Page 35 of The Queen (Masterpiece Duet 2)
The pleasure I felt is still here, no longer euphoria, but something darker.
“You don’t want me to touch you,” I say, more stunned than I have a right to be. “You don’t want me to kiss you. Or suck you. Or do anything to you.”
“That’s right, Penny. Now run away to your little room.”
I look at his lap, where the sheet tents an erection so large it would be terrifying if I thought he were going to do anything with it. “Will you touch yourself after?”
He grins. “Do you want to watch? Or maybe you’d like me to make you come again.”
Everything is a game with him, but I’m struck by the realization that it’s all a cover. A cover for what? For the fact that nothing is a game to him? That he cares too much?
“No,” I say simply.
The pause between us weighs heavy. “Excuse me?”
“I said no. I’m not going to run away to my little room so that you can jack off while still tasting me. Maybe you’re too shy to want me here, but I deserve to see this. And you deserve to let me.”
I think I could have punched him in the face and he would have been less shocked. “Shy? Jesus Christ. You’ve seen the parties I have.”
“And I’ve seen you, fully dressed in them. Watching but not participating.”
He glances between my legs, where I can still feel the echo of his tongue. “And what about two minutes ago? I think I participated plenty, then.”
“In a private room with the door locked. And you won’t let me reciprocate.”
His voice is pure venom. “A blow job, Penny. If you want to do it, you can at least say the words. You want to suck my cock. Say it.”
I flush from his derision. “Fine, I want to suck your cock. But you won’t let me. What are you afraid of? That I’ll hurt you?”
“The only thing I’m afraid of is that I’ll be bored out of my mind. I’m not only referring to the men and women at my parties. I own strip clubs, darling. In case you’ve forgotten. I know some of the most”—he smiles a little—“talented women in the city.”
The more he tries to insult me, the more I see it as the distraction it’s meant to be. “And how many of them have you actually slept with? How many of them have seen you vulnerable? How many of them have touched you?”
“None,” he says on a hissed breath. “Is that what you want to hear?”
It’s the truth; the certainty of that sinks inside me like poison. I’ve been trying to make him be honest with me for days. For years, even. Now that he’s finally done it, all I feel is deep sorrow. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t pity me, sweetheart. I’ve had my share of sex.”
“The kind you wanted?” I ask softly.
Maybe another woman would be fooled. Maybe the people downstairs think Damon Scott has wild sex because he hosts parties at the Den, because he owns strip clubs.
I’ve seen Damon before he became this dashing stranger. I knew the wild boy who tried to run away from home. Angry, dangerous. Defensive. There are only a few ways teenage boys get like that.
“I’m not the only person Jonathan Scott has hurt,” I whisper.
“You’re the only one he shouldn’t have touched,” he says, voice thick with remorse.
“I don’t understand.”
“He wanted to create a monster. And he’s good at what he does.”
I shake my head. “You did what you had to do to survive.”
“I didn’t just survive what he did to me. I thrived in it, understand? I became what he wanted me to be. Fuck, I was already a monster. Coming from that man. Being his son. I can’t escape that.”
“You can,” I whisper urgently, my heart fractured at his agony.
“But you weren’t part of that life. You were the one thing I wanted to be clean, to be safe. To be free from this city. Which is exactly why he targeted you. Don’t you get that? I’m the reason he hurt you.”
“I know, Damon. He told me, but that doesn’t make it true.”
A hoarse sound. “Everything you’ve suffered is because of me.”
“Your father is responsible for what he does. I know you tried to keep people safe. You tried to keep me safe. You’re still doing it. That’s why I’m in that room, isn’t it? Because someone would have to go through you to get to me.”
“No one’s getting to you,” he says on a low growl.
“But you can’t keep everyone safe all the time. That’s not your responsibility.”
“It is,” he says, teeth clenched, and with shock I realize he means it. “I’m the only one who knows what he’s truly capable of doing. The only one capable of stopping him.”
My heart aches, because he’s right. He’s the only one who knows what Jonathan Scott is fully capable of—because he’s suffered all of it. For years. Because no one stopped him. No one could. In a twisted way it’s why he won’t go after Avery, because he believes he can’t save her. In his mind she’s already lost. The dark place in my mind whispers that he might be right.
