Damian by Jessica Wood Page B

about him that always brought a smile to my face—something beyond his undeniable sex appeal and charm.
    “Hey, gorgeous.” He pulled me into him for a hug and I allowed myself to sink into his warm, hard, protective chest. I inhaled deeply, hypnotized by his scent—a mixture of aftershave and sweat with a hint of Tide.
    As I felt him pull me closer into him and bury his face into my hair, I thought I was going to melt in the simple perfection of this moment.
    “What are you wearing?” he whispered in my ear as we finally pulled away from one another.
    I frowned and looked at him uncertainly. “Umm. I’m not sure. Gap, I think,” I said self-consciously as I looked down at my clothes, wondering if I should have worn something else.
    He chuckled. “No, I didn’t mean what clothes. But good to know. I knew there was something different about you that I liked.”
    I looked at him in confusion.
    “You’re probably the first girl I’ve met that didn’t seem to care about what they’re wearing. It’s really refreshing,” he explained as he studied me. “And you look beautiful,” he reassured.
    “Oh.” I gave him a small smile as I felt blood rush to my cheeks. “So what did you actually mean then?” I asked quickly, trying to change the subject.
    “I meant, what perfume do you wear? You always smell amazing.”
    I blushed and felt flattered by his comment. “Um, I don’t wear any,” I admitted.
    “Unbelievable,” he said as his jaw tightened.
    “What?” Can he be upset by that?
    “Nothing. It’s just… You have no idea the things I’d like to do with you,” he teased as he gave me a suggestive smirk.
    I giggled. “Well, behave yourself. I never agreed to be one of those girls you sleep with. You’re taking me out on this date—nothing more, nothing less,” I said firmly.
    He laughed. “I make no promises,” he said with a deep husky voice. “If the mood strikes you, just let me know. I’ll have you against a dark corner, no matter where we are, in a hot second if you were okay with it.”
    “And look at you. Such a gentlemen.”
    “Okay, don’t tease me like that,” he warned playfully. “I don’t think I—or my other half for that matter”—he gestured down to his crotch—“can take it much longer.”
    “Well, you’re just too easy,” I teased back. I loved how comfortable and natural I felt around him.
    “Okay, come on. I have a cab waiting for us downstairs. Let’s get going now before I stop being a gentleman and punish you for teasing me for this long and just take you now against your front doorframe.”
    There was something in the hoarseness of his voice that seemed to flip on a switch inside me, igniting a raw desire that I hadn’t known existed. A part of me wanted him to follow through on his threats to punished me. A part of me wanted him to grab me and take me hard against the doorframe.
    I blinked and shook myself back into reality. “Yeah, sure. I’m ready.”
    Fifteen minutes later, we had been dropped off in front of Swan’s Oyster Depo on Polk Street. It was a small, brightly lit shop with a blue awning with a swan logo. From the outside, it looked like an unassuming old-fashioned fish market that sold fresh local seafood. Visible at the window display in the front of the shop were trays full of various raw and cooked seafood selections, and half of the items I didn’t recognize.
    Damian looked over at me and laughed as he saw the uncertain expression on my face. “They serve some of the freshest clam chowder and lobster meat.”
    “Oh. So it’s not just a market?”
    He chuckled. “No. Come on. Do you really think I’d offer to take you out and take you to a raw fish market?”
    I struggled but smiled at him. “Well, with you, I can never be too sure,” I teased. “Also, it looks so tiny,” I noted. The shop took up no more than ten feet of the street.
    “Big enough,” he laughed. “Now come on. Let’s go in. I see some people getting up