Page 83 of Damon
Damon glowers at her for a moment, then pinches the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes. “Please tell me,” he says, his tone firm, “that you didn’t just ask for my instructions on how Emma should be dressed. The last time I checked, she was a grown woman and quite capable of dressing herself.”
“No, sir. It’s just…” she stammers, unsure what to say.
“Just what?” he growls, and my stomach flips. He leans in toward her slightly, invading her space. His eyes narrow to slits as he waits for an answer. “Just what?” he repeats.
Tracey purses her lips and once again runs her fingers through her hair. I am almost certain she tries to lift her chest in the direction of his eyes. One hand lowers more slowly than the other from her head; she lets it fall onto Damon’s forearm. His intense eye flicks from hers to his arm and back again.
“A gentleman such as yourself will have certain tastes,” she says, her voice meek. “I was merely ensuring your needs were met.”
“I’m not the one wearing the dress,” he states bluntly. “Remove your hand from my arm before I remove you from my home. Do you hit on all your clients?”
“Chief Constable, that was not my intention,” she replies, clearly panicked. Tracey steps back, her heel catching on the edge of a rug. She wobbles but doesn’t fall.
“Keep your focus where it should be. On my partner.” His eyes move to me and widen. Partner—I love being called that. His partner. I am his. “Fuck Emma, please tell me you’re wearing that this evening. Nothing else.” He comes to my side and runs a finger across my cheek. “You look incredible.”
“This is my underwear,” I say with an eye roll.
“I’m well aware of that, but now I’ve seen it, no matter what dress you wear…” He waves a hand lazily in the direction of Tracey and her dresses. “All I’ll imagine is you half-naked on your knees, wearing this and sucking my dick.”
“Damon,” I hiss, and he cocks an eyebrow. His eyes dance with amusement as he takes in my expression.
“What, Spitfire? I’m only outlining how this evening will end for you.” He moves to kiss me, and I snap my palm up between us. His lips connect with my skin.
“Lipstick. Do you know how long I sat there to let them do this to me?” I circle my face with my finger. “Between the make-up artist and the hairdresser, I’ve lost hours I’ll never get back.”
“But you look fucking awesome,” he growls, clearly aroused. Tracey is standing next to her rack of dresses, jaw almost on the floor. Damon’s hand lowers to my ass and squeezes, pulling my body to his. My crotch connects with his thigh. “We’re definitely going to need more of this lingerie.”
“Why? I like my own underwear, and I can keep this one for special occasions.”
“This set won’t survive the night, Spitfire.” He glances over at Tracey. “I want one set of this lingerie in every color. Order them and whatever else Emma wants.” He drops a kiss onto my bare shoulder, and my mouth dries. “I may not be able to kiss these,” he says, touching my lower lip gently with his thumb. “But there are plenty of other places I could put my tongue without ruining your make-up.” Without waiting for my response, he turns and leaves.
Flustered, my attention only returns to Tracey when she clears her throat loudly. As my gaze lands on her, she straightens her shoulders. “As the Chief Constable has diverted to yourself for dressing decisions, Emma, could you please give me a better idea of what you wish to wear.” She waves a hand at the three dresses on the bed. “Do you wish to try one of these on? They will flatter your curves while hiding the rounder parts.”
“My rounder parts?” I reply with a smirk, then walk over to her, putting one high-heeled foot in front of the other. I lean in, so we are nose to nose. “Did it look like the Chief Constable wanted me to hide my rounder parts?”
“Well, no…” She hesitates.
“I don’t want to be covered up. I want to wear something that makes me feel incredible. These…” I gesture to the gowns on the bed. “Are your safe options. Show me something that will blow my mind, and his.” She turns and starts rummaging once more in the rack. “And Tracey,” I say, so she turns to face me.
“Yes, Emma.”
“Call me ‘ma’am.’ And don’t ever fucking touch my man again, or I’ll make sure you don’t have a job by the end of the day.”
An hour later, I’m standing in front of the mirror in my bedroom staring at my reflection. The black dress skims my curves, but the V-shaped neckline with a sheer embroidered panel draws attention to my full breasts while hinting at the lingerie beneath.
Spinning again in an attempt to see the full effect of my outfit, I smile giddily in the mirror. My eyes are wide and outlined in dark smoky tones that cause the blue of my eyes to pop. Long blonde curls are piled high then fall down my back. It’s hard to believe that this is me.
I haven’t seen Damon since his little show earlier this evening, but I assume he’s in his bedroom getting ready. Mrs. D has already collected Annie and taken her to The Level for the night, so it’s only Damon and I in the house. Tracey scurried away with her tail between her legs as soon as I dismissed her.
Steeling myself, I decide to go in search of him. I’ve only been in his bedroom a handful of times and never romantically. He sleeps with me every night now, so his marital bedroom is somewhat unused apart from him storing his clothes. On arriving at the door, I find it wide open; he’s sitting on the edge of the bed threading cufflinks through his shirt cuffs. I knock on the wood lightly, and he looks up.
“You look magnificent,” he says, standing and coming to me. He takes my hands then leads me into the room, holding them wide and stepping back for a better look. “So damn beautiful.” One hand takes mine and links our fingers, the other snakes around my hips. “I want to strip you naked and fuck you here, now.”
“You are not ruining my hair and make-up,” I mutter.
“I told you, it’s not those lips I’m interested in.” I laugh out loud then wriggle from his grasp. When I step back, my eyes glide around the room, waiting for the sting of seeing Connie and the life they used to share. He watches me intently, surveying my reaction. I am surprised to see no photos or any of her belongings out in the open. “I rearranged a few things,” he says quietly. “It was time.”
“You didn’t need to.”