On One Condition

“Kiss me.” She tangled her fingers in his hair, arching to press against him. He let out a tortured groan, his hands roving over her body. Her br**sts, her hips, her thighs.

Everywhere he touched, she burned. Her body begged for more. Squirming, she tugged at his shirt, aching to feel his skin against hers.

He tore his shirt over his head before kissing a path down her neck to the top of her chemise. She whimpered, running her nails over his back. When his lips closed over her nipple through the sheer fabric, she cried out and arched her hips.

Her body went crazy, trembling with need. Her fingers dug into his skin, desperate to hold onto him. To feel him with her.

He rubbed against her, moaning. Lifting her gown, he stroked the fabric over her thighs until she lay bare. His heated gaze roamed over her, leaving her feeling exposed and beautiful. He kissed her until she forgot to breathe.

Lightheaded, she grabbed his hips, pulling him close. “Now.”

“Johanna,” he groaned, positioning himself at her entrance. “I love you.”

He kissed her poignantly before thrusting inside. He filled her completely, leaving her shivering and yet oh so hot.

Lifting her hips, she met his thrust, trailing her fingers over his chest. He groaned, arching his neck back.

“Oh God,” he cried out, increasing his tempo. An answering hunger rose in her, making her writhe beneath him. He reached between them, caressing her until she lost all control. After a few quick movements of his thumb, stars burst in front of her eyes as pleasure consumed her. He collapsed on top of her, lips pressed into the side of her neck.

“I can’t imagine my life without you,” he breathed.

She closed her eyes, savoring his embrace and the relief washing over her. His breath feathered her hair, tickling her forehead. Maybe she should tell him she cared about him.

Maybe she should let him know the truth.

“Damon?”

His snore echoed through the room. He’d fallen asleep.

…

The next day, Damon sat at his desk. He rubbed his forehead and let out a groan. For the second time in his life, he’d allowed himself to be driven to drink over a woman who didn’t even want him. The worst part was that it hadn’t worked. He’d still been absolutely miserable. No. Scratch that.

He’d been drunk and miserable. But by the time he’d gotten home, he’d been completely sober. And then he’d somehow managed to make his dreams come true. He’d spent the night wrapped in her embrace.

But now what?

He’d, like a bloody fool, confessed his love to her, practically begging for a scrap of affection, and she said nothing in return. Even after they made love, she’d remained silent. He didn’t know what to think. Had they made love because she returned his feelings—or did it mean nothing more to her than a pity f**k?

What was going through her head? What was she feeling?

He was terrified to find out. If she came downstairs as if she hadn’t a care in the world and nothing ever happened between them, he might explode. This was not a game to him.

He couldn’t shrug off her disinterest as he would any other woman. Johanna was different.

If he lost her…he’d have nothing left.

…

“…So we need to call them by three tomorrow.”

Damon blinked, eyeing Jeff. “Call who?”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you four times already.

What’s your problem today? Did Johanna keep you up too late?”

“Tell me again. I’ll listen.”

Jeff gave him an odd look. A knock sounded, and the butler opened the door a crack. “My lord? There’s a Mr.

Smith here to see you. Shall I show him in?”

“Absolutely not.” Damon snarled, rising to his feet. “You can tell him to go straight to he—”

“No thanks,” Tim answered as he shoved past the butler.

“I need to speak to him. Alone.”

Damon nodded and arched a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. Once Jeff left the room, he turned his attention back to Tim.

“What do you want?”

Tim sauntered close, his eyes flitting around the room as if taking a tally of Damon’s possessions. “I was wondering how things were going between you and the cold little witch. Have you gotten her into your bed yet?”

Damon clenched his fists, picturing the man with his face smashed in. It would feel so damn good to be the one doing the smashing. “Get the hell out of my house.”

He shook his head. “Did you think that if you moved her, I wouldn’t know?”

Damon’s head spun. Lilly. What the hell did this bastard want from him? “Yes,” he said. “Why do you care about her?

Why are you doing this?”

“I have my reasons. Why did you have to marry Johanna?

We planned everything so well.”

Damon gritted his teeth. “We?”

“How’s Lilly’s new place?” Tim rubbed his chin, lounging against the wall. “I like the flowers out front.”

Damon reached the end of his limited patience. “You stay away from her. And Johanna.”

“Johanna is a whore. This whole plan fell apart because of you marrying her. Did you f**k her yet?”

That was it. This sick game was over. Damon advanced on Tim—until he caught a flash of something blue in the doorway, and froze.

Johanna, face pale and eyes wide, stood in the open office door, Jeff behind her. Tim smirked as Damon rushed forward.

“Johanna.”

“Don’t bother. I’m leaving now,” Johanna said, her voice breaking on the last word. “Let me know when you two decide who gets custody of me.”

“As if I’d want you,” Tim called out. “He called me here, asking me if I knew where your family is so he could send you off to them. He can’t stand being married to a useless whore like you.”

“Shut up,” Damon snarled, shoving the man backward.

“Jeff, if you don’t get him out of here right now, I will be going to jail for murder.”

“I’ll take care of it. You go get your wife back,” Jeff said.

Damon entered the foyer, only to catch a glimpse of her disappearing up the stairs at a run. “Johanna!” he cried.

Damon bolted after her, heart thumping at crazy speeds in his chest. “Stop right now.”

Her shoulders squared off as she whirled to face him. Her eyes were icy and cold—emotionless. Her lips trembled, but otherwise she looked completely under control. “Is that an order?”