It felt like forever between them, and to Natasha it felt like she’d waited forever—waited forever to hear Damon cry out her name, for him to shudder and quake and mindlessly thrust inside her ... for him to cradle her close and kiss her afterward, slowly bringing them both back to the realization that when it came to this, they were as perfect together as they’d imagined.
“Wow.” Replete and quivering, Natasha sank into Damon’s arms. She wanted to laugh out loud, to cry with joy, to have another round just as soon as she felt ready. “You’re ... amazing.”
“Only because of you,” Damon said. He kissed her mouth, kissed her forehead, kissed her neck, then sank atop her with his head sharing her fluffy pillow. “Only because you took me back. Only because you believed in me. I never knew—I never even hoped—” Damon broke off. He brushed a long blond tendril from her forehead. His expression seemed inexpressibly gentle. “
You’re
what I’ve been waiting for, Tasha. You’re ... everything.”
Natasha laughed. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
She’d been joking. But Damon wasn’t. The truth was there in his solemn, hard-set jaw. “I mean it. I know I’ve done some bad things. I know I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been careless—”
“Only in the sense of being an inveterate womanizer.” She couldn’t stand his seriousness. This had to be what Damon said to every woman he slept with. “I’m fine, Damon. Really, I am. I know what this is.” Despite all the sugary words and racing hearts and intimacy they’d just shared, Natasha told herself she
did
know their limits. “I’m a grown-up,” she assured Damon. “Soon I’ll be ordering a ‘sorry I broke your heart bouquet’ for myself,” she added glibly, “and you’d better believe it’s going to be the biggest, priciest, most
outrageous
bouquet of flowers anyone ever saw, because it would be only fair to—”
“Stop.” Appearing stricken, Damon kissed her. Hard. When he raised his head, his gaze searched hers. “Can’t you tell? Isn’t it obvious? I feel like it’s written all over me.”
Natasha frowned. “What’s written all over you?”
“That there was only one reason I ever played around like I did. There was only one reason I was with so many women.”
This ought to be good
, Natasha thought, trying not to let disillusionment overtake her. They were still in each other’s arms! They were still tangled together, sweaty and breathless.
Why in the world would Damon think
now
was the time to say—
“I’d never been involved with anyone who made me want to stop,” Damon told her bluntly. “Hell, I’d never been with anyone who even made me think about stopping. Not until now. Not until
you
.” Smiling, he kissed her again. “You’re the one I’m meant for, Tasha. No one else matters. No one else ever
will
matter, not to me.”
Silently, Natasha regarded him. She didn’t want to be gullible. She didn’t want to believe him. Yet she couldn’t seem to quit wondering ... “Is that really true?”
Damon’s smile washed over her, filled with certainty and bravado. “It’s more true than anything I’ve ever said.”
Torn, Natasha glanced away. “Well, you’ve said a lot of things to me over the years. Things are very easy to
say
—”
“They’re easy to believe, too, if you let yourself,” Damon assured her in his most effortlessly charming manner. “All you have to do is decide to.” Teasingly, he slid his palm along her body, skimming over her curves in a way that almost made Natasha lose the ability to think, much less make decisions. “Don’t let the fact that I’m touching you right now influence you in any way.”
He raised his brows, letting her know damn well that he meant to convince her to believe him by any means possible.
In some ways, Natasha remembered then, Damon Torrance did
not
play by the rules. But he hardly needed to sweeten the deal with more seduction. She was already helpless to resist him.
And there, in the lamplight of her bedroom, atop the rumpled sheets and crushed pillows, with Damon holding her and her body urging her to be with him, Natasha decided not to.
What was the point in resisting Damon, she asked herself recklessly, when there was so much
fun
to be had giving in?
“Don’t let the fact that
I’m
touching you right now persuade you to go for round two,” Natasha said with a wicked grin. “Not unless you want to. You might not know this about me, but I can be fairly insatiable ... when the moment is right.”
Beneath her hands, Damon groaned. “Is it right now?”
Playfully, she looked at him. “Yep. It just got
really
right.” Feeling grateful for his speedy rebound time, Natasha slid down the sheets. She stroked him a little more deliberately, then straddled him again. Ecstasy engulfed her, but somehow she managed to say, “Mmm. More right than you know.”
Damon nodded his agreement, his gaze fixed on hers. He lifted his hands to stroke her, looking masculine and intent and entirely overcome. By her! Just before Natasha drove them both to new heights of pleasure, she had a revelation.
Maybe Damon wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. As long as she was going to commit to ... whatever was happening between them, she might as well go all the way. So Natasha opened her eyes, rode Damon till they were both starry-eyed and shaken, and decided to never look back from here.
No matter what happened next.
Chapter 21
When Damon woke up four days after the first incredible night he’d spent with Natasha, he became aware of several things simultaneously. First of all, that something furry was in his face. Second of all, that someone was breathing heavily at the edge of the bed. And third, that his heart felt exactly as full now as it had on the first morning when he’d awakened beside Natasha—when he’d watched her open her sky-blue eyes to blink at him and been blessed by her wide, beautiful, too-generous smile.
“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” Damon had told her then.
“Because you’re
you
,” Natasha had answered in an adorably disgruntled tone, snuggling up to him with one long leg over his hip and one arm flung across his chest. “
You
are
always
lucky.”
“Not like this,” he’d disagreed promptly, and it had been as true the other morning as it was right now. Damon was lucky to be with Natasha. Next to her, everything else fell away.
Except
, just then, the mysterious source of the furry heavy breathing Damon was experiencing. That didn’t fall away. In fact, the furriness whacked him in the face again. And the heavy breathing became a guffaw. Never a morning person, Damon was slow when it came to opening his eyes, gathering his wits, and solving the mystery that had awakened him. But he did it.
“Look! It’s sunrise! Again!” Milo announced in a gleeful tone. “I’ve been up awhile. Time for another piggyback ride!”
With a groan, Damon turned his head. He glimpsed Natasha’s son standing there, eager and alert. At the same time, Finn—who was parked in a furry canine lump on the pillows behind Damon’s head—started wagging his tail again.
Thump. Thump
. Aha.
Groggily, Damon blinked. Milo zoomed into slightly improved focus, making it possible to discern his blond, sticking-up hair, impatient, scrubbed-clean face, and colorful pajamas.
If I see you before sunrise, there won’t be any more piggyback rides
, Damon remembered warning the boy as he’d tucked him in a few nights ago. Who knew kids could be so literal?
“Milo, we need a new system,” Damon announced.
Beside him, Natasha rolled over. She saw Milo. Just the way she’d done for the past few days, she sat up and then clutched the covers, staring warily at her son. “Good morning, Milo.”
A grin. “Good morning, Mom!”
With perfect timing, Finn thumped his tail again. The puppy liked this now-usual routine, where Damon and Milo had a ritual pre-breakfast piggyback ride, then walked to school with Natasha.
To be fair, Damon liked it, too. What he
didn’t
like was the memory that skated over his mind as Natasha ran her hands through her long blond hair, trying to make herself more momlike and less sex-kittenish. As far as Damon was concerned, that was a losing battle. She was both to him: a mom
and
a sex kitten.
She was also the woman who’d said, with heartbreaking earnestness and completely unconvincing casualness:
Soon I’ll be ordering a “sorry I broke your heart” bouquet for myself
.
Natasha had tried to pass off her remark as a joke. At the time, given their general state of nudity and the imminent possibility of round two, Damon hadn’t argued the point. But it had wrecked him to know that Natasha still thought of him that way. It had stirred a soul-deep, fervent desire in Damon to prove to Natasha that there
wouldn’t
be any goddamn breakup flowers coming her way. Not from him. Not like that. Not ever.
Because he was going to be a different man. For her. “Since you didn’t sleep in your bed on the sofa again,” Milo piped up cheerfully, “I turned it into a fort. It’s so cool! You’ve got to see it, Damon.” He looked at Natasha. “Mom, can
I
sleep there tonight, if Damon’s not going to use it?”
Natasha’s guarded gaze slipped to Damon. She bit her lip, giving a fairly convincing appearance of indecision, but he could read her mind like a book. Until now, they’d been pretending to Milo that Damon
might
go back to sleeping on the sofa. But this morning, Natasha seemed to be mulling over the possibility of making their new sleeping arrangements official.
Probably, she was considering it because Damon had been
awesome
at showing her how reliable he could be. He’d washed her car with the garden house outside, then bonded with her next-door neighbor, Kurt, over changing the oil. He’d made a million more sandwiches on gluten-free bread. He’d walked to the grade school with Natasha to pick up Milo, taken all three of them (four, if you counted the ever-present Finn) to the park, and spent a lot of time playing
Pokémon
with Milo while Natasha ran around town “on errands” that Damon assumed pertained to her artwork. He was proud that he’d become so dependable—and he was especially proud that, unlike Paul,
he’d
supported her art.
He wished Natasha would show him some of the jewelry she’d created. But so far she remained resistant to sharing with him.
Damon guessed that was her right as a sexy, inventive, blow-his-socks-off artistic type with a navel ring and a creative bent ... and a pronounced tendency to overthink decisions.
“Mo-om!” Milo flopped his arms and small lanky body in exaggerated exasperation, having waited long enough.
“Can I?”
“Um, you bet!” Natasha beamed at Milo from across the bed. “I’m pretty sure Damon is going to be sleeping in here with me for a while anyway, so the sofa fort is yours to keep using.”
Carefully, she watched her son. But Milo only beamed back.
“Thanks, Mom! Hey, last one to the kitchen table is giving out free piggyback rides to the first one who gets there! Ha!”
Then Milo giggled at Damon and raced away, hair flying and pajamas fluttering, with Finn scampering puppylike at his heels.
“Hm. I guess you’re on the hook for a piggyback ride.”
Natasha sounded amused. Trying to rouse himself, Damon glanced at her. That roused him, all right, but it didn’t exactly fill him with enthusiasm for piggyback rides. Lazily, he stroked her knee, which was all he could reach while she sat there so alertly. “You look really pretty this morning.”
“You say that every morning,” Natasha informed him.
“It’s
true
every morning. You do look pretty.” Sleepily, Damon pulled her back under the covers. Natasha landed with a laugh, in a perfect position for him to slide his hand along her thigh, her hip, her breast ... . “Mmm. You feel really nice, too.” He could have lost himself in the soft, nice-smelling, extra-sexy way her skin felt. “What do you say we get Milo shipped off to school and then meet back here for a little together time?”
Devilishly, Damon waggled his eyebrows.
Natasha smiled at him. “You say
that
every morning, too.”
“So? I’ve heard dependability is a desirable character trait.” In fact, Damon was counting on it.
“So is a limitless sexual appetite.” Natasha imitated his eyebrow waggle. “That means we both win. It’s a date.”
Damon kissed her. “Now who’s repeating themselves?”
It was, to a word, the same thing Natasha said every morning. But as they completed their ritual with a cuddle and a tease and a lingering yearning to stay in bed—only to be yanked out, as usual, by Milo’s exasperated hollering from the kitchen—Damon didn’t care about repetition. In fact, he liked it.
Anything that brought him Natasha was good. Like helping and shopping and babysitting. Anything that took him away from Natasha was bad. Like working and traveling and trying to be a creative force at Torrance Chocolates (something he obviously was terrible at anyway). And in the middle? Well, Damon had never been much for middles. He’d always been a man of extremes.
Right now, for instance, he was
extremely
interested in making Natasha his. He was interested in erasing her doubts and proving he’d changed. So, although Damon
wanted
to stay in bed, he heeded Milo’s holler instead, got up, and got responsible.
Because it was what Natasha would have wanted. More and more these days, it was what Damon wanted, too.
Waking up with Damon was a highlight of Natasha’s days.
Each morning, when she opened her eyes and saw her former boss sprawled there in bed beside her, all big and brawny and vulnerable in his slumbering state, she could hardly believe he was really there.
The first morning, she’d given him an experimental poke, just to make sure. Damon had muttered in his sleep, rolled over toward her, then pulled her snugly into his arms. Even asleep, he’d wanted to protect and hold her. Even asleep, he’d tried to please her. Right then, Natasha had simply ... melted.