Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
"Doug," Damien calls. "Come here."
A growl emerges from somewhere near my bedroom. Great. He's probably peeing on my bed in revenge for some perceived slight.
"I'll check the bedroom," I say, setting the package down on my coffee table and trying to act like I'm not still dying of embarrassment.
I move toward my bedroom, my heart racing for multiple reasons now. Embarrassment about the dildo. Anxiety about Doug. And a persistent, throbbing awareness of Damien in my space, taking up room with his broad shoulders and oozing sex appeal.
I flip on my bedroom light and scan the room. No sign of Doug. But my yarn basket has been knocked over, balls of soft merino rolling across the floor.
"Not in here," I say. "But he's been here."
I turn to leave and nearly collide with Damien, who's appeared in the doorway. My hands come up instinctively, pressing against his chest to steady myself. His heart beats strong and steady under my palm.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. He's all muscles, and I need to pull away, but I can't. I want to keep touching him. How is his chest so hard?
"Sorry," I whisper, pulling my hand away reluctantly.
"Don't be," he says, his voice equally soft. Something in his eyes makes my breath stutter. With the way he looks at me, as though he's peeling off every layer of clothing, it makes me feel like the floor under my feet is gone, and I'm just sliding through the space, with nothing to break my fall.
Nothing, except…
Another growl breaks the moment. We both turn to see Doug under my bed, only his beady eyes reflecting visible in the shadows.
"Doug," Damien says sharply. "Out. Now."
The dog doesn't move.
"He doesn't usually disobey," Damien says, sounding genuinely puzzled. "I'll need to get down there."
He drops to his knees beside my bed, and I swallow hard at the sight. His t-shirt rides up slightly as he bends, revealing a strip of tanned skin and the waistband of his boxer briefs. I force myself to look away before he catches me staring.
"Hey buddy," he says to Doug, his voice gentler now. "What are you doing? Come out of there."
The growling intensifies.
"I think he hates me," I say. "He always has."
Damien glances up at me. "He's protective. Takes a while to warm up to people."
"It's been two months."
"He's ... thorough in his assessment."
Despite everything, I laugh. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Damien's lips curve into a real smile—not a smirk, but something genuine that transforms his face. My stomach does a little flip. God, he's way too handsome for my sanity.
"He'll come around," Damien says, turning back to the bed. "Doug, seriously. Out."
The dog remains stubbornly in place.
Damien sighs and sits back on his heels. "I might need to move the bed."
"It's fine. I mean, he can't stay there forever, right?"
"You'd be surprised how stubborn he can be."
As if to prove the point, Doug retreats farther under the bed, disappearing completely into the shadows.
Damien stands, and I'm once again reminded of how tall he is, how he fills the space. In my bedroom. Where my bed is. The bed I've sometimes imagined him in during long, lonely nights.
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I've seen before when he's frustrated. "I'm really sorry about this. And about—" he tips his head in the direction of the living room, where the package sits.
"It's not your fault. Either thing. Doug or the ... package."
"Still not how I imagined getting invited into your place for the first time. Of course, not including the times I carried your things and installed your shelves."
My heart stutters. He's imagined being invited in? Damien thinking of being in my apartment?
I open my mouth to respond, but suddenly, there's a crash from the living room. We both rush out to find Doug has somehow climbed onto my coffee table and knocked over a mug of cold tea. The liquid is dangerously close to seeping into my yarn.
"Doug!" Damien's voice has an edge I've never heard before.
I dash to the kitchen for a towel, grateful for something practical to focus on. When I return, Damien has Doug in his arms, but the dog is squirming and barking, clearly not ready to leave.
"I've got him," Damien says, adjusting his grip as Doug wriggles. "I should go before he causes more damage."
Part of me is relieved—the part that's still mortified about the dildo and flustered by Damien's presence in my apartment. But another part wants him to stay, wants to see what would happen if we picked up where we left off in the hallway.
"Okay," I say, mopping up the tea. "Thanks for bringing him out."
Damien nods and turns toward the door, Doug still struggling in his arms. I follow, ready to close the door behind them and collapse into a puddle of embarrassment.