I suck in a deep breath to give me courage to continue. “But this night, we both got wasted. Honestly, I don’t even know how he managed to get an erection. But he did, and we did, and afterward he looked at my legs and he”—my voice breaks with the memory—“he told me I was lucky I had a pretty face and such a sweet pussy because I was one totally screwed-up bitch, and my scars made him want to puke.”

I take deep breaths, keeping my eyes on the sky and my fingers tight in Damien’s hand. Even now, the memory makes me feel sick. I’d trusted Kurt, and he’d completely ripped me apart.

“I went to Ollie,” I continue. “He knew about my scars and he was my friend and I knew he was attracted to me. And I tried to seduce him.”

“He wouldn’t sleep with you,” Damien says.

“He wouldn’t fuck me,” I clarify. “But he took off my jeans and he told me that for some of those scars he remembered what I’d been through, and he told me that he thought I was strong. That he didn’t want me cutting anymore. That I was better than my mother and I needed to forget assholes like Kurt and finish school and get the hell out of Texas. Then he held me until I fell asleep.”

I manage a watery smile. “I thought he got me through it. Guess I still have some issues to work through, huh?”

I’ve put a light note in my voice, but Damien doesn’t respond to it.

“Damien?” I roll over to look at him, then immediately sit up. He looks angry, like he’s barely holding in his fury. I take his hand. “He’s ancient history.”

“He will be if I ever meet the fucker. What’s his last name?”

I hesitate. Considering Damien owns half the universe, I think better of saying it. “No. It’s all in the past. I’m over it,” I lie.

He eyes me but I look back blandly. “What about the other men you’ve slept with?”

I frown, surprised by the question. “There haven’t been any others. Just my first when I was sixteen—some prep school idiot my mom fixed me up with. And then Kurt.” I shrug. “It’s okay, though. I mean, I dated and fooled around, but mostly I’ve been focused on school. I haven’t been sitting in an ivory tower wondering why no one’s unlocking my chastity belt. And I own a really nice vibrator.”

The last makes him burst out laughing. “Do you?”

I can’t believe I said that. I consider lying and telling him it was a joke, but instead I just nod.

“Well, maybe someday you can show it to me.” His hand slides over my bare ass, and I have to admit that his suggestion sounds pretty tempting, though I’m not sure I’d have the nerve. Then again, where Damien is concerned, I seem to be able to find the nerve for a lot of unexpected things.

“And after Kurt?” Damien asks. “Did you cut anymore?”

“No. There were a few times I really wanted to, but no.”

“The garage?”

I remember the figure of a man as I searched for my keys. “That was you?”

“I was worried about the way you left.”

“I was scared of what you’d think. You were … I wanted you, but you were about to see them, and—”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I know, baby. Did you cut yourself?”

“I thought about it,” I admit. “I even jammed my keys into my flesh. But did I cut?” I shake my head. “No. I didn’t.”

“And you won’t.” His voice is hard, earnest. He presses his palms to my cheeks, cupping my face. “You asked if I’ll hurt you,” he says. “There are a lot of things I do—things I want to do with you. And if there’s pain, it’s only to bring more pleasure. Okay?”

I nod.

“I won’t draw blood. That’s not my thing. But even if it was, I wouldn’t do it with you. Do you understand that?”

I swallow and nod. I’m slightly embarrassed—this is starting to feel like a counseling session. But at the same time, his words and his concern are making me feel cherished. Like I’m more than just the girl in his bed for the week.

“Do you still need the pain?” he asks.

“I didn’t think so,” I say. “But then in the car—I wanted it, but I fought it.”

“If you need it, you tell me.” His voice is hard. Urgent. “Do you understand?”

I nod and curl up close to him and let him stroke my hair. Because I also hear what he doesn’t say. That if I need to feel grounded—if I need the pain to feel centered and real and here—then Damien is the one who’ll stand at my center. Whatever I need, he’ll give.

I shiver a bit. I’ve never been so exposed to another person, not even Ollie, not even Jamie. And I’ve never felt more taken care of.

“And what about you, Damien?” I finally ask. “What do you need?”

He looks at me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tell me the secrets he’s kept buried deep inside. That he’s going to give me a clue as to what really makes Damien Stark tick. Considering how much I opened up, it only seems fair. But then his expression shifts and I see only a playful spark in his eye.

“You,” he says, and then he closes his mouth over mine.

22

“Blondie, I swear you are on fire today.” Blaine grins at me as I stand in the red robe with the morning light creeping in through the open windows. “So you think you’re good? We can take it slow again if you need to.”

“I’m good. Thanks. Damien told you why I freaked?” I’d asked Damien to explain to Blaine that my meltdown yesterday didn’t have to do with posing as much as it had to do with what Blaine would be painting.

“He did, and I’ll tell you exactly what I told him—except for the fact that your scars mean you’ve been hurting, I am one-hundred-percent cool with having them in the painting. Some models, especially the professional ones, it’s like painting air-brushed people. Give me something raw any day. Honest, Nikki. I’ll do you right.”

“I believe you.” I shift a little, and rest one hand on the foot of the bed, my palm cupping the ball at the top of the bedpost. With my other hand, I reach for the drapes. “Something like this, maybe?”

“I’m not sure,” Damien says from beside me. His hands close over my waist and he shifts me toward the window. “Maybe if we set up a fan outside? Really get the drapes billowing?”

“You’ll need to put back the two you took down,” I say with a smirk.

“Huh?” Blaine says, and Damien laughs.

“What do you think?” Damien directs the question toward Blaine and sidesteps my comment about the drapes.

“You’re the boss.”

“And you’re the artist.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow and smirks at me. “That’s a first. According to Evelyn, our benefactor doesn’t take direction from anybody.”

“I’m not taking direction,” Damien says. “I’m asking your opinion. I didn’t say I would accept it.”

Blaine studies me, circles me, and finally moves me a few inches to the left. Then back to the right. Then slightly at an angle.

He stands back, his chin in his hand, and looks at Damien, who moves me a few inches forward. Then shifts me to a slightly different angle.