Master of Death (Hollow #2)

CHAPTER 10

It’s moving day—and a typical rainy day in March. I try to find the silver lining in that. I dress in yoga pants and a black T-shirt. Then I stare outside my window for the last glimpse of the backyard I’ll ever get.

I start to toast a bagel before opening the door for Gia. She hugs me tightly, a bright smile on her face.

“Where are the hot movers at?”

“Not here yet.” I bite on my bagel once it’s ready.

“So.” She sighs. “Ready for this?”

I nod. I can’t speak today. Gia has a way of pulling things out of me. If she wanted me to shed tears today, she could make me.

“I don’t want you lifting anything.”

“It’s nice of Damon to take care of the movers. You deserve to be taken care of. I like him for that.”

My old self would be quick to defend Harvey. But not today.

“Well, I’ll start putting some stuff in your car at least.”

Thirty minutes later, the movers come and swiftly transfer all my boxes and the bed frame to the truck.

Hours later, the truck is heading to my dad’s house, and I know I need to say goodbye to Harvey so that I can open the door for the moving company to start unpacking at my dad’s.

“I’ll be in the car.” My sister squeezes my arm and leaves.

“Don’t go,” I hear behind me.

The words are spoken so softly you’d think I made them up. Maybe to help myself heal, to move on from this, or to remind myself that even though it didn’t work out, what we shared was something special.

It seems the odds were always against us. One because we’re young and two because of the accident.

I gulp down years of guilt, love, and loyalty. It’s all still there; it’s not about to go away overnight. Despite how easy it’d be to give in to his demand, I know we must do this. We must fall apart—completely—to truly move on and see where life takes us.

He takes my hand, so I turn to face the blond-haired, blue-eyed artist one more time. So much potential. I hope she helps him see it.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I was mad. Fuck, I’m still mad. But ...”

“It’s okay.” I swallow. “We’ll be okay, Harvey.” I tell him words I don’t even believe. This will break me. I’m not sure about him. I hope he rises from this instead of being crushed under the weight of the darkness sure to come.

He hands me a folded piece of paper. “For later.”

I nod. There are so many words and so many things left to say. Yet would they change anything? Why give him hope when there’s no competition between him and Damon?

It should’ve been easy. Get my taste of Damon, move on with my life with Harvey, and work on our issues.

I was never supposed to fall in love with Damon.

“Day by day, Harvey. That’s how we get through this.”

So many curses, so many broken pieces, so many scorching silences, all coming to an end. Is it possible to seek the familiarity of dark moments? To seek shelter in your depression because that’s the only stability you’ll ever have?

“Don’t forget about me.”

If words could break me, those would be it. “Never,” I whisper.

“All right, Harv Harv, I booked some strippers for later. Time to get this party started.” Henrik looks at us with a big smile.

I shake my head, knowing he’s joking.

Claire walks in behind him. “Sorry, I didn’t know—”

Seems she and I do have something in common. We’re both with men who don’t tell us anything.

“It’s okay.” I take a deep breath, knowing it’s my cue to leave. “Bye, Harvey.”

The pain shadowing his eyes will haunt me forever. I could see myself thinking of this day, even years from now. He thinks I’m ruining us, that I’m ending us. And in a way, I guess I am.

God, please let this be meant to be.

I hope that time will lessen the guilt and diminish the hate I’ll feel for myself every time I picture the look he just gave me. I grab my purse and put the paper inside.

One step forward. I need to get through today.

I can do this.

“I’ll be back later,” Henrik tells Harv. He looks at Claire and says nothing. I don’t hate her. I can see it in her eyes; we’re both simply trying to be loved by the men we love.

“Take care of him.” That’s all I say before I leave. I don’t look back. I text Damon while sitting in the back of Gia’s car because Henrik rode shotgun.

Gemma: All set.

I remember his calendar, since I always check before leaving for the day. He has a busy morning today, so I doubt he’ll answer me soon.

Damon: Text me the address. I’ll come by later.

My dad doesn’t live far away. It shouldn’t take too long to unpack. I left most of the furniture for Harvey anyway.

Gia and Henrik are joking around in the front while I text James back, thanking him for his offer to help unpack tonight but letting him know that I’ll be fine.

The day goes by fast, and moving is a distraction I welcome like a long-lost friend.

When the movers are gone, Gia, Henrik, and I start unpacking. I’m grateful Hen took the day off to help me move.

We set up my bed frame and mattress in my childhood bedroom. With the painting my dad did to it after I started college, it looks nothing like the dark-green room I had in my teens.

“Let’s not forget the Pottheads,” Henrik says, placing my Harry Potter book collection on my night table.

“Are you referring to yourself?” I tease, eyeing the joint behind his ear, and he laughs.

“Gemma! Delivery for you!” Gia shouts.

We head downstairs to the kitchen, where a massive, modern bouquet of flowers sits on the counter. I read the card with a smile instantly on my lips.

What’s comin’ will come all I can do is listen to him. Listen to his words and his quiet gestures and feel his slacks press against me, showcasing his arousal.

My jeans slip down then come off, as does my lace thong, before the sharp smack of his hand makes contact with my ass. I moan, squirming against the chairs.

Am I addicted to sex with Damon? I think so. I’m afraid I’ll have withdrawal if we don’t do this.

Even through sex, he teaches me something new. I’m always learning with him. About myself—my wants, my needs, my desires.

I hear the rattling of his belt, and anticipation grows in the pit of my stomach. I don’t question it; I could jump off a building in a parachute and get off on it.

I was never meant to be normal, and maybe neither was Damon.

He cradles the leather belt against my ass. “You say stop, I’ll stop.”

I nod. I can’t speak. I can only feel.

That’s what Damon does. What started off as a depressing day is now ending in an evening I never want to forget.

The belt hits my ass—hard—and I whimper, the sound vibrating through the renovated kitchen.

“Okay, little rebel?” He leans over me, his lips tingling against the goose bumps on my neck. My mind is kept hostage in a dark abyss of desire. It’s too much to focus on his words.

Smack!

He smacked my pussy.

“Answer me.”

My mind is reeling in the murky sea, my body floating, feeling so much pleasure it numbs the pain. The stinging doesn’t last long, especially when he’s teasing my clit and my sex with his belt.

“You’ll—dirty your belt.”

“Every morning when I put it on and every night when I take it off ... ” He leans closer to my back again, using his belt as a torturing tool. “I can remember you like this.”

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

I’m so wet I can hear the leather blow against my arousal. He’s going to make me lose my mind, like an addict going down the rabbit hole. I never knew sex to be so thrilling, and now I’ll never be able to let him go.

“Damon,” I beg, no longer feeling him towering over me. I want to take off the blindfold, but I’m not sure that I should. “Smack me—I don’t care. Just do something .” I’m out of breath.

“My little freak.”

I decide to test my luck, pushing the material away from my eyes, letting it drop around my neck. I spin around and end up sitting on one of the stools.

I’m not disappointed when I find him stroking his length, his throbbing erection begging to be licked.

“Did I tell you to take it off?” He gestures to the blindfold with his chin.

I shake my head, biting my lip.

“Shall I punish you?”

“Yes.”

His eyes widen as he circles his tip over my clit. “It’s not much of a punishment if you enjoy it.”

I swallow, my back arching as he slips himself between the lips of my sex. I’m eyeing the ceiling now, trying to gather my wits. “I’ll pretend I hate it.”

“Fuck, Red. I love how willing you are.”

I stare back at the man who stamped his name over my heart. He’s still teasing me, and I don’t want him to stop.

The connection I feel as he slams inside of me is incredible. Like his darkness is sweeping through my veins, filling them up like heroin, increasing my addiction for him.

I’m scared of the damage it’ll do when it reaches my heart.

“Lie on your back,” he orders as he slithers out of me, and I do as he says, watching him go back in.

He groans. “I never loved fucking a woman as much as I do you.” His words spread venom in my lungs, intoxicating them with green envy as he indirectly speaks of other women.

I want to be his one and only.

“Promise?” Oh. My. God.

He leaves the head of his cock at my entrance and then fills me to the brink again, his thumb pushing against my clit.

“Even her ?” I’m dying to know, even in the throes of passion, the thought poisons my mind. “ Answer me.”

His growl isn’t enough for me. I need to know. “Damon.” As soon as he picks me up in his arms, my legs wrap around his torso.

“It’s only ever been like this with you.” Both hands firmly grip my thighs, holding me into place. He pulls himself out before he whispers in my ear, “Drop on my cock, Gemma.”

I do, sliding myself up and down his hardness, though the position isn’t an easy one. My body is bursting with tiny dynamite blasts all over as I replay his words in my head.

Damon makes me feel like a shooting star in the dark canvas that is the universe.

Our bodies are so in sync, we climax, mixing our cum together.

I’m spent by the time we’re done, and he slips out of me, tucking himself back into his boxers. Then he carries me to the couch.

My body is still coming down off the drug effect of the heroin-like high Damon traps me with when he touches me.

I love feeling the rapid beating of his heart against my chest, so I wrap myself around him, placing my head in the crook of his neck.

“He’s never tried to fuck you since we met?”

I lift my head up. “Well ... h-he asked me about it before I left, but I said no.”

His body is stone-cold, frozen. “He asked?”

“Yeah, he wanted to try ...”

“Meaning?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.” He holds my chin firmly in place, his furrowed brow adding to the anger edging on his face.

“He can’t get it up with me.”

“So if he could, you’d be together?”

I shake my head. It’s always black or white with him. He doesn’t see the middle war zone that tips the scale on one side or the other.

“That’s not what happened. What happened is that we fell apart, and then I met you. I fell for you , Damon.” I grasp his hair, my fingers brushing through it.

Skepticism is apparent in his stare despite the desperation dripping in my voice. “I should tell you that after you ended things between us last time, or whatever ... he kissed me.”

His body stiffens. “He kissed you.”

I nod.

“And?”

I shrug. “I threw up right after.”

“Is that so?”

“So you see that I only want you.”

He kisses me, and I sigh against his mouth in relief. This could have gone south easily. I’m surprised he took it so well. If I knew he kissed another woman, I wouldn’t be so forgiving.

When our lips part, our foreheads collide together, and his arms wrap tightly around my waist.

“Damon, why are you wearing so many clothes?”

He shrugs. “Too focused on you.”

“Well, next time, I want you naked.” I bring my lips to his ear and whisper, “And I want you in my mouth.”

He smirks, shaking his head. “We should eat, baby.”

I smile like a stoned teenager when he calls me that. “Yeah, and you should put on your belt.” I stand up.

My heart is in pure agony as he comes and hugs me from behind, kissing my cheek the soft way he always does, because I can’t help but wonder how long I’ll truly be in Damon’s arms.

“Are you teasing me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

He slaps my ass, a snicker fumbling through his magical lips.

We both clean up, and I dress again before we sit on the couch with our lasagnas, garlic bread, and glasses filled with wine.

“Where’s your tattoo?” I ask him. I’ve been curious about it ever since he told me he had one after our ziplining date, and I’ve yet to find it.

He halts for half a second, and I can see him contemplating showing me.

“Open,” he says, bringing the fork near my lips. I oblige, the cheesy lasagna melting in my mouth. He brings another piece, but I keep my mouth shut, silently rebelling against him feeding me until he shows me.

He rolls his eyes, sets down the fork on the coffee table, and shows me the palm of his left hand. On his ring finger, the smallest P sits on the side. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed before, considering I note everything about him.

“For ... for her?” He nods, and I dive right in, feeding my curious quest. “She was your wife?” I can feel my heart in my throat, ready to feed me heartbreak.

“No, but I thought about it.”

He wanted to marry her.

I don’t know why I’m like this with Damon. I have no right, zero right to feel this possessive of him.

“When did she pass away? What was her name?”

“Can’t we just eat?”

“Last question, I promise.”

His jaw made of steel, he picks up the fork and feeds lasagna to me. “About two and a half years ago, and her name was Palmer,” he says.

I finish my food in silence. It hasn’t even been three years. That’s not long, not long at all.

I know when I lost my mom, I was still grieving and hurting five years later.

No wonder he’s a mess.

I need to be there for him the way he’s there for me. He’s so understanding of everything with Harvey, and I want to extend him the same courtesy. I want him to open up to me about her, and he won’t do that if he feels I’m jealous of her.

I shouldn’t envy her. She’ll never have Damon again. He’s here spending all his free time with me.

That has to count for something.

“This is it.” I open the door to my room. We step inside as I assess my new space. It’s bigger than my previous room.

“No pictures?” He looks around while my eyes wander over his beautiful ass covered in black slacks.

“I’m leaving soon.”

Something must catch his eyes, because he makes his way to my night table, grabbing a plastic bag full of rolled joints. I grab it from him, a smile teasing my lips as I read Henrik’s little note:

You’re welcome.

—Henrik

How thoughtful of him.

“He was here?” Damon doesn’t seem as enthusiastic about this as I do. I reach for my table and pull out a lighter.

“Yeah, he helped me move. We’re friends, remember?”

He grabs the lighter from my hands. “And just what do you think you’re doing now, Gemma?”

I kneel on the bed and place a joint between my lips. “Get high with me, Damon.”

He shakes his head, using the lighter to blaze the blunt.

“Why not?” I take a drag, bewildered by the pain crossing his eyes. “You don’t like drugs?”

“I don’t particularly care for them. Not anymore.”

I’m still kneeling in front of him, except now I seek to comfort him, so I eliminate the distance between us as I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Why?” A smoky cloud releases between our faces, covering his striking features.

“I prefer control.”

“Well, Damon, I prefer losing it.” I inhale more weed before using my thumb to coax the side of his mouth to open. As soon as it does, I exhale inside his mouth. “Stay tonight, please.”

“I don’t have my stuff—”

“You can grab it tomorrow morning,” I plead with him, hoping he bites.

I watch as a flicker of want and fear crosses his eyes, watching me like his days start and end with me. Then, surprisingly, he pulls his phone from his pocket and sends a text to someone.

“Okay, Gemma. What do you want to do?”

I shrug, sitting on the bed, feeling a soft echo of calmness pass over me. I’m at peace. The sadness from this morning is dissipating with every hit. “Watch Harry Potter?”

He snickers, and shoves a hand on his hip. “What’s in it for me, little rebel?”

I eye the bulge overwhelmingly present at the front of his pants. When my eyes finally meet his, shivers trample down my spine at his brooding stare.

“My mouth.” I bite my lip, lying down on the bed.

I love that he’s game for anything tonight. I love him even more when he takes the joint between my fingers for a hit.

Damon’s the devil incarnate. The devil every mother warns you about and every father loads their gun for. There’s nothing but lust and sin reflecting through his eyes.

And something else there—something else I never seem to catch.

He can wear suits and expensive watches. It doesn’t matter. It can’t hide the sinful interior, the one that has girls squirming in their beds at night.

“What about your mouth?” He dips his thumb over my throat, taking one last toke of the joint.

I swallow. “You can ... fuck my mouth.” My heart hammers against my chest.

“Hmm, is that so?”

I smoke some more, letting the sensation overtake me.

This is life.

Being here with Damon, high, with no other cares in the world.

It’s life.

“There’s more . . .”

“More?” He looks up, as if he likes the way it tastes on his lips. “Do tell.” His hand roams down my waist, tightening its hold around my thigh.

I suck in a breath, bracing for impact. “You have your belt tied around my neck.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Gemma.” His stare intensifies as he searches back and forth between my eyes, seeking the validity of my comment. “Give a man a warning.”

“Do you want the rest?” I ask him, taking a few more puffs. When he says no, I reach my night table and crush the joint against a magazine.

He’ll sleep in my bed tonight—with me. It’s as if I’m traveling around the sun. I’m freed and happy and stupidly in love with a man who might never want me that way.

I get up from the bed and remove all my clothes, fire surrounding me. When his eyes scrutinize my body, I feel the heat following his every movement.

I put on my long red T-shirt with nothing underneath.

We end up on the couch shortly after, watching the first Harry Potter movie, drinking more wine. I wish I wasn’t so thirsty; my mind tells me to sip on it slowly, but my high persuades me otherwise.

I’m laughing at something Hermione said on TV, something I’ve heard a thousand times, which might not be so funny but seems to be the silliest, funniest thing right now.

I can see the grin on Damon’s lips. A full one, and I hope I can commit it to memory.

“Gemma, hearing you laugh is like fucking for the first time.” His arm is wrapped around me, his hand caressing my behind.

“Is that a good thing?” I search his face. He’s so stunning—thin pink lips, sharp jaw, and eyes as dark as the devil’s soul.

He pauses the movie. “It is.”

Even though my throat feels heavy and like it’s an impossibility, I swallow, or at least try to. “What does a girl have to do to be the last of the last?”

Even through my hazy vision, I can see the tension in his body. If I wanted an answer, I don’t get one.

Joey drops off a bag for him, and Damon comes back down from my room not long after wearing black sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Silence blooms around us. Nothing but his touches and his side stares. While I’m watching the movie, he’s watching me.

“Damon, are you even watching it? It’s important to me.” I chuckle.

“You’re important to me,” he whispers softly, so softly I’m urging my brain to remember his spoken words when tomorrow comes.