His GOODGIRL

Chapter 7 : The Fight

I didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

Damien’s arm was around me, heavy and warm, but my brain wouldn’t shut up.

_Your parents hate you. Ethan hates you. You’re the bad guy._

At 6am I slipped out of his bed. Got dressed.

I left a note: _I need space. Please don’t come over._

Coward move. I knew it.

Work was hell. Every patient, every chart, I kept waiting for my phone to buzz.

It didn’t.

Until 2:37pm.

Unknown number: _We need to talk. At your house. 7pm._

Damien.

My stomach dropped. I texted back: _I said space._

_And I said no._

---

I tried to hold out.

I really did.

I got home at 6. Took a shower. Put on sweats. No makeup.

If he saw me like this maybe he’d get it. That I was done.

7pm on the dot. Knock.

I opened the door.

Damien.

Jeans. Black tee. Hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it.

He looked pissed. And tired.

"You look like s**t," he said.

"Thanks."

"Can I come in?"

"No."

He pushed the door open anyway and stepped in. Closed it behind him.

"Damien—"

"Stop." He turned to me. "What the f**k was that note?"

"I need space. This is too much. My family—"

"Your family is being shitty. That’s not a reason to leave me."

"Isn’t it?" My voice cracked. "Because of you I lost them!"

"Because of you, you chose me," he shot back. "Don’t put that on me."

We stared at each other.

I could feel it. The air between us was electric. Angry.

"This was a mistake," I whispered.

"Liar."

"It was! You’re Ethan’s brother! You texted me at 3am! You—"

"I what?" He stepped closer. "Made you feel alive? Made you come so hard you forgot your own name?"

"Stop it."

"Make me."

I shoved him. Hard. "I said I need space!"

He caught my wrists. "Then take it. After you hear me out."

"I don’t want to hear—"

"YES YOU DO."

He backed me into the wall. Not rough. Just firm.

His forehead against mine. Breathing hard.

"I haven’t slept in 2 days because you’re not in my bed," he said. Quiet now. "I’m going insane. I see you at work, I see you with him, I see you pulling away and I can’t— I can’t do it, Lena."

"Damien..."

"Say you don’t feel this. Say it and I’ll leave."

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

"That’s what I thought." His thumb brushed my cheek. "You’re mine. You’ve been mine since that first text."

"I can’t—"

"You can." His mouth was on my neck. "You just won’t let yourself."

"Damien please."

"Please what? Stop? Or don’t stop?"

I didn’t answer.

He took that as an answer.

His hands went under my sweatshirt. Skin on skin.

"God you’re warm," he muttered. "Been thinking about this all day."

"Damien we’re fighting—"

"We’re not fighting. We’re just loud."

He kissed me. Deep. Angry. Desperate.

I tried to push him away. My hands fisted in his shirt instead.

"Lena," he said against my mouth. "Tell me to stop."

"I..."

"Say it."

I couldn’t.

"Good girl," he breathed.

He lifted me. My legs went around his waist automatically.

He carried me to the couch. Dropped me on it.

Crawled over me.

His hands were everywhere. In my hair. Under my sweats.

"You left me," he said. Voice rough. "Do you know what that did to me?"

"I’m sorry—"

"Don’t be sorry. Be mine."

He pulled my sweats down. Slow.

His eyes never left mine.

"Still want space?" he asked.

"No."

"Louder."

"No!"

He was inside me before I could breathe.

It hurt and felt perfect and I hated that I loved it.

"Look at me," he demanded.

"I am."

"Say you’re not leaving."

"I’m not leaving."

"Say my name."

"Damien!"

He moved. Hard. Fast. Like he was trying to prove something.

Like he was trying to erase the last 24 hours from my body.

His hand came up to my throat. Not squeezing. Just there.

"You don’t get to run from me," he growled. "Not ever again."

"I won’t—"

"Promise me."

"I promise!"

I came with his name on my lips and his hand over my mouth.

He followed a second later. Shaking. Swearing into my neck.

We stayed like that. Breathing.

Him still inside me. Me still shaking.

"I hate you," I whispered.

"I know," he said. "I hate that you left too."

He pulled out. Fixed my clothes. Pulled me into his lap.

"I’m scared," I admitted.

"Of what?"

"Of this. Of you. Of losing everyone."

"You won’t lose me." He kissed my temple. "I’m not going anywhere. Even when you try to make me."

We sat there for an hour.

He didn’t let go.

At 9pm my phone rang. Mom.

I ignored it.

Damien saw. "You don’t have to answer."

"I know."

He made me food. Pasta.

Fed me bites off his fork on the couch.

"Eat, good girl," he said.

When I was done he stood up.

"Come on."

"Where?"

"My house. You’re not sleeping here alone."

"I should—"

"No." He held out his hand. "You should be with me."

I took it.

---

His bed smelled like him.

He stripped me down. Laid me out.

Then just looked at me.

"You’re beautiful," he said. "Even angry. Even scared."

"Stop."

"Never."

He climbed over me. Slow this time.

No anger. No punishment.

Just him. And me.

"Stay," he whispered while he moved.

"I am."

"Stay tomorrow."

"I will."

"Stay forever."

"Damien—"

"Say it."

"Okay. Forever."

He broke.

Buried his face in my neck and came undone.

I held him. Ran my hands through his hair.

After he rolled us so I was on his chest.

His hand drew circles on my back.

"You’re not allowed to leave notes anymore," he said.

"Okay."

"You’re not allowed to run."

"Okay."

"You’re mine."

"I’m yours."

He fell asleep like that.

I didn’t.

At 3:14am my phone lit up.

Damien, from right next to me: _I can hear you thinking._

_Sorry._

_Don’t be. Just be here._

I was.

---

Morning.

He woke me up the same way.

Mouth on me. Hands on me.

"Morning, good girl," he said when I came.

I was late to work again.

Didn’t care.

On my way out he stopped me at the door.

Pulled me in for a kiss.

"Tonight," he said.

"What about tonight?"

"We’re having dinner. With me. And you’re wearing that red dress again."

"Damien—"

"My house. 8pm. Don’t be late."

He smacked my ass as I walked out.

I was smiling the whole drive to work.