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Emerald Eyes	By : Meghan Category: Anita Blake > Het Views: 1866 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Anita Blake series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Emerald Eyes
- 1
Title: Emerald Eyes
Author: Meghan
Email: meghanreviews@yahoo.com

Summary: Today is the worse day ever for Anita.
Pairing: Anita/Damian
Rating: NC-17

Dedication: To BeElleGee because she made me a dirty picture of JC and Anita. And to SpoiledSquish for betaing.

Disclaimer: I have no association with either LKH or the Anita Blake series.
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3:05 PM

I had to leave work early. I just had to! I was so stressed out. Bad day at the office doesn’t even begin to describe today, which by the way is Monday. No, not even the miserable Monday syndrome could compete with today. Some people would ask me why and here’s what I’d say to them. Fuck off. Yeah, you heard me, fuck off.

Earlier that same day…

Today started off innocently enough with the sun rising, me leaving the Circus of the Damned with my underwear in my pocket and gun in my hand, and driving home to change for work while the sky lit up but after that… downhill. Not even last night’s better than good sex marathon with Jean-Claude and Asher could keep a goofy smile on my face. No the goofy smile died in the first two minutes at work when my period came three days too early. In my white linen pants no less.

Now I normally wouldn’t have worn white to the office because that would be an ideal thing to wear in Bert, my boss’ opinion. But after being bitched about coffee mugs, sleeveless shirts, public display of my guns, and wearing black, I just wanted for once a nice day at Animators Inc.

Mostly because I had been too bleary eyed over the little to no sleep I had last night with the boys. They wore me out. Yes, I know. Good little Anita Blake has fallen off of her high horse of love and marriage. But don’t you think it’s overrated?

I mean who needs a white picket fence, the beast (namely Richard) who becomes Mister Charming, 2.5 kids, and me being Mrs. Charming? I just don’t see it. Not with Richard being the little snot that he has been lately. I don’t think he’s ever gotten over me being the better monster much less me being the better human. I’m just glad he hasn’t done anything rash like take on another lupa. The pack needs him to be their Ulfric, but they need me to be their heart. It’s corny but Richard’s just not pulling his weight these days and you know how I get sometimes. Jason and Stephan are important to me and so is Sylvie. The pack must remain a functioning unit even with Richard being a crumb-bum.

So not to get off on a tangent here, I was talking about my horrible, terrible, really, really bad day. My linen pants were deader than a sun-baked vampire and I had five clients to speak to before the day was out. The first one being a Miss Isabel Lemrits, who had just stepped into my office dressed in a floral patterned summer dress. Her blonde hair was wrapped around the top of her head in an elegant knot with strands left out to frame her face. Normally I would have greeted her standing up with a firm handshake, but at the time I just didn’t see that as a possibility.

The next half hour was spent with me trying desperately not to squirm while Miss Lemrits wept daintily about her late grandfather who hadn’t left a will to be found anywhere. I assured her that if I was to raise him that I could find out if he had written one and where it was and possibly recite the contents off it as well. That had reassured her, but I got pissed off when she asked if I could make sure that her grandfather said that she got the mansion in Virginia.

When I raised him a week from Saturday, I sure as hell hoped that he gave it to somebody else. Maybe the other granddaughter since Isabel was always saying snide things about her, a Miss Emily something.

When the woman left I picked up my phone to call my house to see if I could obtain a new set of clothes without having to publicly humiliate myself but that wasn’t possible since nobody answered or returned my frantic message. Fine. I can manage, I thought sticking my tongue out at the blasted thing.

Ten minutes later I was cussing out in the ladies room with a wad of paper towels in one hand and a bunch of pink liquid soap in the other while standing in my underwear. Thank God I had a quarter to buy myself a tampon or the nightmare might have just gone beyond my capability to handle. I normally take off the first two days of my period because they were so bad. In fact Bert knew first hand how much of a bitch I could be when PMSing so he gave me on occasion even three days off so he wouldn’t have to put up with me.

Life’s little surprises suck. My back was killing me, I needed Midol for my cramps, and the stain wasn’t coming out of the front of the white linen. A frustrated noise dragged its way out of my throat as I threw the damn pants into the sink.

Note to self: white pants are the devil.

Two hours later, Cherry mercifully arrived to my rescue. Well, helped me out so that I was slightly better off than before. Instead of bringing me any of my own clothes, she brought a few of her own things and a handful of tampons, but forgot the painkillers. My left eye twitched at the thought.

Now I was sitting in borrowed underwear and sleek leather pants full of holes to draw the eye. Jean-Claude would love it. I hated it. For lunch I ordered delivery from a nearby Chinese restaurant and when it came it was cold. They even forgot to bring soy sauce! It was an unthinkable disaster to say the least.

I was grouchy and grumbling under my breath. I think I scared the next customer out of his wits. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t made an appointment for the raising of his girlfriend. Oh well, I thought happily, no skin off my nose.

Two clients left and a bunch of barbs from my coworkers later the day was somewhat closer to an end. The horrible part was that it was only 2 PM. I wanted out. I wanted out now! Slumping back into the chair I exhaled audibly reaching behind me to rub the small of my back when my second to last appointment walked in.

The man looked to be around sixty and had a shifty look about him that I didn’t like. Of course that could be the estrogen talking there since I really wasn’t in a good mood. Lapsing into thoughts of a luxurious bubble bath, I missed what the man was saying and was disgruntled by the realization that I hadn’t notice him move up closer.

"Mr. Wentigale, I’m sorry," I started lying through my teeth, "but I’m afraid I missed that. Would you mind terribly repeating it once more?"

With a slight shake of his head he launched again into a triad about the Vietnam War and his son. I listened carefully, determined not to think about scented bath water and tall candles with Nathaniel rubbing my feet.

I’ve never been happier that a client showed up early for her appointment. It meant that I could leave that much sooner. I didn’t even tell Bert that I was going, I just left, ignoring Mary our daytime secretary without a bit of regret when she called my name as I was exiting the lobby.

3:05 PM

However at the moment I felt Jean-Claude wake up and give a very lazy stretch. I could almost see him purring with every muscle taut and trembling. I lick my lips at the deliciously sinful thoughts running through my head that were also going through his; the memory of me swallowing him when he was soft, staying soft because he hadn’t had blood when I’d shown up to surprise him. At the same moment the ardeur struck with a vengeance.

I jerk forcefully away from Jean-Claude’s glowing sapphire eyes and nearly stumble into oncoming pedestrian traffic. Namely Richard. Cursing under my breath for my bad luck today, I straighten up and take a step back from my near collision with him. A glance from under my lashes told me he sensed the blood leaving my body. His eyes were dark and hungry, making me shiver.

"Richard," I say as sweetly as I could manage under the present circumstances. "What a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here outside my office at three in the afternoon?"

Abruptly the look in his eyes cooled and narrowed as he stiffly gestured to the bag at our feet. "I was bringing you your own clothes, but it seems you’ve gotten some already."

"Yes," I return stiffly, prickling under his searching stare. "Cherry was kind enough to bring me some of her extra clothes from her work."

Richard made a noise in the back of his throat that I didn’t like too well. Fighting the urge to cover one of the pant holes, I grab the bag at our feet, give him a nod of thanks and hurry to rush off in pursuit of my car.

"Anita," he says condescendingly, "You’re car got towed. Why do you think that I know of your need for clothes and of course a ride?"

Stopping in my tracks, I count to ten before realizing that it wasn’t going to calm me down a bit. Swiftly marching back to him I take his arm and pull him behind me in tow. "Why did my car get towed and where’s your car?"

"Fire hydrant. You parked in front of one-"

"There wasn’t a sign!" I fume, outraged at the injustice of it. Cause normally there were signs. Right?

"And my car," Richard continued with a smirk, "is behind us in front of your office building."

"Smart allelic," I mutter under my breath and pivot back so that we were going in the right direction.

He opens the door for me which earned him a riveting glare before I flounce into the seat with a huff. Richard’s truck seemed to be unbearably small and confining the minute he settled his broad shouldered form into the driver’s seat. As he starts the ignition, I reach over to take the seat belt and buckle up. I didn’t bother to tell him off for not putting his on too. He was a big boy and if flying through a windshield sounded like fun to him then there wasn’t a reason to scold him. Besides he was lyncathrope, he’d survive.

"What are you waiting for?"

"How come you haven’t reprimanded me for not putting my seat belt on?"

"Why should I care if you fly through a window? You don’t."

He gave me a wounded look and put his seat belt on with a decisive click before weaving out into traffic. Twenty minutes later of pure uncomfortable silence we were coming to a stop in front of my driveway. Richard could of driven me up to the door, but I think he was punishing me for what I said earlier in the car.

With a small thank you, I hop out and gather my purse and bag of clothes before hiking up the lane to my house. My gardens are in full bloom, smelling sweetly of lilacs with multiple butterflies fluttering about the flowers. The bright burst of color cheered me up a little as I hurried the rest of the way up the sidewalk and through the front door into blessed air conditioning. I don’t know how people ever survived without it in the olden days. I would melt like a popsicle without it.

Setting my things on the chair by the front door, taking my Browning out of the purse first so I could put it back in its holster by the bed. First thing I needed to do was take a shower at minimum or a bath if I had time to spare.

As I walked into the living room directly over the basement where Damian slept during the day, I felt the magic waken him. I’ve heard of necromancers being able to control all sorts of dead, including vampires, but it wasn’t until Damian that I believed the stories were true. He, through two incidents, has become irrevocably bound to me and my magic. It is my magic which wakes him from what could be eternal sleep that animates his body, and keeps him sane.

A few years ago just after the peculiar bond between us was formed, I left the state to go help Edward with a pesky demon problem, leaving Damian to fend for himself. He went insane, and killed two people before Jean-Claude locked him in a coffin bound with crosses waiting for me to wake up and get a clue. Ever since Damian’s been my complete responsibility.

A part of me wonders if I’m master enough for him, but Damian responds well to my authority. If I command or directly ask something of him, he will do his best to do it, which is kind of why I try not to ask things of him. He’s worse than Nathaniel about having his own free will. I don’t want him to ask me how high if I say jump, I’d rather him tell me to jump off a cliff.

But what I want won’t change what Damian is: my vampire servant. He cannot help his reaction to me… I have effectively recreated him. He has no ties to the vampire that originally made him and no ties to Jean-Claude except through me. However, my mind is put at ease with the situation on most days because I told Damian to drink only from the willing.

Sighing, I push my complicated thoughts of Damian away, and walk into the kitchen. The sweet smell of coffee wafted in my direction and I eagerly rush to pour myself a mug full before walking through the house and flicking the shades closed and covering them with the heavy drapes. Since it appeared that I was alone with my vampire and I kind of wanted company.

Entering the bathroom, I open the medicine cabinet and take out my bottle of Midol and down two pills with a healthy swig of coffee. Mmm… Almost immediately I felt the relaxing sensation of Damian as he walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Having a rough day?” he inquiries softly, even though I know he can tell what my body is doing for I can see the flare of his nostrils as he attempts to subtly draw in more of the elusive scent of my blood.

“The worst,” I agree leaning back into his massaging hands.

“Would you like anything?” he asks, and part of me wonders if doing so makes it easier for him to obey me. If he asks first so I won’t ask and he won’t have to comply with my requests.

I don’t do it on purpose! I swear to it, but I’m naturally overbearing and domineering. If I wasn’t how could I be Nimir-Raj to a pard of wereleopards and not be a wereleopard myself? And that’s just the half of it. I wonder if Damian needs years to regain what he lost when I helped him. To become what I distinctly remember him being: a vampire with a catty attitude.

It took him centuries to haul off the shadow of his former mistress de la vampyre. It was only after Jean-Claude ransomed Damian that he had shown a side that must have been bludgeoned to death a thousands times daily in the lair of the she-beast. He learned to be unobtrusive and meek, to not show anger or defiance, and to become essentially selfless.

Maybe it’s the cat eyes. They don’t seem the same to me anymore. In fact I’d say they are a different shade of green entirely. The yellow streaks are fewer and far between, and his pupils seem larger…

Almost absently I focus on his moving lips before realizing that he was talking and I was missing what he was saying entirely.

Smiling gently, he waves a hand in front of my face and finally I can hear his whispered words perplexed though they were. “Anita? Anita? Where’d you go?”

“Off yonder road,” I reply purring when his hands returned to their damn good massage… “Oh! Right there… harder… harder… too hard! Just right… ahh…”

As his thumbs gently pry my sore back muscles into submission Damian turns his head toward me. “What were you thinking about then?”

Stretching into his plying hands, I run my own through his hair. “You,” I say simply, not elaborating on my own concerns for Damian’s loss of self.

“Oh?” Damian asked, showing off his fangs in pleasure. “And what was it about me that you were thinking of?”

Sighing, I plunk the coffee mug down and face away from the mirror so that I could look up into his shimmering emerald eyes.

“Only that this-” I wave between us to emphasize, “seems to have changed you from the Damian that I first met. I was concern over the supposed loss of yourself. How your eyes have changed… but most importantly I was wondering if in fact if I was as bad as if not worse than your first creator because of it.”

Silence reigned and I bit my lip until I drew blood with worry.

“Is that all?” Damian finally said, breaking the terrible stillness that had held his body in check for a moment.

“What do you mean is that all?” I huff, throwing off his soothing touch and glare at him.

“Anita,” he started affably, holding his hands out palms up, surrendering to me easily, “there’s no reason for you to worry about any of that. My eyes get greener the happier I am, and I can’t come up with a singular comparison between you and my old master that puts you in a bad light. I was angry about everything and nothing at all when I first came under Jean-Claude’s care.”

I was feeling very claustrophobic all of a sudden. Shoving Damian out of the way I escape the bathroom marching quickly to the bedroom. “Why were you angry?” I demand swinging back around to watch him lean casually against the door jam.

Damian studies me for a moment, before straightening and pulling the hair tie from his red locks in a jerky motion. It spills around his shoulders like blood, accentuating their breadth and the muscles of his chest, drawing my attention to his cream colored chambray shirt and forest green pants. Surprisingly his feet were bare, his toes peeping out between the thick carpeting. Slowly, I ascend from his feet back over the defining muscles of his thighs, skittering past the ridge between them up his chest to his strong chin, full lips, and finally to be captured within his green, green eyes.

I lick my lips and he laughs, startling me. I shoot him a puzzled look which he returns with a masculine one, knowing full well what he’s doing to me. When he takes a step closer it was my cue to take one step back, but I didn’t. I stayed; feet firmly planted in the carpet and tilted my head back so that our eyes were still even and our gazes locked.

“Well?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, fighting the urge to tap my foot.

“Well what?” Damian teases, bending until his cool breath beat lightly against my neck.

“Damian.”

“Oh all right,” he grouses, straightening swiftly. “Why would Jean-Claude tie himself to a woman known to make vampires shake in their boots at the sound of her name? I asked myself again and again. Power? Love? To Jean-Claude neither should have been worth it for the risks were too great. Especially too great in my opinion. You said you loved him, but you cut him off from you. You were his servant in name only, what was to stop you from killing him? From killing us all? I thought he was a fool.”

“Jean-Claude’s no fool,” I whisper, stepping back.

In a flash of movement, I could barely see Damian grabs me, drawing me toward him, caressing my collarbone with his fingers slowly. Once, twice, until he looked into my eyes again and nods absently.

“No, he never was. I realize that now. My anger if you will was at you and the threat you posed to my new world, which was safe and kind and merciful where the old was cruel and vicious without mercy. I never wanted the peace that I knew in those first days to be taken away from me. I didn’t think I could bare to go back.”

Trembling, I extract myself from his suddenly slack grip and lean against the wall. “Go back?”

“To what I knew before Jean-Claude. The pain, the despair, the selfless state of existing…” he looks away, starring into the distance vacantly, yellow flecks glowing softly in his eyes. “to her.”

A tear slides down my cheek and I swipe at it, turning my head aside to look away from his vulnerability. Damian was becoming real and it hurt like a gaping wound. He had fears, of course most everyone does, but now I knew them. I had been one of those fears, those threats to his existence.

“Why aren’t you angry at me, still, Damian?” I say softly, hiding hands that he tries to take hold of. “I’ve taken you from Jean-Claude, your savior, your safety, your kind and merciful Master and replaced him with me; someone that you feared for the very reason of losing your new world.”

“But I didn’t lose it. I gained another.”

I stare at him.

“I gained you and your trust. Having you as my champion is the best thing to ever happen to me, Anita. Don’t you see? You’re the one who holds an integral role in so many lives. Without you where would we be? Tell me that, Anita.”

When I didn’t answer him he told me, “I would be dead. Jean-Claude would be dead. Micah would be dead. Richard would be dead. And so would many others. You hold our world together, Anita. You make it safe and kind and merciful.”

I raise my hand and he fell into silence. His chest heaved, his eyes flashed, the yellow gone once again, the air around him crackled. I wanted to touch him. Feel the beat of his heart like a soft weight resting in my palm. To know it pumped life sluggishly through him. And just like that I could feel it.

Damian gasped, but didn’t stagger. I wasn’t trying to hurt him, just know him. I caressed his heart with a mental image of my thumb and he smiled as if it felt better than a bloody orgasm. Blast it all, I think before easing away from the seductive feel of the velvety meat within my grip.

“Believe me now?” His lips quirking upwards to go along with a singular raised eyebrow.

“I guess,” I reply with a pout not unlike a petulant child who didn’t get her way.

It made him laugh though and gather me in his arms in a fierce hug.

“Got plans tonight?” we ask each other at the same time and share another halfhearted chuckle.

“I don’t have work tonight,” Damian answers, “which made me wonder if Jean-Claude was planning something tonight.”

I frown. “No, not that I know of. Well none that he’s deigned to tell me in any case. I was just planning on getting out of Cherry’s clothes and taking a shower before settling in for a good book until the others come home.”

There was a short pause before a sheepish expression drifted over Damian’s face. He looked like he was about to say something but then thought better of it.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No seriously, what?”

“Do you need anyone- me- to scrub those ah- hard to reach places?”

I’m not sure where that came from. Or umm what to say to that thoroughly rushed proposal. Did I want him to even see me naked let alone scrubbing me with his hands full of soap? I’m not sure when the dopey expression settled over my face, or the practically drooling mouth finally snapped closed. The idea once thought about, sounded really good.

Brown eyes darting toward curiously twinkling green ones settle the issue. “Yeah.”

And just like that the ardeur rose up before settling down almost as quickly with a single touch. How could he affect me like that?

“Well I’m going to go get undressed and uh-” I hate it when I forget words in times like these. Am I drooling? “uh- shower…”

“Is that an invitation to join you?”

“What! No!” I say too quickly, flushing.

He just gives me a knowing look. That masculine one that I hate with a vengeance. Mr. Fang-Face-Know-It-All. Being very mature at age 29, I stick my tongue out at him and flounce away. I should look back to see his reaction. Down girl.

Just before entering the bedroom, I risk a glance back down the hall and sag with disappointment. Damian was gone. I didn’t want to analyze my reaction. Queen of Denial here. I really don’t need yet another man on my plate, it’s bad enough as it is with the vampire, I certainly shouldn’t compound on it. Right?

Covered in a terry clothe robe, I manage to sneak back into the bathroom down the hall. I am behaving foolishly I know, but at the moment I am beyond reason. This time of month does that too me. Damian had already gotten the shower ready. Steam filled the air around me. Dropping the robe, I step onto cold tile and quickly into the shower.

Oh God, it feels fucking fantastic. I melt into the sharp wet heat, and just hang there with my head pressed against the tile underneath the showerhead letting the water pour over me. A sudden chill enters the confined space and I shiver. I know who’s behind me and I am afraid to turn around. Afraid of what I will do.

“I can smell you,” he whispers against my neck, his hair falling over my shoulder like a thick wet rope.

“I know,” I moan, reaching up to stroke his head.

Damian presses a kiss to the skin where my neck and shoulder meet, lapping at the water droplets clinging there with his tongue. My eyes sweep close, lashes fluttering, struggling to reopen in a daze. Everything feels sharper, I was more sensitive to his touch than I ought to be. And I know it was because he was my servant.

I wonder if it felt like this for Jean-Claude, but I stop thinking when Damian’s hands sweep over my shoulders and down my arms before encircling my bare breasts. I couldn’t breath. My nipples puckered instantaneously against the palms of his hands. I groan in defeat when he plays upon them with his fingers.

“I could make you feel better,” he says, stating the obvious.

“Mmm-mm.” I think I am a bit delirious. Just a bit.

His lips travel up my neck to my ear where he blows a cool breath into the sensitive pink shell. “Let me. Let me Anita.”

“Yes,” I cry out as he pulls me flush against him, my backside tucked nicely into the curves of his front side. I could feel his thick member against my bare cheeks and wanted him.

“Anita, Anita,” he murmurs, running his palms down the flat planes of my stomach to cup my trembling thighs between his hands.

“Yes, Damian,” I echo, pushing back against him, striving to feel more of him.

In a single movement, he had me flipped around and hoisted in the air my back pressed against the wall. I let out an outraged shriek. Outraged. Yes. I was. Don’t believe me? Oh… I stare blankly down at the image of Damian’s head between my thighs and manage to gulp down some air. His tongue snakes out lightning quick scooping up the rusty color of old blood seeping out on a tide of desire.

“What are you doing?” I ask stupidly, arching into the swirl of his tongue.

“What do you think?”

I could feel it ooze out from my womb, but I didn’t care. It felt too good to have him there, waiting to drink the life nourishing liquid. Every swipe of his agile tongue was surreal. Then he hits a particular spot at the crux between my legs and I jolt in reaction, my hands fisting in his crimson red hair.

I want to see his eyes. “Hmm… Damian…” I tug gently until he raises his head, his eyes meeting mine. “Emerald. Emerald eyes.”

At my words he chuckles, licking his lips to capture a dribble of blood. My blood, and strangely enough, I wasn’t grossed out. In fact, I wanted him to continue with his ministrations. Insistently, I guide his mouth back to where it had been nestled before. When he didn’t immediately take up where he left off, I glance down irritated. Amazing mood swing. Leave me alone. It’s called PMS.

“And do you have emerald eyes too?” he whispers breathily soothing his hands over the warm skin of my thighs.

“I don’t have green eyes Damian, they’re brown,” I inform him, confused and too damn horny to care.

“Then let me ask you again,” he breaths, cool puffs of air on my enflamed clit.

A strangled sound slips past my throat. My fingers tug persuasively in his hair, my eyes saying, “No talking now. More licking.”

Water beat down the front of me, sliding over the rounded curves of my upturn breasts. The nipples puckered from the sensation of it. It was so hot in the shower, I felt like I would die from the wet suffocation of it all. My pupils dilate, as Damian works his way away from where I need him most to nuzzle my bellybutton.

His tongue dips inside, circling round before leaving a wet trail up to the undersides of my breasts. He plays in the soft shallow hollows, body braced with his hands on my hips before sucking one pink tip between his teeth. I can feel his fangs press against the tight bud and shiver.

“Are your eyes emerald?” Damian asks, my nipple slipping from his mouth with a wet flop.

“What are you going on about?”

Damian stands suddenly, and the effect dizzies me as he is taller. Our gazes clash, and I can’t tell who has the power. His hands cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheek, smiling down wistfully.

“What I want to know about, Anita, is are you as happy as I am right now?”

My eyes widen in understanding. A loaded question if I ever heard one. Was I? Did Damian complete a part of me? Was this our bond speaking or just me? As much as I might like to think it was the bond, I just didn’t know. What did I know about Damian? Did it matter? And if the answer is no, why?

“Maybe forest green with a dappling of sunlight through the trees.”

Was that the right answer? It seemed like it to me. Being with him was like being with no other male in my life. But as many a male in my life love to point out, I never give my whole self into any one relationship. So green, green with yellow edges.

I was biting my lip, worrying it between my teeth when Damian kisses me. And after that there were no words. Just gentle hands lathering soap on skin. Suds dripping slowly down the body chased by a tide of warm water while feverish kisses followed close behind. We were connected by touch.

I sculpt the planes of his chest, counting the breadth by the lengths of my hands. Five hands. I measure the length of his torso. Eight hands. I hold firmly the girth of his straining penis, appraising its size. Almost thicker than Micah’s and definitely longer. I trace a droplet of pre-cum around the large head and he shudders.

His fingers slip inside me in counterpoint. If I were to stroke, Damian followed suit. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Longer. Until we both hovered on the fine silver edge of orgasm, quivering in anticipation. With one final calculated caress we drove each other off the cliff into the bright colors of release.

Sagging into his leaner, sturdier frame, I feel his sperm land in smooth jets on my stomach. It was sticky, and I smear it around my belly washing it off. I catch a movement from the corner of my eye and look up in time to see Damian stick his fingers into his mouth licking them clean.

I stagger backwards and turn the faucet off, and immediately the water dies. The shower is claustrophobic with the damp heat pressing in on me from all sides. I open the sliding door and grab the towels hanging on the rack. Handing one to Damian I dry myself off and step out. He does the same and exits after me.

7:15 PM

I lay snuggled in Damian’s arms on the sofa watching a movie. It was a cute romantic comedy about an advertising agent and a journalist. We were near the end when the front door to the house opened and Zane, Micah, and Nathaniel all troop in covered in sweat and large grins. They appear to be palling around with each other as they kicked off their shoes and made their way to the kitchen.

Micah kisses me absently on the forehead as he passes by and I smile goofily. Nathaniel trails a hand along my shoulder and disappears around the corner before popping up again and slumping down on the couch to watch the remains of the movie. Zane came over to lean against the back of the couch before shaking his head and wandering back towards Micah.

Patting Damian’s knee, I stand up and hit the rewind button on the remote. Today could have been worse. It’s always nice to look on the bright side of things. Like the fact that I didn’t have to go out and buy tampons. Or ammo. Nobody shooting at me was a good thing. And sex. That too had been enjoyable. Plus cuddling with Damian had wonderful side affects. I no longer had back pain. In fact, I can’t believe I was ever miserable today. Okay that was a stretch, but you know, I’m feeling too damn good right now to argue the point.

The End.
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Emerald Eyes