Call You Mine (Servite Academy)

Chapter Three

WYNTER

H oly fucking shit.

I knew something about him seemed different, but I would have never expected Damon Drake is fucking loaded. And I don’t mean a few hundred thousand dollars in his bank account saved from his extracurricular activities he’s always been so secretive about. I’m talking hella fucking rich—like my family’s wealth before Wesley went and fucked us.

Ace and I still have our grandfather’s inheritance we’ll be able to dig into soon, but it’s nothing compared to the chunk of money Damon suddenly inherited from this long-lost uncle of his.

Not that his new status changes anything between us. I’m not as shallow as everyone believes. Damon having money doesn’t suddenly make him more appealing or available to me. I’m not the social climbing gold digger that is my mother, Willa Servite.

Only eighteen years of age when she married Warren, ten years her senior, she made the man believe the twins she had were his, when in reality they were his brother’s children. That kind of shit is only done for one reason - to lock in a sure fucking thing. And the Servite bank account is all Willa ever cared about.

My mother’s been blowing through the money she could get her hands on before Wesley’s assets were seized. Luckily, the deed to Servite Manor was in our name or we’d be fucked on that front too.

So, in order to make it through the night without having a complete mental breakdown, I have to pretend the rows or red rose bushes wrapping around his house are a mere coincidence.

The interior of the mansion is just as breathtaking as the outside, only unlike the Craftsman style of the exterior, the interior is modern and eclectic. The white and black theme continues throughout the space. Sunlight beams in through the many windows along the front reflecting beautifully against the white marbled floors. Modern black furniture and furnishings are expertly placed along the space with a beautiful, spacious living room to the right and an expansive kitchen, along with a large rectangular island visible to the left.

But the one thing that catches my eye is the breathtaking marble staircase leading up to the second floor. The black marble tile has hints of white and silver, the railing a stark shade of matte black, and the steps are framed with mirrored strips of stainless steel that beautifully reflect the shimmering chandelier hanging directly above.

This house is everything I’ve ever dreamed of having in my space. From the roses outside, to the elegance of the decor, it’s like his designer picked apart my mind and built my dream home.

But it’s not mine. Not even temporarily, because now more than ever I’m determined to spend as little time here as possible.

Lines are already becoming blurred, my feelings clouding my logic, and I haven’t even spent a full hour in his presence.

Damon leads me up the stairs and down the hallway. I follow behind him, shielding my eyes with my sunglasses and hiding the way being in his space is making me feel. He stops in front of one door at the far end of the hall, reaches for the knob, and opens the door, motioning for me to enter before him.

I step around him, taking in the spacious guest bedroom, completely furnished and decorated. A beautiful queen-sized, four-poster bed sits symmetrically placed in the middle of the room. On one side, a large antique armoire sits beside an ivory-colored chaise, while on the other, there’s a dresser with a large potted plant giving life to the otherwise colorless space.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room’s decor has subtle earthy tones I assume were the choice of the interior designer because it doesn’t fit the vibe of the rest of the house.

Taking in the surrounding space, I’m suddenly overwhelmed with fear, my hands trembling anxiously as I recall everything that led me here. What have I dragged Damon into?

This man here with me now isn’t the same Damon I left behind a year ago after the first actual fight we had. He knew I wasn’t being forthcoming about what was really going on with me and I’d made it clear he had no fucking right to pry. I owed him nothing.

My exact words were, “You’re not my father nor my fucking boyfriend, so stay the fuck out of my life” . The worst part is I’d meant every single word at that moment.

For the first time since our friendship began, the lines between friends and something more were becoming blurred. We’d become complacent, used to each other's company. Hell, I texted him every fucking day, of course, deleting our conversations so Enzo would never discover us. Not that there was anything going on. But our texts were sometimes playful and flirty, even though they meant no harm. I’m not sure Enzo would think the same.

However, the last time I came home differed from the few other visits I’d made in the past. Something had shifted in our relationship and we both felt it, but we also both fought against it.

Damon clears his throat and my attention shifts toward the connecting bathroom he’s walked over to. “There are towels in the linen closet in the bathroom and it’s stocked with all the toiletries you’ll need.” He pauses, turning to me as he steps under the doorframe. “Ruby stayed here before I moved in and she ensured the rooms were stocked.”

I nod, unsure of what else to do. I’m out of my element here. I’ve never been one to allow my vulnerability to show, but now here I am standing before him, bloody, dirty, and practically homeless.

“Will she be coming here?” I ask, because the last thing I want is to run into his twin sister. Not that we didn’t get along. I mean, we would have had to communicate for that to happen and I honestly never felt the need to get to know Ruby Drake. The girl usually kept to herself and I doubt she was even friends with Scarlett and Jade, even though they came to Servite from the same foster house.

I know Ruby means everything to him, although he tries to deny it. She’s his twin sister. The connection Ace and I once had, is unlike anything else. He has no other family—only an aunt from his mother’s side he met a few years ago, but given our distance, I don’t know how that ended, and the uncle he had for a few months was now gone.

Drake’s body tenses as he contemplates an answer. “Nah, she’s got her own place in Galen Grove. After she ended things with her ex, she didn’t want to stay in Hillcrest.”

From what he’s told me in the past, Ruby was on and off dating one of the other guys from their foster home, Jaxon I think. Despite their rocky relationship, Damon always remained friends with Jaxon, making things awkward between them.

I don’t make a move toward him, instead sitting at the edge of the bed, nervously strumming my fingers over my legs.

He clears his throat once more, walking toward the bedroom door. “I’ll leave you to it then,” he says, walking out and reaching for the doorknob.

I hate the awkward tension in the room between us that’s been threatening to suffocate me. We were friends. Friends who texted almost daily. Two people who, despite the shitshow happening around them, kept each other grounded.

It was our little secret. A friendship I learned to treasure more than anything, and here I was about to ruin it all.

“Damon, wait,” I call out and he halts in his tracks. “Thank you, really. I honestly don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t agreed to help me.”

He doesn’t immediately turn back my way, his fingers tightening around the knob.

“Don’t thank me yet, Princess.” Over his shoulder, curious eyes meet mine with conviction. “You’re not off the hook. Take your shower, wash the fucker’s blood off your skin, but when you come to me, you’re telling me everything.”

And with that last threat, he closes the door behind him, leaving me alone for the first time in so long.

I’ve been out of the shower for forty-five minutes. Add that to the almost hour-long deep tissue scrubbing I underwent to get rid of every trace of Enzo from my skin, and I’m surprised Damon hasn’t come looking for me, afraid I’ve jumped out a window to get away.

Not that I haven’t toyed with the idea, but I wouldn’t want to ruin the rose bushes with my fall.

As I walk down the stairs in search of the kitchen, my empty stomach rumbling loudly, I hear his voice in the distance, along with another. My body stiffens at the thought of someone else knowing I’m here. Who could he have called?

I shouldn’t have trusted him to keep my arrival a secret or worse, I shouldn’t have assumed he was here alone.

What if he has a girlfriend or someone living here with him?

I’m about to turn around and head back upstairs pretending to have fallen asleep, when he suddenly falls silent.

“I’ll call you back tonight.”

Silence follows and the eerie feeling in the room makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand in awareness. I want to run upstairs and lock myself in the bedroom to avoid whatever awkward conversion is about to follow, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m frozen in place, submerged into the ground beneath me like it’s some sort of sticky tar keeping me still, or quicksand pulling me in deeper.

The heavy sound of his footsteps shifts closer until he rounds the corner coming from the living room and appears at the bottom of the staircase. His eyes find mine and he watches me with a blank expression. He looks bored, maybe even frustrated he’s in this predicament and stuck with me.

My gaze roams over his body, taking in his casual appearance. Also showered, his black hair a wet, tangled mess upon his head. He’s changed into a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips and another black t-shirt. I stare at the way the sleeves strain against his biceps and showcase every ripple of pure, unfiltered muscle along his chest and back.

My gaze drops to his sweatpants, which do absolutely nothing to hide the bulge appearing in between his legs. I’d flush in embarrassment from his obvious arousal if I didn’t already know the size of his massive cock, which was probably just sitting there in its resting state. Yeah, he’s that big.

“You always were one to eye-fuck me, weren’t you, Princess?” he mocks, catching me ogling him.

Without second guessing myself, I answer him with as much sarcasm as he greeted me with. “What can I say? You always brought out the worst in me. Every dirty thought,” I whisper as I take a step toward him. “Do you still have them too?”

Damon’s hands fist at his sides as he stares, shocked by my decision to play along. Things haven’t been this playful between us in so long I almost forgot how much I used to enjoy watching him squirm. We crossed no lines, allowing nothing sexual to happen between us again after the night we hooked up, but it doesn't mean we never wanted to.

In the beginning, there was a constant back and forth of flirtatious comments and innuendos between us, each one of us trying to break the other's resolve until, little by little, it became second nature to us.

I raise a brow at him, playfully challenging him to one of our little games, but he ignores me.

“You ready to talk?” he asks, changing the subject and holding up a first aid kit I hadn’t noticed he was carrying.

Fear prickles my skin yet again, and my mind instantly jumps into flight mode. Without another word, I turn and rush up the stairs, heading straight toward the bedroom I’m staying in. I feel like a child running from him, but I have to get away. I’m not ready to talk about what happened and if that means playing hide in seek in this enormous house, then so fucking be it.

Catch me if you can, Dragon.

However, the games cut short when I reach the top of the stairs. Damon grabs me by the waist and flips me around to face him before caging me against the wall, just like he did earlier in his apartment.

He growls as his fingers wrap around my wrists, pinning me to the wall.

“We gotta stop meeting like this Wyn,” he jokes, but when I don’t respond, all humor disappears from his face. “Don’t run from me,” he growls against my cheek when I don’t speak. His voice is raspier than usual, and when I feel his erection pressing against my waist, I know exactly why. “I’ll always catch you.” He runs his nose through my hair, inhaling deep as he presses further into me.

I bite my tongue to suppress the moan aching to escape. Closing my eyes, I allow my body to relax into his hold. It would be so easy to let myself forget what I’m here for and give in to what I’m sure he’s offering.

“Don’t hide Princess, I’ll always find you.”

Something in his confession urges me to listen, but it’s more than I ever thought I’d hear from him. This is exactly what we’ve tried so hard to fight. This constant pull that continues to bring us together, urging us to give into what we crave but shouldn’t have.

We’ve fought against it for so long, both knowing nothing good would come from it. Like an addict going through withdrawals fighting to be strong and not relapse despite how good I know I’ll feel from just one hit.

Damon Drake was a drug. One I knew I’d get dangerously addicted to the moment I had another taste, which is why I fought to make myself believe it’s not what I wanted. And it’s worked thus far. It has to stay that way, especially now. I’m in no position to go there with him or anyone.

“Please,” I murmur against his neck, only I’m not sure what it is I’m begging for. Is it for him to release me and walk away, or is it a plea to kiss me the way I need him to?

“Don’t know if it’s a blessing, or a curse, but I’m afraid this is going to be harder to fight than it ever has been before.” I swallow hard, slightly nodding in agreement at his statement. Not that he was expecting me to, but we both know it’s damn true.

It’s been years since I let a man touch me, and what Damon doesn’t know is he’s the last one I ever slept with. I just couldn’t after the night we spent together. Regardless of how drunk we both were and how much we regretted it the following morning, it was fucking incredible and no one ever compared to him.

Before things would get that far with any guys I casually dated in the months after, I'd put a stop to it. I didn’t even let Luke touch me. Then Enzo came along and took me away, and luckily the only time he ever touched me was last night.

I cringe at the memory of Enzo’s hands moving along my flesh, sickened by the way his touch aroused me despite the terror that consumed me.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers, bringing me out of my wretched thoughts. “And if you still don’t want to talk, I won’t make you.”

I gasp, taken aback by his request to let him take care of me. As in sexually? Though he must notice the confusion written on my face when he brings the first aid kit up for me to see.

Right. Take care of me, as in help clean my wounds. Get your head out of the gutter, Wyn.

I let him lead me back downstairs and into the kitchen. Marble countertops sit atop black kitchen cabinets with silver fixtures.

Damon continues to lead me through the room until we reach the long, rectangular island sitting in the middle of the space. His hands find my waist as he lifts me, setting me down on the cold marble counter. I yelp when the cold stone kisses the back of my thighs, making goosebumps cover my skin. The shirt I’m wearing, his shirt, fits me like a dress, so I put nothing on other than a lacy black thong and matching bra I found in my getaway bag.

I curse Luke for not grabbing me a pair of sensible underwear, not that I own many, preferring to wear thongs and cheeky panties. They make me feel good, sexy, and for three years I’ve felt anything but.

I used to hide my body from Enzo when we were alone, wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts through the house and to bed every night. Even though we never shared a bed, I always slept with one eye open, fearing for the day he’d change his mind and sneak his way into mine.

However, things were different when we’d go out, or better yet when he’d parade me around showing me off to his men - and enemies. My duties comprised accompanying him to family events or to one of his many casinos throughout the city. I was the shiny toy on his arm, his property, and everyone knew it.

The dresses he’d made me wear were low cut, barely covered my ass, and skintight. Not much different from dresses I usually wore out dancing when I was back home, but he always made me feel dirty wearing them. Not to mention the leering gazes of the men who envied him for owning me made my skin crawl.

“Where’d that mind of yours run off to, beautiful?” Damon mutters, holding my chin up to look at him. I’m lost in the deep green pools of his eyes. In them I find so many questions and the need for control of the situation. The need for control of me. I’m at a loss for words, torn between confessing it all to him or running away and never coming back. “Come back to me Wyn,” he adds, reading my mind the way only he knows how.

I ache to tell him. To lift the weight of the darkness I carry on my shoulders. To confess all that Enzo did to me. Everything I endured by his side, down to the bitter truth of what I did to him—the monster Enzo Marchesi made me.

Damon releases my chin when I don’t respond, his calloused fingers gently caressing my cheek, tracing small shapes I can’t make out against my flesh as they drift down to my neck. He takes his time, trailing over every purple bruise forming on my pale skin as his hands continue their descent. When he reaches the hem of his t-shirt, he tugs it in a silent demand.

Without question, I raise my hands, allowing him to tug the oversized white t-shirt over my head, leaving me in nothing but my lace bra and thong. Thank fucking God I wore a bra, or I’d be sitting topless in front of him.

He clenches his jaw, a deep growl leaving him the moment his eyes rake over my nearly naked body, immediately glazing over with desire. I should be self-conscious, moving my hands to cover myself, but the want in his eyes, the way he’s looking at me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on, that makes my skin ache to be seen.

To be touched by his hands, devoured by his mouth, savored by his tongue.

Without breaking eye contact, he unzips the first aid kit he set on the counter beside me, pulling out a few gauze pads and two bottles, one which looks like alcohol and another of hydrogen peroxide. He twists the cap off of the alcohol, drenching the gauze in it, and brings it up to the fresh cuts scattered along my chest.

Damon stares, waiting for my approval, and I nod my head in response. At least I think I do, but I honestly don’t even know what’s happening. I feel like I’m floating in air dreaming, having an out-of-body experience as he presses the soaked gauze against my skin.

It burns as the alcohol enters the gashes spread along my skin, but surprisingly, it also feels good. I can feel the pain and it strangely makes me feel alive. When Enzo cut me, my body and mind were so numb the pain never really registered. The adrenaline that coursed through me, mixed with the fear of what was happening, desensitized me to the pain I was enduring. But now, I can finally feel it and it’s a fucking relief to know I’m not dead inside.

I bite down on my tongue to hold in the screams that want to escape me, but my eyes remain locked on his. He continues, softly placing the gauze on every single cut before his hands move to the purple imprint of two hands appearing around my neck. The skin where Enzo’s fingers pressed so tightly into me they almost cut off all my air supply, is bruised. If I hadn’t pulled the knife out of his pocket, the same blade he used to make the cuts all over my chest, and shoved it into his neck, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

Damon’s eyes darken, his nostrils flaring as he speaks. “I want to kill the motherfucker who did this to you. Cut the fucking hands off the son of a bitch who dared to put them where they didn’t belong.” His fingers twitch against my skin, like he’s aching to wrap them around me too, but the look in my eyes must warn him not to.

I know that’s his thing, choking while fucking.

He did it to me the night we were together, wrapping his hands around my neck and holding on as he thrust into me, bringing me to the edge of ecstasy again and again. He was so turned on and I have to admit the way he looked as he fucked me relentlessly might have been more pleasurable than the actual orgasm or five he gave me that night. I’ve also caught him watching porn a few times, when we were trying to get each other to break our pact, and from that, I know he likes it rough.

But I’m not sure I’m ready for any of that. Not yet, not with him. If I go there again in this vulnerable state, one I’ve never found myself in before, I’m afraid I might just break.

Without warning he leans in, the scent of bourbon on his lips as he places a small kiss along the edge of my mouth where Enzo cut me with his ring when he punched me.

“But something tells me you don’t need my protection, Princess.” Damon licks his lips, lightly grazing mine when he does. I clench my thighs together as a burning heat rushes through me. He lets his hands travel down my body until they’re holding my hips in place, stopping me from wiggling against the cold marble. “You don’t need this dragon to slay the monsters for you, baby. You’re more than capable, aren't you?” he asks and a soft whimper escapes me.

It feels so good to have a man’s hands on me this way, to have his hands touching me like they ache to touch me. For pleasure, not pain. To heal, not maim.

“Please,” I murmur under my breath, my legs spreading for him as if on command. He takes a step closer, fitting perfectly between them, and I can’t help but close my eyes, unable to look at him. The sensation is already too much. “I said no questions, Damon, not tonight.”

His fingers move down my thigh, inching closer to the heat between my legs, aching to feel his touch. Slowly, he glides two fingers down over the thin fabric of my thong soaked in my arousal.

“Fuck,” he groans, feeling my wetness, his other hand digging into my thigh as he pushes my legs painfully apart. “You’re so fucking wet, Princess.”

A soft moan leaves my lips as he places another soft kiss against the corner of my mouth.

“Damon, I need this,” I murmur, pushing my pussy against his fingers. He slides them back and forth, and my legs tremble at the mere sight of him between my legs.

Without saying a word, he slowly tugs my thong down my legs, scattering soft kisses down my legs before lowering his mouth to my pussy, replacing his fingers with his tongue, applying slightly more pressure against my clit.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt a man’s tongue on me, even longer since one made me come this way. I ache for him to swipe his tongue through my folds, licking and sucking the way only he knows how to do.

But just when I think he’s going to give me what I want, what I need, he stops releasing me.

“If we go there, Wyn, there’s no going back,” he murmurs against my pussy. “I don’t want that.”

A metaphorical ice-cold bucket of water falls over me at his rejection, making me hop off the counter immediately. “Well then, let's not make that same mistake again. Thanks for playing Dr. Damon, but I’m done being your pity project.” I grab the shirt from the counter but don’t bother putting it back on yet, nor do I grab my thong from the floor. “I’m exhausted, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”

“Wyn,” he says, reaching out for me but I jump back before he can grab me.

“Don’t,” I call out, my gaze warning him away. “Thanks for letting me stay, but I don’t owe you any answers for it. If that’s what you expect in return for what just almost happened, then I’ll do us both a favor and leave now.”

Frustrated and a little uneasy, he runs a hand through his tousled locks. “Just go to bed. We have a long day tomorrow, anyway.”

“Tomorrow?” I ask, unsure what he means.

“Stella’s wedding?” he asks, as if it should mean something. “I know she invited you. She told me she had, but you hadn’t responded. I’m the best man. I figured now that you’re back, you would be going.”

Shit . I shake my head. “I forgot it was tomorrow.” He’s right. I had received the invitation but hadn’t bothered responding since it was unlikely I would make the trip back home. But all of that was before. Regardless, I can’t go. Not looking like I’d just been attacked, along with the cuts and bruises to prove it. “I can’t go,” I say when I catch him waiting for a response.

His eyes stay focused on mine, although I’m standing before him in nothing but a bra.

“Why not?” he asks. “You've told me yourself in the past you regret the way things ended between you two. This is the perfect opportunity for you to make amends, Wyn.”

“Damon, look at me.” He does, raising a brow in question. “I have bruises over my face and neck, cuts along my chest. I can’t go out in public, especially not around friends and family.”

A low chuckle escapes him. “You’re a chick. I’m sure makeup fixes all that shit.”

I roll my eyes at his ignorance. “It’s not that simple. People will start asking questions and they'll notice something is wrong. I don’t think I could handle it.”

He scoffs, turning away from me as he runs a hand through his beard. “Stop making excuses, Wynter. Stella deserves to have the perfect day. She’s marrying my best friend and if you're not up for it, then don’t go.”

I shake my head. “I want to go, Damon. I do, but I can’t. I’m not sure I can fake being okay. Not yet.”

He turns away from me completely, about to retreat the way he first came. “Whatever.”

“Unless…” I mutter, an idiotic thought fluttering in my mind. It’s ridiculous enough it might actually work.

“Unless what?”

I smile wide, unable to hold it in. “Unless you go with me.”

Confused, he shakes his head, staring at me like I’m speaking another language. “I’m going. I told you I’m the best man.”

“No, I mean go with me…as in be my date?”

A loud laugh escapes him, and it’s kind of hard not to feel outright offended. “Come on Wyn, stop playing games.”

“I’m not. Look Damon, I want to go, I do, but I’m afraid everyone will see right through my lies. Ace, Stella, everyone will know something’s wrong the moment they see me and my mask isn’t perfectly in place. I don’t think I can fake that right now, but if I’m hooked on your arm, they won’t pay attention to it. They’ll be too busy, too stunned, trying to figure out why the hell we’re there together.”

“That’s some fucked up logic, Wyn. Not to mention just plain crazy.”

“Crazy enough it might work?” I say, with a hint of humor. Yes, he’s right, it’s a fucking crazy idea not only showing up together but pretending like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. I can already picture the smoke coming out of my brother’s ears. Not that he has the right to care, but I can’t imagine it would be a welcome surprise given Damon’s history with his wife.

Damon shakes his head, but a hint of a smile, a glimpse of curiosity, appears on his lips for a second before disappearing once again. “On one condition,” he says, and I can’t hide the sudden excitement that brings me.

I’m eager to hear what he has to say, a bit too eager I forget I’m standing practically naked in front of him. It’s not until his eyes lock on my chest and lower to my bare pussy that I take a step back.

“Anything,” I mutter a little too enthusiastically.

He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, like he’s questioning why the fuck he’s about to agree. “Go put some fucking clothes on. I only have so much restraint, Princess, and if you don’t get out of my sight, I’m not fucking responsible for what I’ll do.”