UNSHAKABLE (Able Series Book 4) (12 page)

I peek out from my walk in closet. “Babe, we’ve been cooped up here for weeks now. I’m tired of spending time with you in here. I promise, if you don’t like the comedy club, we’ll leave.”

“Sophia, I don’t like this,” he says. His eyes never leave mine as I plop myself unceremoniously next to him.

I roll my eyes secretly while lacing up my boots. He never likes when we go out. He has turned into a recluse ever since the picture fiasco. We’ve been told on numerous occasions by Nicole not to comment on anything. I’m wondering if that’s the source of his frustration.

“What’s really bothering you? Is it us going out, or us staying quiet?” I sit up straight and squeeze his thigh, quietly asking him for an honest answer.

“Do you really want me to answer that question truthfully?” I can tell the moment he looks away, the answer he’s about to say isn’t the real answer his heart wants to reveal. “I know I have to share you with every one, and if I’m lucky, I get to have you to myself for a couple of hours.” Sighing loudly he continues, still not looking my way but instead he links his fingers and stares at his feet. “When we do have time together you want to go out, and I have to go back to sharing you again. I’m getting tired of the damn cycle, Sophia.”

Truth be told, I share him with everyone too—including every beat of his heart. Avoidance, that’s what he has been doing these past couple of weeks. Then it turns into deep brooding, soon followed by him being short with everyone, but me. And frankly, I’m getting tired of it, too, at least this part of us.

“Aside from that, what’s really bothering you?”

I start to stand, only to be pulled onto his lap. “I’m tired of saying ‘no damn comment’,” he murmurs. His lips graze my temple. “I hate not being able to say what I want. I’m not used to this.” He rests his forehead on my shoulder as he blows out a heavy breath.

I pull back, and he leans in kissing me. Every kiss with Damien leaves me comforted—loved and guessing. Each kiss is different than the other. Each time I want more—hoping for more. He starts with his tongue searching mine which doesn’t take long before my own is twirling with his. His hand grips my neck as I’m a willing captive to his kiss. He lets go of his hold as his fingers slide down my neck to my breast, kneading it delicately one second and roughly the next while his lips never leave mine.

“Mmmm . . .” A moan escapes me as his kisses become persistent.

He lets go of my lips as his fingers travel down my jaw, leaving small kisses against my skin and dampness in my panties. He sucks and licks my skin once he gets to his favorite spot under my ear.

“I love our time,” he murmurs between kisses. “I love when I can hold you close.” More kisses . . . more nibbling. “I love touching you here.” His palm presses in against my breast, his thumb rubbing my aching nipple. His tongue slides out, licking his way up to my lips and stops before his touches mine. He says against my waiting lips, “I want you.” He stops, and my eyes flutter open to look into the depths of his. Understanding clearly the ‘want’ he confesses.

“I want you, too. So, badly.” My lips slightly touch his.

He closes his eyes taking in deep breaths, a sure sign of him trying to regain control. I hate his control. I want him to lose it, to give in to this intensity filled desire we both have.

Giving my lips one quick kiss, he mumbles, “Let’s go. I don’t like to get there late.”

I grab my clutch while he reaches for my other hand and off we go to act like a regular couple, hanging out with our friends. Actually, just my friends as his are really his co-workers who are still on the clock.

As always, we go through the backdoor which is pre-arranged. The lights are dim all around with one spotlight aimed at the stage. The first stand-up comedian takes the stage as our first round of drinks arrives. As per normal, he only drinks water while he lets me enjoy any alcoholic beverage of my choosing. We sit side by side with his arm protectively covering my shoulders, and my left hand securely resting on his knee. In between his low manly laugh and my giggles, he kisses my temple, his usual and toned down public display of affection.

The main standup comedian comes on stage, deafening yells and whistles erupt sending my ever protective shield on alert. Once center stage, he points toward our direction. My nerves send a warning signal to my brain, leaving goosebumps of fear in its wake.

“Do you know what’s going viral right now? Two words. . . . Secret and Service! That’s what I call personalized.” He yells out, causing Damien to curse under his breath. Darcee’s look of worry mirrors mine while Bryanna’s eyes scan back and forth awkwardly.

“If the President, his wife, and daughter are called the First Family, what do you call fucking the First daughter?” He walks toward the left side of the stage and places the mic in front of someone’s face, wanting her to answer.

The startled girl giggles and quips, “I don’t know.”

The comic shakes his head and says, “It’s called the First Fuck!”

Laughter surrounds us while Damien’s demeanor changes from carefree to full blown anger. His brows up, his eyes bore on the asshole on stage while he clenches his jaw. I can’t take my eyes off him.

Luke leans over to Damien and whispers, “You want to jet out of here?”

I swing my gaze to Luke. “It’s just going to cause more attention if we leave now. Maybe he’ll stop.”

Before Damien could even say anything, the asshole’s voice echoes in the room. “Who missed the pictures of the President’s daughter getting it on in the White House?”

Someone from across the room yells, “Me!”

“Me, too!!

The comic laughs and puts his mic in the mic-stand, then claps. “Well, today’s your lucky day.” The spotlight on him turns off, and a picture of the mystery woman and Damien is now displayed on the wall.

“Fuck. Get us out of here, Luke,” Damien says heatedly.

“Jared, get the car ready. We’re leaving ASAP,” Luke mutters on his wrist mic.

Just as we’re about to get up from our seats, a deep voice moaning in pleasure plays in the background. Said voice mutters how good it feels in time as a woman’s erotic mewling bleeds through my ears, scorching my heart because I’d recognize that voice anywhere, anytime. Something I can attribute to shock, I’m sure, is on my face while one of intense anger masks Damien’s. It’s undoubtedly his voice, but when the woman’s voice yells out his name, there’s no mistaking the picture matches the audio. I know those two voices; I know them painfully well.

In seconds, I’m pulled and hurriedly removed from the premises. Damien’s arms are around me as tears of hurt and disgust flow out of my eyes. The feeling of anger, pain, disappointment, disbelief, and shame are a tangled mess inside my head. Each one is clawing its way to the surface, pushing me deeper into despair, drowning me in my own tears.

Once we’re safely inside the SUV, Damien’s hunger-filled lips touch mine. He has never done this, kissed me in front of my friends or my detail, but the hunger in his kisses doesn’t match the numbness in my heart.

Fear then agony break the unfeeling state of my heart.

He abruptly stops kissing me. His eyes try to read mine, but I have nothing. Even though the barriers of numbness are broken by anger and hurt, I can’t aim hurtful words at him. It seems every single horrid word in the English dictionary has escaped my numb brain.

I’m mute to the hurt, but definitely not deaf to what I heard. Every moan of her voice and groan of his grates at me. They slash my heart to nothing.

With a worried look and an equally worried voice he declares, “You hate me.”

Silence
—when should it be given?

Answers
—when should they be heard?

DAMIEN

A myriad of conflicting emotions create a chaotic battle within me. The strongest of them all is fury. I’m angry she’s hurting. I’m angry she heard it. I’m angry that it even happened. I’m angry at myself. I’m angry at the world.

For every moan she heard, my heart beats its last.

For every despicable noise coming from the vilest woman I’ve ever fucked, my body takes its last breath.

For every ugly-guilt-laden pleasure that one act drained from me, my soul dies.

She doesn’t return my kiss. She looks through me, and not at me. She’s nothing but an unfeeling heat next to me. I don’t want to leave her, not like this. With my mind made up after dropping off Darcee and Bryanna, we head straight to the White House instead of dropping me at my place.

As soon as the car stops, she opens the door, walks inside, and never looks back as I follow her silently up to the residence. Inside the confines of the elevator, her tears flow non-stop. She curls toward Luke, in his arms she falls instead of mine, and my heart breaks yet again.

“You’re lucky her parents are at Camp David for the weekend. I wouldn’t be surprised if they come home soon. You didn’t know you were being taped while you were fucking her?” Luke says over Sophia’s head, causing her to cry even more.

I feel like hitting something, but instead I answer, “Do you think it would stand to see the light of day if I knew! I got fucked over!”

I pull Sophia away from Luke’s arms and carry her to her room, locking the door behind me. Gently, I lay her down on the bed as she curls away from me.

My entire body is shaking in fear. Something I’ve never felt and never want to feel ever again. Everything in me screams for me to hold her, kiss her until we’re both breathless. These thoughts play in my mind while her whimpers drive me insane.

The need to be close to her wins as it always does. I pin my body against her shaky one. I invade her lips that are trembling because of pain I caused. I plunder her mouth to soothe the hurt, and for every swipe of my tongue against her lips, I’m showing her my love is still here . . . intact . . . unchangeable.

“I’m sorry.”

My mouth moves while hers stays still.

“I.”

My tongue seeks permission but is denied.

“Need.”

My hands cradle her head as my fingers grip her hair.

“You.”

I don’t know what fired her up, but she’s kissing me back with as much fervor as I’m giving. Her thighs imprison my hips as her core rubs against my hard cock. Our kiss intensifies as moans escape her mouth while she busies her fingers unbuckling my belt.

Stop!

My brain is shouting, but I’m too far gone. The need to comfort her takes over. The desire to have her, to make her mine, to correct the wrong and erase the repulsive sexual act I shared with Nicole overrides any reason. I want to give her all of me; everything about me that she wants . . . that I hope she still needs is hers for the taking. There’s no stopping now, and any attempt at this point is useless unless someone intervenes.

She pushes me over, and I allow her. I let her control me.

She gathers the ends of her tiny black dress and pulls them over her head, revealing her lacy black bra and panties while she moves her hips ever so slowly, and I allow my eyes to feast on her. With the greatest of ease she takes her bra off, leans over with her ass hanging in the air, and captures my mouth. Her tongue spears my own as I grab onto her barely covered backside.

Her luscious lips release my needy ones, and she works on my shirt one button at a time all the while looking at me, her mouth slightly apart, and her tongue peaks out, running along her top lip lazily . . . seductively. I’m completely entranced by her and almost miss the words that leave her mouth.

The words that ram through my heart and kill my desire instantly.

“Fuck me like you fucked her.” Her cold calculated voice is a stranger to my ears.

Six powerful words hold a lot of unspoken meaning to some, but to me these six words hold a condemnation beyond actions, an accusation without mercy, and a judgement that’s final.

“I can never fuck you,” I say through gritted teeth. My hands clench around her hips.

My Sophia, the one who allows herself to be vulnerable in front of me, isn’t the one facing me now. My Sophia is buried deep somewhere inside the betrayed one who’s looking at me. The mask she’s wearing is the same face she shows the world.

“Why? Do I not moan like her? The sway of my hips, the way I grind against your cock doesn’t match hers?” She slithers her hand down my chest and grabs a hold of my dick.

She squeezes me gently, then rubs me hard making my eyes roll back, my stomach clench, and my hips jerk up on their own accord. She continues to work me like no one has ever done before, and it’s not even skin to skin.

Lost and drowning in my own desire for her, I don’t hear the tell-tale sign of my zipper being undone. As soon as her warm hand makes contact with my hardness, my eyes fling open and land on hers.

“Am I doing it right?” She sneers at me. “Did she hold you like this . . .” She squeezes me roughly. “ . . . or did she do it this way?” She strokes me, and then leans in for another scorching kiss.

Heaven . . . her kisses take me there.

Her mouth moves to my ears, and her words take me straight to the darkest part of the universe. Her voice is so unfeeling it reminds me of the hurt I’ve caused her.

“Fuck me. You know you only ever wanted to fuck me.”

As I look into her eyes, twin tears roll down her face. I know that a simple slide of my hand over her panties and one quick thrust will do the trick, but I won’t . . . not like this.

“I love you so much, but fucking you, if that’s what your heart wants, is something I can’t give. I can never just fuck you. Ever. I can never fuck someone I love. When I make you mine, it won’t be when you’re angry or when my heart isn’t whole. It won’t be with tears running down your face and guilt drowning my soul. When I finally make you mine, it’ll be when your love for me is the purest, without anger tainting your heart.”

I kiss her on her forehead, putting everything in that one simple kiss. I wipe her tears as I gently push her off me and onto her bed, covering her naked body. I turn away, not wanting to see one more tear leave her eyes. Buttoning my shirt and righting myself, I leave her room with a heavy heart. A heart filled with guilt.