before his mouth is on mine once more.

I'm pressed between Damien and the wall, and there's no place else I'd rather be. He applies just enough pressure against my chest to steal my breath. "You smell so good." He inhales deeply before nibbling the sensitive skin on my neck. "So soft."

"Damien," I moan, threading my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as I lose myself in the taste of him. His kiss is hot, dizzying, and desire surges through me, wild and uncontrollable.

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. "So fucking mine."

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely a whisper. Had I ever wanted to be possessed by someone so completely in my whole damn life?

No, I haven't. Even now, the way I feel about Damien is exhilarating and terrifying all at once. The next breath stutters out of me as his lips and his tongue trace my collarbone and up the other side of my neck before nibbling my earlobe. "Damien."

"I mean it, Francesca. You are mine." His tone is fierce and the way he touches my body is possessive, borderline obsessive, and I fucking love it. I love the way he undresses me, as if he's so hungry for me that my clothes are just another obstacle to getting what he really wants.

"Mine," he whispers, wrapping the pink silk panties around his wrist. His hungry gaze, as I stand here naked, turns me into a puddle of goo. "Say it."

"Yours, Damien. I'm yours."

"Yes, you are." His mouth lands on the racing pulse in the center of my throat where he swirls his tongue around, teasing me until I let out a soft growl of needy pleasure. He leaves a trail of kisses down my chest, stopping at the space between my breasts. His tongue flicks against the skin covering my sternum while his hands knead my breasts and then his fingers pinch my nipples.

"Yes!" The shout of pleasure echoes against the wall before a wild growl escapes when he rolls the hard nubs between his thumb and forefinger. "Damien."

His mouth takes over for one hand, leaving that hand free to slide down my body and play in the wetness between my thighs. I'm wet and pulsing and the feel of his tongue curling around my nipple is pushing me closer and closer to ecstasy. He growls, sinking his teeth into my nipple and I push forward, silently urging him to give me some relief.

Never a man to be rushed, Damien switches sides. That moment between hands makes me whimper. "Please," I beg and push my hips forward again.

Damien sucks my nipple, hard enough to cause the pleasure-pain sensation that sends a rush of juices between my thighs. He releases it with a pop. "What is it you need, Francesca?"

"You," I moan, sliding my fingers through his hair. "As much as I love the feel of your mouth on my pussy, or the way you curl your fingers just so to bring me to orgasm, right now I want your cock. I need your cock. Now, please."

He steps back with a raised eyebrow. "Pull me out, Frankie."

I happily, almost giddily, reach for him and unfasten his jeans, tugging slowly on the zipper. My hand trembles as I reach inside his waistband and brush my fingertips over the swollen head of his cock. I stroke him a few times, hard and slow just the way he likes, until he grips my wrist.

"Pull. Me. Out." His control is close to snapping and that thought makes me even wetter. Hotter. Hungrier for what comes next.

I tug his pants and boxers down, still stroking his cock.

"Now come here." He pulls me close before using his body to push me back against the wall. Flinging one leg over his forearm, he quickly lines our bodies up, teasing my opening with the head of his cock.

"Damien," I whimper.

"Not enough?" He enters me but only enough that the head of his cock is inside of me and those shallow strokes feel good, but they aren't enough. Every stroke teases me and leaves me wanting more.

"More."

He gives me more of his cock, feeding it slowly into me until I feel his sac smacking against my body. "You're soaking wet."

I smile. "You do that to me."

Where I thought he might fuck me hard and fast up against the wall, Damien torments me with slow, soul-destroying strokes that push me inch by inch toward the edge. He draws out each stroke, moving so slowly that I can practically map out each vein and ridge of his cock.

It's making me wild. I'm wet and pulsing already as I match him stroke for stroke. "Please," I beg, as my leg muscles begin to quake and tremble. "More, Damien. Harder."

The arm with my panties wrapped around his wrist slides up my body and he grabs my throat possessively, while he pumps into me harder and deeper, and then deeper still. He's so deep that I fear no man will ever please my body quite the way Damien does.

"Your cunt is so tight and so wet. I can't get enough of you, Frankie." His mouth crashes against mine and his kiss is as punishing as the strokes that send me into a dizzying fall that makes my legs buckle as pleasure darts up my body, making my whole body tingle.

"Yes, Damien." My orgasm starts slow but then it erupts in a rainbow of colors, all the sensations that light me up from the inside. I'm trembling so hard I can hardly stand as the pleasure swamps me, thrashing me about while Damien's cock invades me over and over, simultaneously chasing his pleasure while prolonging mine.

"Frankie, baby. You feel so fucking good." The last word is drawn out as his own orgasm floods my body, filling me until I'm ready to burst. "So. Fucking. Good." His last few strokes punctuate each word, and he presses deep inside me, trembling as the last of his orgasm fades. "Francesca."

I let out a shaky sigh and let my head fall back against the wall. "I really missed you," I tell him with a slow, satisfied grin.

"I missed you too," he says, licking his lips before planting a soft kiss that riles me up all over again. Damien groans, pushing his hips forward before pulling back with a regretful sigh. "And now I'm going to feed you."

"Yes, please." I hold on to Damien for an extended moment until I'm sure my legs aren't going to give out. "Okay. I'm good."

"You're better than good." Another soft kiss and he cups my jaw, gently running his thumb along the line until he's too far away to touch me. "You are everything."

I sigh, but I can't stop the blush that creeps up my skin at the compliment. "Think I can get those back," I ask, nodding to the pink panties he's wearing like a bracelet.

"Nope. I think I'll wear them for the rest of the night so I can smell your sweet arousal whenever I want," he purrs in a teasing tone that has my nipples standing on edge. Again.

"I'll be in the kitchen with a fresh glass of wine for both of us." His smile is beautiful as he leaves me there on wobbly legs.

My head is spinning from the whirl of emotions of the day as I head upstairs to freshen up and grab a new pair of panties for dinner, which my amazing billionaire boyfriend is cooking for me. My giddiness threatens to overwhelm me, the emotional highs and lows of today pulsing through me like a live wire.

I feel like a real-live princess, but the practical girl in me knows better.

By the time I return to the kitchen, I feel good and refreshed, ready for dinner. "Is this mine?" I pick up the oversized glass of red and sniff it the way I learned in Napa.

Damien smiles over his shoulder. "I figured we could share."

"Sounds good." I take a sip and slide the glass back across the counter. "What are you making?"

"You'll see." I watch his shirtless back as he stirs and whisks, the muscles in his shoulders shifting with every movement. There's something mesmerizing about it. "How's work going?"

"Not great," I admit, exhaling. "I think we made some progress today, but nothing concrete enough to keep the brass or the politicians happy." I pause, bracing myself for some dismissive comment or a vague question, but, once again, Damien surprises me.

"It takes time to catch guys like this, right?" he says, without looking up.

"Yeah," I say, taken aback by his understanding. "Unless they make a stupid mistake, most are notoriously hard to catch. It just takes time." I feel the usual frustration rise in me, something the brass forgets the moment the mayor rants about optics, headlines and poll numbers. "It's dragging out longer than I expected, but we're getting there. Progress is progress, I guess."

He glances over his shoulder. "What happens if he just stops?"

I shrug, trying to sound more casual than I feel. "Then some rookie who's still in high school right now will probably end up solving this string of cold cases years down the line." I offer a half-hearted smile. "Honestly, I'd be fine with that if it meant no more dead bodies."

He turns, surprised, picking up the glass of wine. "You really mean that."

"I do," I say, meeting his gaze. "Less hurt and suffering…that's always a win." It feels good to talk about my day without diving into crime scene details or procedures. "Work's been keeping you busy lately, too."

"Yeah," he says, transitioning into a rundown of problems with software interfaces and brain recognition.

I shake my head, smiling. "I don't understand a damn thing you're talking about, but it sounds frustrating."

"It is," he replies with a small chuckle. "On both accounts. But, as they say, idle hands are the devil's work."

I raise an eyebrow. "You surprise me. I didn't realize you were religious."

"Oh, my beautiful Francesca," he says, his eyes darkening with that familiar, dangerous charm. His voice dips low as he steps closer, the air between us crackling. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch making me shiver.

"There's a lot you don't realize about me."