Chapter 37 Chapter 37
Amber
"The bottle," Damian said, snapping me back to reality.
I lifted it with trembling hands, acutely aware of how close we were now as I leaned in even further to reach his mouth.
I tried not to think of how my legs were spread on either side of his hips and how even the slightest shift would feel.
"Tilt your head back," I managed to say, my voice coming out breathier than intended.
He did, exposing the strong column of his throat, and I had to physically restrain myself from staring.
I tipped the bottle, letting a small stream of whiskey pour into his mouth.
He swallowed the whiskey like water, his Adam's apple bobbing, and I started to pull back immediately.
But his hand tightened on my waist, yanking me forward until I was pressed flush against his chest.
A sound escaped my throat which was something between a gasp and a moan and I felt him tense beneath me.
"Easy," he murmured, but there was something dark in his voice now, something that made heat pool low in my stomach.
Clarke laughed somewhere to my left, the sound jarring in the hazy bubble that had formed around us.
"That's it!" Clarke crowed. "That's how you do it!"
I risked a glance over and saw him pulling his own server closer, mimicking our position with far less finesse.
"—telling you, we need to move the shipment by Thursday," one of Clarke's companions was saying. "She won't wait any longer."
"She can wait as long as I tell her to wait," Clarke snapped back, but his attention was divided between the conversation and the woman on his lap.
What shipment were they talking about? And who was this ‘she’ they kept referring to?
I needed to focus.
That thought stayed in my head for all of a second before Damian's hand slid from my waist to the small of my back, pressing me even closer, and every coherent thought I'd had evaporated like morning mist.
"What are you doing?" I whispered, but his other hand came up to cup the back of my head.
His fingers threaded through my hair, gentle at first, then tightening with just enough pressure to make my breath hitch.
He tugged my head to the side, forcing me to look at him instead of Clarke.
"Focus, Red," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
"How?" The word came out strangled. "How am I supposed to focus when you're…when we're…"
He yanked my hair harder, pulling my head back and exposing my throat.
A gasp escaped me before I could stop it.
"Like this," he said quietly, and then his mouth was on my neck.
Oh. My. Goddess.
His lips brushed against the sensitive skin just below my ear, and I forgot how to breathe.
This wasn't real, this was just for show, just to maintain the cover.
I tried to repeat those words like a mantra in my head.
His teeth grazed my pulse point, and I bit back a whimper.
"...moving it through the eastern route," Clarke was saying. "It provides less visibility which means fewer questions."
My brain screamed at me to focus on what Clarke was saying but Damian's mouth was moving lower now, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of my throat, and thinking straight was becoming increasingly difficult.
"The eastern route is risky," one of the other men argued. "If anyone catches wind of it, we are doomed."
"No one will," Clarke interrupted. "We've been careful. Besides, after the last cleanup, they won't be asking questions anytime soon."
So my assumption was right, he definitely meant murders with cleanup. And by recent it meant he had committed murder several times before.
Damian's lips reached my collarbone, and any pretense of concentration shattered completely.
"Damian," I breathed, not even sure what I was asking for.
His hand tightened in my hair. "What?"
"I can't. This is…"
"Too much?" His voice was rough against my skin. "Want me to stop?"
Yes. No. Maybe? I didn't know anymore.
My hands had somehow found their way to his chest, fisting in his shirt, and I couldn't remember when that had happened. Neither could I remember when I'd started arching into him, my body seeking more contact, more heat, more everything.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, and the expression in his silver eyes made my stomach flip.
It wasn’t anything except raw, undisguised hunger. Except if he could fake it very well unlike me.
"Are you turned on?" he whispered, and there was something almost triumphant in his tone.
"No," I lied, even as heat flooded my face.
"Liar." His hand slid from my back to my hip, fingers digging in possessively. "I can feel you trembling."
"That's because…" I fumbled for words, for any coherent thought. "You make me tremble with anger."
I could have patted myself on the back for coming up with that.
"Oh!" His thumb traced circles on my hip, maddeningly slow. "Then why are you grinding against me?"
Fuck! My eyes went wide and I only now became aware of the way my hips had developed a mind of their own, rolling against him in slow, subconscious movements that made heat spike through my entire body.
Mortification crashed over me in waves.
"Shit!" I started to pull away, but his hands locked around my waist, holding me in place.