Juneau's ("June-O") POV
Holy cannoli, I'm embarrassed.
My right hand reached up and cupped my flaming hot cheek, whose temperature matched both of Damian's.
Adam created a beautiful proposal moment, surrounded by love and support, even under a magical ceiling canopy of dangling, fake dicks... and my boyfriend ruined it when he became a floor speed bump.
I'm so not playing with his jingle bells after this.
"I'm so sorry," I gushed again from where I knelt on the floor.
A quick look up at the happy couple showed Adam's arm snaked around Vaughn's slim waist. His fingers stroked subtly, which twitched back one corner of Vaughn's pale, full lips, but a collective sense of concern drew the entire room's attention downward.
Hope no one was filming that, poor Damian.
"Not your fault, Junebug," Adam offered with his usual teasing tone of voice. "Vaughn gave him the water."
What little color Vaughn's pale face held drained out quicker than Damian's dick on our fast-fuck days. "I... It was a sealed bottle!"
"It was Dasani." Adam huffed. "Why not dip a cup straight into the East River?"
"It's the thought that counts," I murmured.
Damian's head nestled in my lap, where I cradled it in my hands and smoothed a few crazy dark brown strands across his forehead. Even passed out into a sweaty heap, his handsome facial features slacked peaceful and relaxed. Not a single one of his usual frown lines, that I teased became permanently etched into his face because of how much he scowled, were present.
My mind flipped through possible explanations faster than my eyes blinked down between my thighs.
What happened?
I about smelled Damian's apprehension while I rode him on the couch, or while he topped me from the bottom. That was his favorite position, for the ass grabbing aspect. My entire body loved when he shifted his hips upward enough that drove him deeper than I ever reached, like his dick reached for my navel.
But what is stressing him out so much?
His adorable dimples weren't present either, which I realized as I studied his upside-down face. On the most superficial level, Damian Alexander Rivera was the hottest guy I'd ever seen, let alone dated. He was the perfect mix of a dark-looking bad boy, with his dark brown hair, a couple tattoos, sharp jawline, and 'brooding,' golden-hazel eyes which carried the weight of his stress-filled world.
Physically, he was tall and fit but more toned more because took care of his body and less like his shoulder muscles attempted to swallow his neck.
Don't get me started on his cock. Those warm, pulsing, seven-and-three-eighths are better than every damn one that's hanging from the ceiling overhead right now.
This man can soak my sheets and curl my toes inside out like no other ever could. And he can fill every cell of my body with love and passion or rail me into orgasm oblivion like a pile driver...
I should stop before I leave a spot on the floor.
Damian was a warm, ooey-gooey mix of sweet and filthy that I loved more than I was capable of loving anyone. Single-handedly, this man filled every void in my life with his presence, protection, sarcastic, dry sense of humor, and raw, unfiltered love.
He was also the most brutally honest person I'd ever met and, for better or worse, brought that out of me. At one point he struggled with open communication but now we both blurted out whatever passed through our minds. While odd, up to this point it worked better than the magical blue pill to an ED patient.
Which is why his reaction tonight shocked the vagina off of me.
As embarrassing, if not more, as Damian's dead body impersonation was how I witnessed when he turned sheet-white, his eyes rolled back Exorcism-style, and dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. Rooted the spot, I hadn't budged at all other than my jaw unhinged.
I had no clue he felt so... I don't know but fear of commitment seems like an understatement.
I bet it's work. Has to be.
"Oh..." Adam grabbed onto Vaughn's arm and a devious sparkle appeared in his eyes as he looked back at Damian. "We should draw dicks on Damian's face, like in college."
At Vaughn's icy blue glare, Adam shrugged casually. "What? We've got plenty of stencils hanging from the ceiling. Don't tell me no one else also thought about it."
I am now and I'll claw anyone's eyes out if they come at Damian with a sharpie.
"No one's drawing dicks on anyone," I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Unless it's within the confines of their own private, safe spaces."
"He looks pretty peaceful," Adam teased. "Don't envy your position though, Junebug."
I bit back the response that a handsome man's head, in particular this handsome man's head, between my legs was a pretty damn amazing position when Damian's cousin knelt down beside me.
Adoration was an understatement of how I felt about Jason. He was as much a friend as a forced blood-relative relationship, with a tough-love, zero patience dynamic with Damian but also held all the concern in the world for him.
Jason was also the purest definition of a straight-shooter, so I asked him between the violent quivers of my lower lip, "He'll be fine, right?"
His relaxed expression eased some of the uncertainty that chewed inside my stomach. "Yep. And I'll be teasing him about this for months, trust me." My eyes blinked as he flipped up his sweater like he flashed me his stomach. With a hiss sound, he zipped open a -
"Is that a fanny pack?" Adam's snort earned him a quiet huff and side eyed look from Celia.
"He prefers the term manny pack," Celia teased, her hands cupped underneath her belly.
Despite Damian's state, my shoulders shook and I snickered through a suppressed laugh because Jason's fanny pack was bright aqua green with a taco print fabric.
Cute. I could use one for work.
One of Jason's hands dug around in his pack and the other rested on my shoulder. "I carry around extra smelling salts, in case my baby mama gets lightheaded," he answered me and, sure enough, removed a few white capsules and plastic gloves from his bag.
Why is that sweet? I think my ovaries swooned for Celia.
Celia, like Adam, was a former coworker of mine at Wet Dreams, a phone sex company here in New York. Also like Adam, she still worked there. She quit a few weeks after I was fired to attend nursing school, but returned once after finding out she was pregnant.
In hindsight, I wasn't sure how I'd lasted working there as long as I had. We remained friends, even after my ass was unfairly fired because of my interest in Damian.
Drained from his job as an NYPD police sergeant-slash-temporary manager and as grumpy as a large-balled cat who came into Animal Medical Center for neutering surgery, Damian used Celia's card for the main number that routed him to me on the other line.
Good thing Jason didn't suggest a parking lot prostitute but, one set of electrified lady bits later, here we are...
...on the floor at a dick and balls naughty Christmas sweater party.
"What else is in there?" I teased Jason and leaned closer. He smacked on his blue sterile gloves, lifted his head, and flashed me a smirk.
"Lots and lots of antacids," he joked with a smile so similar to Damian's, it relaxed the strain in mine. "And a tampon, don't ask why."
Above us, Adam's handsome face drew into a frown. "I don't get it."
"I don't actually need tampons anymore," Celia shot back but her eyes beamed at the back of Jason's head. At the warmth that filled into her beautiful gray eyes, I assumed a story existed there but now wasn't the time.
"Not that." Adam rolled his eyes, then focused them down on me. "Damian sees more bad shit in this concrete playground than I want to know about. Did something happen?"
"Not that I know of," I murmured as Jason passed the salt stick under Damian's nose.
Adam was right. Damian dealt with some of the worst sides of humanity I'd never imagined existed. The most recent example occurred six days ago, seeing children caged up. Previous cases revealed women sold like property and animals abused.
All of those cases gave him nightmares. He was treated with insults, false allegations, and I couldn't even count the number of unresolved, violent cases that piled up in his staff's work queue if my life depended on it.
The NYPD system was beyond flawed and I understood that but, to Damian, it was his job. He was still a good person who worked in a bad setup. After months of hard personal development and opening up, Damian had a wonderful emotional support system. I was so proud of him but also had days where I worried if his job ever became too much for him.
Then again, he can tackle a drunk, homeless guy without an eye blink but drops out cold from... What? A pregnant lady's adorable tummy rubs and gay man's proposal?
One quick look up at our friends and the concern weighing heavy in their eyes reminded me of the love that existed in my and Damian's shared life. My eyebrows tensed together while I stroked the sides of Damian's angular cheeks. The man had no fat on him, which included love handles. His face was my favorite holding spot.
All of us hovered over my boyfriend like kids who found an interesting discovery at a playground. Jason shot me a look like he knew what Damian had dealt with last week at work.
Did something else happen this week?
Before I answered my own question, Damian's body flinched from his broad shoulders down to his toes, like he'd been shot with one of his tasers. With a jolt, his chin jutted up.
A tiny squeak left me when his hard head reared back in between my legs and my thighs cradled his ears. The contact rolled up the edge of my still-wrinkled skirt and I moved my hands there so I avoided flashing Jason.
"There you are," I whispered as the two light brown eyes opened, filled with lighter highlights that reflected the good buried deep inside him, flipped my heart into somersaults, and turned my vagina into a greedy addict with one look.
The warm, rich, light hazelnut swirls hazed over with confusion and his deep voice, which... Fine, full confession, that always went right to my vagina. A warm pulse erupted where his head laid, even with a raspy, croaked out, "June?"
"Hi, handsome." I curled over his frame and hugged him upside down. "Welcome back."
"Not that I'm complaining," he mumbled into my chest. "But your reindeer tit's in my face."
A quick look down showed I smashed my underboob into his nose. Heat crept over my cheeks as I pulled back and sat on my feet. With an old man groan and abdominal crunch, Damian sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face.
"Thanks." He nodded at Jason, who smiled and zipped his manny pack shut with a snap of his wrist.
"I'd say don't mention it." Jason palmed his hands and stood up. His smile curved into a giant smirk by the time he helped up Damian. "But I'm definitely going to mention this. Anyone get it on video?"
"You know..." I teased Damian as he helped me up, then wobbled on his own legs. "You sure have a way of saying congratulations."
"Guess I was that excited," he joked in a strained voice.
The tiny flicker of doubt in his eyes was all I needed to know we talked about this later.
"We should talk about it," were the first words out of Damian's mouth when we arrived home.
Adam and Vaughn, well Adam, steered the conversation back to their engagement. My mind blurred over the details when they launched into a detailed discussion on the differences between white, cream, and ivory.
Out of the corner of my eye, I studied Damian for the rest of the evening. To everyone else, he looked fine but his posture slumped by the end of the evening. One to two words were all he spoke at the party. His hand remained clasped around mine during the party, but his broad shoulders and upper back rounded as we rode back on his bike.
Even muffled through his black leather jacket, I felt the stiffness that locked up his muscles and rubbed my hand over his stomach whenever we stopped. He patted it at one point and knocked his helmet against mine.
His eyes darkened at me from where he stood and helped me off the bike in the apartment's underground parking garage. "June..."
"What?" Tingles broke out on my skin from how his eyes dragged up from my ankle to upper thigh, where my skirt had peeled up to near solicitation level. The goosebumps his gaze raised felt warm, unlike the frigid late-December New York City air that whipped over my bare legs on the ride back.
Damian blinked like he pulled himself out of his own mind. "You rode back like that?"
"No, I put on the pants I always carry in my purse," I teased, flung my leg over the seat extender, and flashed him a view of what wasn't under my skirt. "Yes."
The less he knows about my wind-whipped reindeer boob, the better. Even under my coat, I think the nose came off again around West Fifty-Fourth Street.
"I was out of it," he muttered and ran his hands through his helmet hair, close to his post-sex hair. Even with his Christmas sweater, the way his bicep flexed as he removed his leather coat and flung it over his shoulder was beyond sexy.
Don't get me started on the vibrator-like sensations that pulsed through me even at every damn stop light back here. It's like a mound massage.
My lady bits hummed with faint aftershocks from 'Damian's baby.' While I wouldn't have minded if I rode him on it, he was also very private, a bit prudish about PDAs, and over protective of the only mode of transportation he owned.
Little does he know, I'm not opposed to one service elevator shove to put it in our apartment.
Each of our elbows hooked around our helmets. Damian's free hand found mine and squeezed it gently. The sad, almost wistful look he offered tugged at my heart strings, but he sighed when my lips parted for consolation words.
Not that I have anything other than 'at least you didn't bump your head too hard.'
"I'll take Bullet out when we get home," he mumbled as his eyes tracked the floor lights. "You're on carcass duty."
"I always am." I laughed as the doors opened to the sixty-third floor, an apartment level I still wasn't used to despite nine months living here.
Two golden hazel eyes narrowed at me. "We're going to talk about that too."
"Right -" I started when the ruckus sounds of barking erupted from behind his door. "See? Bullet's still alive."
Damian groaned, let us in, and headed straight for the barking source, down a narrow hallway and behind our bedroom door. Like every day, the low-toned barks dissolved under excited pants, whines, and frantic claw sounds vibrating his cage.
"Hey Bully," Damian's voice with his dog dropped into its adorable, buddy-buddy level softness. "How's my boy?"
Yes, his dog. I never stood a chance between those too.
Damian greeted him adorably, to the returned sound of Bullet's snorts, snuffs, and grunts. The mental image of belly scratches and head rubs over his short, blue-gray fur pulled a smile on my face that relaxed the tension in my forehead. Brought in as a puppy rescue in an ASPCA's dog-fighting bust, Damian brought his litter in and led to our reconnection.
Hot man carrying a basket of puppies like a hero? Beyond unfair.
While the dog bromance continued in the bedroom, my knees hit the kitchen's dark hardwood in front of our small, spare refrigerator, another Damian insistence. I pulled out a cardboard box on top of the stack inside the freezer, then popped it into the spare microwave and defrosted Ella's meal for the next few days.
Damian and I shared his two-bedroom, two bath condo with his blue Shar Pei and a rotating assortment of animals in need. While working at Animal Medical Center, a veterinary animal clinic seven blocks away, I volunteered and helped animals that needed a temporary foster home. I'd started on the overnight shift as a desk assistant but moved over to a vet tech internship halfway through my certification program.
Words couldn't express how much I loved animals. They loved unconditionally, even after they experienced traumatic conditions or treatment. Even though I sure smelled like them, dragged with exhaustion, and my feet tingled numb every time I came home, it was my dream job. Animal Medical Center provided the whole spectrum of vet care services, but the emergency surgery ward often took in rescued, abandoned, or saved cases.
Apparently, Damian had gotten a few - fine, seventeen - noise complaints from the neighbors, so my animal rescues were limited. I swore my heart bled whenever I had to turn down helping one.
I'm so weak for a pair of sad eyes in need... And I'm not convinced some of those complaints weren't put in by the neat freak himself.
"Bon appetit, Ella," I murmured and dropped two lukewarm rats into the large aquarium tank AMC had sent over with our house guest. They landed with a soft plop in the opposite corner from a gorgeous Boelen python. "Good girl, you're getting fat."
One of the rarest wild snakes from New Guinea, her black scales had small purple highlights on one tip. They contrasted with her light-yellow belly scales, which flicked up her sides like flames. With her iridescent sheen, she glittered. In the sunlight, rainbows danced over her scales like she swam through an oil slick.
U.S. Customs found Ella illegally smuggled into a shipping container in the New York and New Jersey Port Authority. Her cage fell and the poor thing needed six inches of her tail removed.
Dr. Mahoney, one of AMC's best surgeons, assured me she was fine but needed a quiet place while she recovered from shock. Since I put the most thought into animal names, he let me name her. I chose Ella Fitzgerald, another radiant Black female whose own legs were amputated.
Ella's sedation wore off three days ago but she never moved. Since pythons and small mammals didn't mix, yesterday I held off fostering an adorable pair of pygmy hedgehogs surrendered to AMC's front desk. Begrudgingly, other than Damian's dog Bullet, Ella was our only current animal visitor.
Damian still had a heart attack when he came home. Convinced the small snake ate his ninety-pound Shar Pei best friend, he moved Bullet's crate into our bedroom. I made it up to Damian with some steamy shower sex, even gargled his balls, but he still counted down the days until her Cleveland Zoo exhibit was ready.
"Please tell me it's still behind the glass," Damian muttered with an exaggerated shoulder temple and clipped on Bullet's leash.
"She is," I corrected him with a scowl. "You big, muscular baby afraid of a little, nonpoisonous snake."
"This big, muscular baby will be right back," he tossed over his shoulder and led a very eager Bullet out the door. "We'll talk when Bullet brings me back."
"Right." I sent them a dismissive hand wave because Bullet had already yanked him into the hallway. Once the door shut on its own, my eyes dropped back to Ella's curled up form in her temporary glass home. "Don't worry, the grumpy guy warms up."
Damian's meaty, compacted tank of a dog needed a square block walk twice a day. For all his tough appearance, boomed out bark, and territorial behavior projected, Bullet was all bark. No one outside this apartment knew that, giving Damian as much peace of mind as the security system and building's controlled access whenever he wasn't here.
Weight filled my heart as I undressed and wiped off my makeup. Since my skin felt warm, I pulled on a pair of silk pajamas and padded around barefoot over the hardwood floors. By the time I plopped down onto Damian's black leather sofa, it felt like a giant plop of cement resided in my chest.
Bullet needed his walk but Damian needed that time to sort his thoughts. The discomfort that squeezed my chest sank down into my stomach. From his quiet internalizations on the way home, he was afraid I wouldn't like hearing what he had to say.
And if it's what I'm afraid it is, there's no way I'm letting it break our relationship.