Damon had waited as patiently as he could, but five years was long enough.
He refused to sit on the sidelines any longer.
He wanted her.
Now that she was free from her marriage, he wasn't going to waste any more time pondering about what could be.
As he stood outside her room, he took in a deep breath. No matter what happened that night, he wasn't leaving without her knowing exactly how he felt.
It started in college...
He was a grad student and she was a junior majoring in theater. He'd fallen for her the moment his eyes settled on her. Initially coming off as mousy with a head full of dark brown curls, her wide hazel green eyes seemed to drink in everything she laid them on.
He was taken by surprise when he saw her acting for the first time. It was as if she'd embodied an entirely different person. Inside the meek, petite shell was a confident, outspoken woman.
His heart sank when he asked her out for coffee only to find out she was already engaged.
Despite being turned down, and against his better judgment, they became friends.
It didn't take long for him to have his first of many sexual dreams about her. The first time he buried his cock deep in her throat, while her wide eyes looked up at him pleading for more, he avoided her for three weeks.
As their friendship grew, the dreams became more and more elaborate torturing him to no end.
On the day of her wedding, he'd brought a date with him. He wasn't ever sure of her name, but she had the same dark hair and those eyes.
It was all about the eyes.
As the woman he pined for said 'I do' to a man he'd grown to despise upstairs in front of all of their loved ones, he was taking his date roughly from behind in the downstairs bathroom giving her every inch of his self-loathing.
He'd never been that drunk in his life.
Like a glutton for punishment, he continued their friendship. Even though it meant being forced to know her husband.
Chet was closer to his age, a few years older even. More of the office type, he worked as a data analysis for some company Damon could give a shit about. Chet wasn't a bad looking guy. Tall with a face like a puppy. His black hair always gelled up like some has been boy band wannabe. At least, that's what Damon saw.
A complete contrast to himself.
When she'd called three years ago suggesting a weekend camping trip to catch up, the last thing he wanted to do was to have to spend time with Chet in an enclosed space secluded from the rest of society. Sure, there were going to be other mutual friends there, but it wouldn't be enough.
Chet couldn't make it that first year.
Even so, every time Damon's eyes rested on her wedding ring, or saw her eyes wander towards her phone, he could feel the mixture of rage, disgust and lust twisting his stomach into a knot. The worst was when he looked into her eyes.
It was if she knew exactly what his thoughts were. From the lust to the disappointment.
A part of him hoped that the regret in hers wasn't just his own reflection looking back at him.
She'd become a part of his daily routine. From his very first thought when he started his day to the woman tormenting him in his dreams.
Even saying her name out loud in his sleep.
Millie was what he lived and breathed by.
And either she didn't know it, or she didn't
want
to know it.
Damon was comfortable never knowing the answer to that.
Until last year.
She was in town for a film conference and agreed to meet up. It felt like old times. The meek young woman had long since transformed into the bold, beautiful goddess he'd always seen her as.
Damon didn't think he could be more in love with her, but he was wrong.
They drank, and rehashed old stories over dinner. He was elated when she agreed to go back to his place for a night cap.
In a drunken, idiotic decision, he'd confessed that he'd always wondered what could have been. To his surprise, she shared that she'd never really had an orgasm.
The knowledge of that made him harder than he'd ever thought possible.
Being with her physically was only part of what he wanted from her. Albeit, a visceral and large part, but for years he knew never to cross that line.
Easier said than done when she wasn't in his house looking up at him the way she was. Almost pleading with him to make her dreams come true.
He should have felt guilty when he took her soft, supple bottom lip gently in between his teeth before pulling her into a kind, but eager kiss.
Shame should've been rampant at the way he took his time undressing her and pleasuring her pussy until she screamed out in ecstasy.
Twice.
He could tell she was still in disbelief afterwards. As she left his house, barely able to walk, Damon was beside himself. He could only hope she now understood everything that he'd been feeling up until that point.
When she didn't talk to him for the next nine months, it seemed crystal clear.
She didn't want him or his feelings.
The revelation of this made him bitter and angry. Fucking women that looked nothing like her was his way of retaliation.
Blondes, Red Heads, blue eyes, white skin. Nothing that would remind him of her radiant umber glow, and those fucking hazel green eyes.
It only lasted a few months before he couldn't even look at his own reflection without wanting to vomit. He could've fucked one hundred different women and she'd never care, because she wasn't his.
Then she called.
He almost didn't answer as it was a number he didn't recognize, but something told him to.
"I'm divorcing Chet."
Her words seem to freeze him in place. Was she telling him she wanted to be together? Or was she blaming him?
As they spoke, he came to the conclusion that it was her way of both apologizing, and more importantly, asking for a friend. The way they used to be.
Just hearing her voice was more than enough at that moment.
Now he was standing in front of her door, at their cabin.
Only this time, her divorce was finalized. Chet didn't fight it as he'd been seeing another woman for most of their marriage, probably kicking himself having signed a prenup.
He smirked knowing he'd put the idea in her head.
Still, Damon would've loved to find him and beat the dog piss out of him, but it's not what she wanted.
In fact, she made him promise.
She knew him too well.
He sighed heavily staring at the wooden door. Shirtless, full of nerves, and half aroused.
The day had been filled with all sorts of foreplay. The looks, the touching, the constant double entendre.
There was nothing holding them back. No more distance, no more women, no more Chet.
It was now or never.
With one more deep breath, he opened the door and stepped in.
The small lamp next to the bed cast a warm glow over the room.
His eyes scanned across the space until they settled on her frame sitting at the diva dresser looking back at him through the mirror.
He smiled, she smiled back.
A few hours before, they'd been watching a movie together downstairs, but all he could focus on were the tiny shorts that exposed the smooth skin of her upper thighs. He couldn't stop from licking his lips remembering the time he'd had his face buried deep in between them.
With each stolen glance, he had to keep adjusting his pajama bottoms as his eyes traced the lines of the spaghetti top that exposed her shoulders, chest, and neck.
All the parts he'd had the privilege of exploring a year ago.
He looked up at her to see her own desires mirrored his.
When she'd left the living room, she went out of her way to get close, trailing her nails across his forearm as she walked by. It took all his strength not to jump up and take her then and there.
Now they were in her room.
Her hair was down and straightened. It settled in the middle of her back when it was straight.
His eyes lingered there a while before taking in the fact that she'd changed her clothing. Now in a deep purple silk chemise, he bit his lip in anticipation of removing it.
Damon was always mesmerized by her body. It was rare that she showed it off. Whenever she did, it was for a special occasion.
Those didn't come around very often.
They both seemed stuck looking at one another. Damon thought back to the first time their eyes met. Her eyes were still just as beautiful, but long gone was the wide-eyed innocence.
The desire that clouded her expression matched his. Without breaking the link between them, he locked the door; the sound bringing a heavy reality to the situation.
A moment Damon had dreamed about numerous times.
Millie stood slowly moving in between him and the edge of the bed.
Damon watched, his eyes intense; waiting.
He wanted to move in. He wanted to kiss her, but he needed to be sure. He needed to know that she wanted it as much as he did.
She must have sensed it, because she took a bold step towards him.
"I..."
She took another step towards him. Damon's breath hitched in anticipation.
"I want..."
He was on the verge of exploding. He needed her to finish that sentence. Release him from all decorum and etiquette.
"What do you want?" He asked. His hands played with the hem of her top. He wanted to rip it off, but he couldn't. Not yet.
"I want you to..." Her voice trailed losing focus over his closeness.
His hands continued to explore up her sides, but he wasn't going to touch her where it counted. Not yet. Not until he said the words.
"Whatever you want. Just tell me." He assured her, his voice thick and heavy as he moved in so that their bodies had only a whisper between them.
Millie swallowed hard.
"I want you to fuck me."
The words hung for a moment while the shock and primal need to be inside of her mixed within him. Of all the ways he imagined taking her, hard and rough wasn't it.
"Are you sure?" he asked moving back just enough to meet her eyes.
Millie chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "I don't need soft and careful right now. I've had that for years. I- I want to know what it's like to not be able to... think. I want to feel. I want to be lost in it."
Damon searched her eyes closely. He wondered if her one and only orgasm has come from their encounter.
"Unless you don't want to." She added quickly.
Damon hooked a finger under her chin. "You never have to question me wanting you."
