Princess

Chapter 31: Four

"I have a drawer?" I asked, pulling on a new pair of panties on gratefully. His displeased expression made me chuckle.

"You have four." He gestured to the stack of them. "And a place for your toothbrush next to mine as well. And half the bathroom cabinets are yours too."

Who the hell was this guy and why was the biggest softie ever?

"Damon..." None of this was indicative of the no labels, see where this goes, take it slow relationship that we had agreed on. And yet, why was I so happy?

"I'm not good with words," he admitted slowly. "I'm just trying to show you, in my own way, that I'm serious about this. Okay?"

"Okay," I smiled, kissing his cheek. "How did you know my size?"

He chuckled lightly, kissing my neck. "I definitely looked the day I came over to your place and you and Robyn had bought all of Manhattan."

"What?" My eyes widened. "When? I didn't even see you."

He shot me a dry smile. "Think hard about what I do for a living, princess."

"Do I even want to know about all the information you've had pulled about me over the years?" I rolled my eyes.

"I never did, actually," he said. "It felt like a violation with you. I knew if I got to know you more, I would fall for you. And I couldn't let myself get my hopes up. Now, though... I definitely will." He grinned devilishly, placing a kiss on my lips.

"Don't do that, pretty boy. I'll tell you everything if you just talk to me," I whispered and left him to get dressed.

Curling up on his couch, I chewed my lip thinking about how I was supposed to walk out of here–literally because I wasn't sure my limbs were fully functional–and see Robyn. Not only was I only wearing his shirt, but if she was home last night, there was no question what we were doing in here.

The phrase dirty fucking whore, and me begging to be fucked probably didn't get thrown out a lot in everyday vernacular–or maybe they did with him. I didn't like that thought one bit.

Damon stepped out of his closet, glistening from head to toe, wearing only gray designer sweatpants that make me drool and seriously consider bedding him again despite my utter inability to walk.

How did he have time to work out? Was a life of crime so strenuous? His muscles and abs were pulled taut against his body, almost afraid to let go of him.

I wished I were them.

With one hand rubbing a towel vigorously against his hair, he flashed a dazzling smile down at me. It was a crime how often he shoved his Apollo like perfection into clothes because he was even more handsome without them.

"Hungry?" He asked, stretching his hand out to me, as if he just knew the way to my heart.

I tiptoed out carefully behind him as he pulled me along with his hand firmly covering mine. Lifting me effortlessly by the waist and dismissing the kitchen staff, he set me down on the counter, kissing me before making his way over to the fridge. Pulling out eggs and strawberries, he gathered ingredients as I dangled my legs off his counter, swinging them back and forth.

His back faced me to the stove and I watched the muscles flex, now sporting deep scratches and fingernail indents by yours truly. There were other deeper, older ones too, but I didn't push to find out where they'd come from, even though I badly wanted to know.

"I can feel the questions churning in your mind, princess," his voice called, not turning back to look at me.

I cleared my throat, trying to come up with something else to talk about. "What if Robyn heard us last night?"