Three: “Of All the Gin Joints, In All the Towns, In All the World…He walks Into My Gazebo”

I knelt in front of the gazebo, counted up five nine by fours until I found the words. Savannah had written it in purple glittery eyeliner pencil one day and last year during one skipped period of Physics I came back to write over the Casablanca quote with a tiny little hot pink sharpie. One of those ones you can attach to your keychain, along with a whole other host of things.

I found it in the thick patch of clovers catty-corner to the gazebo and left it there when Damien came and we had loud obnoxious sex on the white wooden floor. I forgot to pocket the pen once we left.

It’s gone today and once Damien finally shows the fuck up, we won’t be having any sex on any floor…Or up against the wall, or on the grass, or—

You know what, I’ll just leave it at absolutely no sex.

I brushed my fingers across the quote and they came away with a light dusting of purple and shiny stuff.

Still not dry.

I hopped up just before he was right behind me and spun around right after his feet sunk into the clover patch.

“You’re late.”

“I’m shocked; Ryder didn’t lie. You aren’t wearing a shirt. My, my, my this just makes our little meeting so much more delightful. It’s a perfect visual while I flash back to you on that splintered floor, writhing, shrieking my name while I—,” a familiar darkness leaked into his eyes and I spun abruptly while I had the chance.

So vulgar. Such poor taste.

I stomped up the steps to the gazebo and wished I had worn Doc Martens today instead of the supple thigh-high leather boots with three inch heels. My stomping might have made his fantasy fade and bring him back into the present. But, in truth, watching my legs in these boots and this skirt with a good four inches of skin between them probably only served to add full to his fire.

Naturally when we leaned back against the sides of the gazebo, we were opposite each other. And naturally we both tried to stare each other down. He looked away first, mostly because his gaze held lust, and mine pure malice.

No matter how much he hates me, Damien still wants to fuck me. I’m very sure I wouldn’t mind it; I just try not to think about that part. Having sex with Damien would never work for a whole host of reasons.

The worst part is, even just looking at his face brings back memories. Not that I’d ever admit it, but watching him gives me flashbacks too, almost every single time.

Damien’s not traditionally handsome. But it all comes together because of the weight of his eyes and, usually, the curve of his cupid’s-bow lips. His nose is a little too wide, eyes set too far apart, eyebrows too thick, to heavy, and the bones in his face are delicate but somehow wrong. In the wrong light he looks harsh, in the right he can look like an angel. But it’s his eyes.

At one point I could stare at those eyes for days. Not now. Not anymore.

I’d be lying if I said they didn’t affect me. They’re like a mixture of caramel, chocolate, and gold that I couldn’t do justice in my description if someone walked up to me, put a gun to my temple, and switched off the safety.

Damien ran a hand through his thick wavy black hair—it’s a couple inches longer than shoulder length now to my delight and mostly dismay—and narrowed his honeyed eyes in my direction, “You remember?”

We spent a lot of time here last year, getting drunk, skipping class, getting high, having sex—or mostly a combination of all four—but I know exactly what instance he’s referring to.

The emotion drained out of my face completely and white noise began to buzz in my ears before I stared up at him. “Yeah, it was the Friday before we flew out for my Deb ball in Paris…,” I pause and take a moment to take a good look at my manicure, which was salvaged only moments ago by Eliza and her ever present nail kit in the Teacher’s Lounge, “I came twice.”

I actually came three times, the last Earth shattering—I thought I’d never walk again and stars would never stop exploding behind me eyes—but he doesn’t need to know that.

I will say this though. Damien knows the g-spot; oh, he knows it very well.

“Three, Sofia,” he corrected, lifting one shoulder in a show of nonchalance. He likes to pretend it’s as if he doesn’t pride himself on that third orgasm, which is exactly why I won’t confirm its existence.

The all too elusive orgasm, how classic.

“Let’s not dwell,” I smile. It’s tight, close lipped, and a little shaky around the edges, but Damien knows that smile. It’s my ‘I’m thinking things that aren’t made for smiles, but rather snarls’ smile. It’s not typically what I’d use to scare people—most people are confused much too easily—but Damien knows me inside and out, so I’ll settle.

He says I have a similar expression when I’m horny. I’m not sure I believe all that.

“Is that why you couldn’t remember Indigo? You don’t dwell well, do you, Fee,” Damien asked while his eyes slid down my arm and narrowed at the gold charm bracelet hanging there. Damn it, I’d been spotted.

I knew I shouldn’t have worn his bracelet. That sense of foreboding earlier; I really should have made a better note of it.

“Depends on how you think of dwelling, I guess, Damien,” I said and tapped the side of my mouth with my index finger.

“Your nails are the color of dried blood.” He said it like it was just a little bit too déclassé for his taste. Like I actually had blood on and underneath my fingernails. Or maybe I dipped my fingers in chicken’s blood, let it dry, and painted a clear coat over them for shine.

I was almost compelled to call him a little shit like his minion from earlier. Only I didn’t.

I wanted too though. That’s a promise.

“Nah,” I lick the side of my finger, slide it into my mouth, and bite it a little bit before continuing, “The color’s called Heart’s Blood. Bloods always darkest from the heart.”

“Uh-huh,” he pressed his lips into a thin line and raked his fingers through his hair again and again before glaring at me, “I want retribution. You can’t tell people you cut my fucking nuts out—you can’t say that shit Sofia—”

“Aww,” I pout, “Are they calling you Uno already? I was only joking, though if I knew the rumor would spread that fast, I might have said I took them both. Maybe even that you asked me too, I should have said you were a sadist and pain? It’s totally your thing.”

“We had an agreement,” he muttered firmly. Anger flowed down through my limbs and I started toward him.

“Yes, we did once, but I’ve decided it was nullified once you told your little underlings that I enjoy performing oral sex, featuring your penis, when we all know that nothing of the sort is going on. We drew up the contract for a reason. For when situations arise, like the delicate one with your—with Ryder—we’d be prepared to handle it. Unless you’d like everyone to know he became a part of our little game? Is that why you chose to withhold information from me? You want everyone to know how I broke you. How very sorry you were and how you begged me to end it all after I almost slept with your cousin?”

I hardly realized I was pressed flush against his body until I prodded him in the chest with one hand and could hardly move the other. He smelled of charcoal and a rich spicy cologne. I had to blink away the urge to lick the charcoal smudge off his chin.

His hands shot up and gripped my shoulders so tightly I knew bruises would blossom their tomorrow morning. “Don’t you dare, Sofia—don’t you fucking dare, you psycho fucking bitch. We’ve both got secrets. Do you want yours spilled too? Not that I need the cash, but I do wonder how much money some magazine would give me for a tell-all. What do you think? Once I let them know about your drug problem and, of course, the therapy you’ve had over the years—not that it helped any and I suppose that’s why you don’t go anymore—I’m thinking I could buy a tiny European sports car.”

I jerked back, but his grip on my shoulders was still too tight and I only got about five inches away from his face. It’s highly unfortunate that his lips look even lusher up close. “I don’t have a drug problem.”

“Oh, but I did, remember? I’m sure I can dig up some old text messages, maybe video or pictures even. It’ll be easy and your father, can you even imagine how disappointed he’ll be? Not to mention the whole country. And although there’s a good chance your brother might rearrange my face once everything’s all said and done, I’ll deal with that when the time comes, but I’m sure I’ll be fine what with modern facial reconstruction today. It’d be so worth it.”

“You would have to dig, wouldn’t you, Dame? I wouldn’t. I could walk out of here right now and in a few calls, your picture could be on the cover of—you know what? I bet I could get a few of the European rags. God, they’re brutal over there; it almost makes me wish I got a shot of you snorting coke off my ass. They’ve been known to print full frontal before…”

“I’d be shocked if your father even kept his seat in Parliament. Fortunately I’ve got that whole divine right thing on my side—thank God…So really, let’s not do this, okay Damien? Things might get messy and I don’t like messes—there’s always too much to clean up with you.”

I shifted so I could press my hands against his chest and shove as hard as I could. He only stumbled back a step, but it was enough for me to slip away from him. I strongly considered back handing him, but we were both so heated right now…I didn’t want to give him an excuse to do anything even crazier. Like, you know, slap me right back.

“Don’t touch me unless I ask you to, Damien. I don’t want to have remind you of that again.” I smoothed my hands across the front of my body, wishing I could slide the smell and feel of him on my body right off.

I was actually close to gagging. Just the thought of being that close to him and wanting—actually wanting him disgusted me more than anything. It was just plain ridiculous that after everything, even after this fuck called me a psycho bitch, suggested I had an imaginary drug problem, and probably left palm-sized bruises on my arms, I could still consider ripping off his clothes and getting horizontal with him right now.

Damien turned away and leant on the sides of the gazebo. “You know I can tell. I’ve always been able to read you. So why is it that you won’t sleep with me?”

“I don’t want you enough to want everything that would come with fucking you,” I answered simply. It was the complete truth too. Yeah, I hated the guy, but, depending on the situation, sex can just be sex. The only problem being that Damien’s a calculating bastard—just like me in fact, except he’s the bastard and I’m the bitch in this relationship.

“It could be just that. Fucking. I don’t want anything else.”

If he’d left it at that, maybe not stepped so close to me that the fact that we weren’t actually touching didn’t really make any difference, I probably would have told him to fuck off. And if there hadn’t been another charcoal smudge right by his mouth, I wouldn’t have lifted my chin to get a better look at it.

He probably wouldn’t have kissed me if I hadn’t taken a deep breath at the exact moment the wind blew, allowing his cloying scent to float straight up through my nose, and my mouth to slip open with a slight sigh.

His mouth tasted buttery, and was soft and warm like the croissant I had for breakfast this morning. Just feel of his mouth on mine—our bodies were still strangely far from each other—brought back memories that made heat build low in my stomach and lower still.

I had to keep my hands closed into tight fists and pressed against my sides to keep from touching him.

He pulled back and licked along my bottom lip. He started to lean back further, but I grabbed the end of his tie and pulled him back. I dragged both rows of my teeth along his bottom lip and Damien’s hands were suddenly at my hips, shifting me forwards and right against his.

I looped my arms around his neck and knotted one hand in his thick hair. I pressed my body along the long line of his and shivered when he growled into my mouth.

I hadn’t even realized I was dragging my fingers down his chest. I don’t think I would have if he hadn’t reacted so violently (and I truly do mean violent; that fuck bit the shit out of me) when my fingers slipped under the belt of his jeans.

But thankfully the sharp pain in my lip cleared my head just long enough for me to realize that in no way, shape, or form would I let it be that easy for him. I was not about to fuck him right now. Giving in this quickly would be a sign of weakness and weak—besides being a little weak in the knees right now—I am not.

“Damien—Damien, that’s enough,” I growled pushed at his hips, but, of course, he took it the wrong way, just like every other time. Although to say I blame him for picking me up and wrapping my legs around his waist is a stretch to say the least, because right before he did it, he looked up into my eyes and some—okay, most—of the heat was still left there.

Though I neglected to wear a shirt today, I did remember my underwear, thank God. Because as soon as he lifted my legs, the feel of him pressed up against me and very, very excited about it bowed my back and tore a sound from my throat. A sound that no self-respecting lady should make outside of the bedroom, let alone in a goddamn gazebo on school grounds.

I’m thanking God, because I know that if I hadn’t taken a moment to wonder about whatever pair of underwear I put on this morning—Was it lace? Briefs or Bikini? Would he rip them in his haste to fuck me? And maybe I should keep my underwear on, lest I get splinters all over my ass when we finally do get down to doing the nasty?—I would have gotten started on unbuttoning his pants and asking him to find a condom before I even remembered telling him to stop.

So what’s a girl to do when words won’t work and my body language was being a pain in the ass? I bit him. Bit the shit out of him, really. Because, short of punching him in the nuts (and I couldn’t quite get the leverage for all that) anything else wouldn’t have done the trick.

Damien’s sexual…preferences lean to the more exotic side of the spectrum than most high school boys. You know, because most high school boys just want to get their dicks wet. But Damien, of course Damien, likes a little pain, likes things a little rough.

I even grew my nails out for a while because he loved for me to rake them down his back while we got horizontal, no matter how much skin I broke.

Not that he’s a sadist or anything. I’m not saying that at all, because I’m the same way; although who knows if that’s his fault or my own.

I licked his jumping pulse once—something about his pulse in my mouth made me think of sucking on a piece of hard candy, which almost weirded me out enough to pull away—locked my lips around his neck and stopped thinking long enough to bite down.

I swear I hadn’t even thought of the ramifications. I really didn’t expected to him to start bleeding. I mean it’s not like I’ve got fangs or anything and I surely do not enjoy the salty, sweet, metallic taste of blood.

Fortunately he dropped me so quickly that only a bit of blood got on my lips. Unfortunately I scraped a couple layers of skin off my palms when I fell to the floor after he dropped like a goddamn hot potato.

“What the fuck, Sofia?” He pressed three fingers to his neck tentatively and came away with a few drops of blood on them. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“It’d be wise for you not to take any liberties again, at least until we have a talk. I’ll let you know whether we can start fucking or not tonight,” I said, still kneeling on the ground in front of him.

It was hard, believe you me, to scrape together the last little bits of my dignity and pick myself up from the ground while cataloging the damage. A couple scrapes and bruises and an almost sprained ankle.

God, he is quite the bastard.

But I did just maul the shit out of his neck. I should definitely remember that.

A/N: Hi-hi! So yeah, a new chapter…Have I mentioned that this story’s going to be Mature? Well, you know now. Damien and Sofia—good god they’re like a couple of bunnies.

I’d love to know how everyone feels about Damien.

Thanks for the reviews everyone! It means so much to me! Cookies and Cake to you.

One of the Boys next, I promise!