Page 39 of Christmas Mafia Prince
“So… should I build a pillow wall?” I joke to break the tension between us because it’s so thick those saws would lose their teeth on it.
Damen’s gaze darts to the bed big enough to host an entire orgy, but then he’s back with me: tall, handsome, and so irresistible I’m surprised I’m not on my knees yet.
“No, that might be too tempting for us both,” he says and gestures at the couch taking up the other side of the room. “I’ll sleep there, and you take the bed. It’s only fair.”
Is it though? It is his room. But Iamthe guest.
I let him be the gentleman about it, because he’s right. If we slept in one bed, by morning, that pillow wall would be on the floor, and I’d be on top of him, cuddling, rubbing my cock against his—
No. I’m not getting a hard-on right now.
Deep breath.
“Okay. But we could swap tomorrow if you want…”
“No. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Damen says with a shake of his head and pulls off his sweater. Underneath is a thin white T-shirt, and I find myself fantasizing about the warm skin it's hiding, about each of the beauty spots I wish to commit to memory forever.
I must have been obvious in my staring because he catches my gaze as the T-shirt is halfway up his chest, revealing his abs like he’s a living Calvin Klein ad. “Oh. Should I change in the bathroom?”
My eyes grow wide and I take my own sweater off in a rushed panic. “No! That’s silly. We’re both guys.” I can only hope my laughter doesn’t come off as too nervous. It’s ridiculous.I’mridiculous. I licked that chest this morning. I’m perfectly capable of seeing all of him and not being weird about it.
Excuses. You justwantto see him naked, the voice of truth whispers in my head, but Damen has to take me at face value and pulls off the garment, exposing his firm back. He has scars—a large cut on the side and a round, puckered one at the back of the shoulder. I feel the urgent need to ask about them while he’s here, so close I could touch him. So close I could lure him to bed now, breaking all the promises I’ve made myself, but if I’m not staying, I have no right to his secrets.
“How are you feeling?” Damen asks out of nowhere, facing me in a pair of pants that hug his hips as if they’d been sewn onto him.
I’m caught with my pants down (literally). I stare back at him and take a deep breath. “I… wow. What a day, huh? I guess I’ve calmed down, but why do you havedeath trapsin the maze?”
I don’t miss the way his gaze descends to the front of my underwear, only to roll back to my face, as if it never happened. “They’re for enemies.”
That’s it? What the hell does that mean? And is there even a scale between an enemy worthy of contempt and one belonging in a surprise death trap? Do they give their enemies hope of escape just to take it away?
Seeing my confusion, Damen adds, “My grandfather was a bit of an amateur-engineer.”
And a psychopath, apparently.
Damen changes into long silk pyjama pants which prompts me to do the same as I pretend not to glance at his sculpted legs and ass. He walks over to the fireplace and scoots by to light it.
I watch his beautiful back, trying not to drool, and sit on the bed. “And that scar you have on the side… Is it from one of his traps?”
The wood catches alight, and Damen glances over his shoulder to meet my gaze. I can almost see the crack of his ass in this position and make myself look elsewhere as he rises to face me.
“No. I never fell into any of the traps. It’s actually pretty old, this one,” he adds and trails his fingers along the raised groove of flesh and traces it all the way to his hip.
I realize we have matching pyjama sets. Dark green silk with a discreet Christmas tree pattern. It’s silly, but it makes me all warm inside.
“Did you kill whoever did it?” I whisper, feeling a little bloodthirsty, because anyone who dares lay a finger on Damen deserves to die.
Heat rises to my cheeks as he walks over and sits next to me on the edge of the bed, in the warm glow of the fire. I immediately smell him. The aroma of his cologne—grapefruit, sandalwood, and gunpowder—is now faint, but the musky scent of male flesh is there for me to enjoy, and I curl my toes in an attempt to calm myself.
I can’t leap into his arms right after forcing him to agree that he does let me go after Christmas, and no longer fucks me. That would be laughable.
Ridiculous.
Iama clown.
“I did,” Damen says, his knee pressing against mine as he leans forward, resting his elbows on top of his thighs. “But it was luck. I could have died that night, and then, we wouldn’t have met,” he adds, peeking at me with a small smile. “I’m glad we did and I got to help you with Happy.”
I lick my lips and slouch, staring at my lovely dark nail polish, the manicure he treated me to instead of trying to change me. “Ithink he would have killed me back there, so am I a bad person that I don’t feel sorry for him?”
