They got back a little before midnight. The suite lights came on softly.
Merry went straight to the bathroom, had a quick shower, changed into a silky nightdress she'd brought, hair still damp. Her heart was still racing from the bridge, the little adventures, the crowd, and the memory of their kiss.
Damon didn't come to bed. She waited a minute. Then two. She found him downstairs.
The hotel bar was dimly-lit. ON THE NATURE OF DAYLIGHT by Metarmophose String Orchestra played softly. Damon stood near the window, drink in hand and his jacket off.
As she crossed the room to pour herself a drink, Damon turned.
And stared. Not casually or politely but slow and heavily. Like he was seeing her for the first time and the last at once.
He walked toward her.
"You're still awake," she said.
"So are you."
She lifted her glass and took a sip. He didn't look away.
When he stopped in front of her, the space between them felt charged, burning. Damon's eyes dropped to her collarbone, her mouth, then back to her eyes.
"You shouldn't look at me like that," she said softly.
"You came looking like this," he replied.
Her pulse jumped.
Silence stretched dangerously. Neither of them moved. And neither of them wanted to leave.
Damon gestured to the seat opposite him.
"Sit."
Merry hesitated, then did. He poured for her again. No words. Just the quiet sound of liquid hitting glass.
They drank.
One glass. Then another. And another.
Silence lingered, but eyes stayed hooked. The orchestra music changed to one of Erik Satie's best.
Merry suddenly laughed softly. It slipped out of her before she could stop it.
Damon looked at her.
She squinted at her glass. "What… is this?"
He frowned slightly. "Whiskey."
"Oh." She nodded seriously. Then giggled again. "That explains a lot."
Merry blinked, then looked up at him, eyes bright and unfocused. "Damon," she whispered, amused, "am I drunk?"
She stood unsteadily, then collapsed straight into him. He caught her. They both froze.
His jaw tightened. "We're drunk. Both of us."
Damon's hand came up suddenly, firm at her waist.
He pulled her closer, breath warm against her temple.
Merry shakily reached to touch his lip.
"Don't," he murmured.
But, he didn't stop her.
His voice dropped, rough and quiet, meant only for her.
"You look so fucking beautiful tonight."
The words hit harder through the alcohol.
Merry stilled. Her smile relaxed into something softer.
She looked at him with unsteady eyes.
"That's dangerous to say," she whispered.
His thumb pressed lightly into her hip. "So is sitting on my lap."
She shifted again and felt his hardness. Her smile changed. Slow and knowing.
"Oh," she murmured, glancing down, then back at his face. "You're so hard."
"Merry," he warned.
She nudged him through the barriers of his pants lightly, teasing. "You invited me to drink."
"You're playing with fire," he said.
She leaned closer, her lips near his ear. "You've been burning me all night, Damon. I want to touch you."
She kissed his cheek lightly and gently found his lips.
He lifted her easily, like he'd already decided. Her breath caught, her hands clutching his shirt by instinct.
"Damon—"
He didn't answer. He walked till he had her laid back on the convertible sofa, surrendered to him.
When Damon's hands touched her again, she realized she was exposed, hair damp and silky nightdress clinging to her breasts, yet something in her trusted him instinctively. Memories from earlier slipped into her mind, and she felt nostalgic.
Somehow, being held by him right now felt like coming home. And it was meant to be wrong.
His sex was gentle this time around, and Merry felt something between the warmth of his body on hers and the contrasting cold from the air that drifted in.
Damon's lips claimed hers, and she revelled in that way too familiar firmness of his kiss.
All Merry knew in her drunkenness was the state of euphoria she'd been thrown into.
The warmth of his body. The contrasting strength in the way his hands took off her silks and gently guided her through his delicious lovemaking.
Damon touched and found her in every corner of her body till she was quivering with need and wording nonsense.
And when he slipped deep into her, her chest tightened and not just from desire but from the strange vulnerability of being pleasured in his arms.
And when the realization made her sob softly and say his name, she managed to feel Damon's thumb flick her tears away and hear him murmur soft words of careless assurances as he rode through his own lane to maddening ecstasy.
The sex was heated. Damon's loving, hard, and unrestrained.
He took her past the clouds on the convertible lounge, on the floor, and then on the lounge again.
Merry lost her voice to her cries of exquisite enjoyment, emotions, and extreme pleasure plunging her in a world where she only understood Damon, his blue eyes, and what he was doing her.
"Cry for me, Merry Steele,"
Her fingers tangled in his hair, in his shirt, anywhere she could reach, and he growled softly against her ear. "You're so fucking beautiful…"
Her laughter was breathless, half protest and half surrender. She felt him, knew him, and the world outside the suite seemed not to exist anymore. Just the heat and flesh between them.
She trusted him completely, and the thought both excited and terrified her. It was scary to give herself over so fully, to let her body and mind follow instinct, to be this open while drunk and needy.
But the sheer intensity of it, the way it felt right despite every warning in her mind, made her back arch for him.
Damon rode that fine line between control, pleasure and pain, and she gave herself to it, drunk on him, drunk on the night, drunk on herself.
When she whispered his name, he kissed her lips like it was sacred, his thumb brushing her cheek, his lips pressing every sensitive spot, and the room spun and the music fading.
The classical music's tempo turned intense and so did the heat that made Merry cry out once again and call out.
"I.... I think...." She tried but she had lost all train of thoughts. Her hands only pushed him weakly, needing sanity over the velvety stab of an irreversible orgasm.
"Come for me, Steele. Let it out." Came the growl of the man who was taking her places.
And she blessed him with waves of her slick release.
When it was all finally over, they were too drunk to move.
Merry drifted, and Damon just lay there, lost to his own thoughts. The world outside the suite was dark. There was no noise, no crowd, no cameras. Only the warmth of each other's bodies.
Merry's head rested against his chest, and Damon realized he had never felt quite this comfortably close to anyone.