ACCIDENTALLY MARRIED TO THE BILLIONAIRE SINGLE DAD (Gabrielle and Damon) novel Chapter 156

CHAPTER 156

GABRIELLE’S POV

Damon led me downstairs and into another room at the back of the house,

The moment he pushed the door open, I immediately understood why he had been hesitant earlier.

The room was filled with instruments.

A drum set stood near the center of the room, polished but clearly old.

Against one wall sat a piano, its lid closed, while several guitars rested carefully on stands nearby.

A violin case lay on a small table in the corner, and sheet music was stacked neatly on a shelf.

I stopped just inside the doorway, taking it all in.

“You played all these?” I asked slowly.

Damon rubbed the back of his neck in a rare gesture of awkwardness. “Yes.”

My gaze drifted to the wall behind the drum set.

A framed photograph hung there.

It was a younger Damon–much younger–sitting proudly behind the drums and he had braces.

Actual braces.

For a second I just stared.

Then my hand flew over my mouth as laughter escaped me.

“Oh my God,” I said between breaths. “You had braces.”

Damon groaned immediately. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want to show you this room.”

Younger Damon was such a cute, nerdy boy.

“You look so serious,” I continued laughing, walking closer to the photo. “Like you’re about to perform in front of people.”

“I was,” he muttered.

“And you were adorable.”

He gave me a suspicious look. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

I turned to face him, still smiling. “I am, of course. I didn’t know you played music.”

His expression shifted slightly.

The embarrassment faded, replaced by something softer.

“I used to love it,” he said.

His hand brushed over the back of one of the guitars as he spoke.

“I never liked singing,” he continued. “But instruments… that was different. I played whatever I could get my hands on.”

He nodded toward the room.

“Drums, Guitar, Piano. Violin. There were others but the staff must have thrown then out.”

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“Wow. That’s a lot,” I said softly.

He shrugged. “I had time back then. And my mother would always encourage me.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the drumsticks resting on the set, almost unconsciously.

“I used to spend hours in here,” he went on. “Practicing, learning songs, and trying to figure out how everything worked.”

I watched him closely.

There was something different about him now–the way he talked, and the way his eyes moved around the room.

Like the memories were pulling him somewhere far away.

I didn’t even need to ask what happened to make him stop playing the instruments.

They moved and that was when his abuse started.

My chest tightened. “You don’t listen to music anymore either?”

“Not really,” he said with a small shrug. “Unless I’m somewhere that I can’t avoid it.”

“Like the club.”

He snorted lightly. “Exactly. And most of those songs are terrible anyway.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Terrible?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning casually against the piano. “A bunch of random beats thrown together with even worse lyrics.”

I laughed.

“But you used to love it.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

He exhaled deeply. “I did.”

As I watched him, something slowly settled in my chest.

Damon was still talking about the instruments, about how each one felt different in his hands.

The rhythm of the drums, the patience the violin required, and the way the piano could carry an entire melody on its own.

His voice was calm, but there was something else beneath it as well.

There was so much passion in his voice that it made my throat tighten.

I realized then that he wasn’t as cold as he had been.

The emotions were there now, just quiet… like they had been buried for a long time and were only now beginning to surface

again.

He probably didn’t even realize it himself.

But I could see it.

And suddenly my chest felt so full it almost hurt, because it meant that part of him had survived everything.

He wasn’t fully there yet, but he didn’t have to be. He could take as long as he needed.

I stood there watching him, my vision blurring slightly as warmth spread through my chest.

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All I could feel was love for him.

And something warmer… something that made my pulse quicken every time he looked at me.

Damon turned and caught me staring at him. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

I closed the space between us, rising on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck even though I was wearing heels.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I whispered. “But you’re talking too much.”

His hands moved to my waist and pulled me closer as he kissed me.

My cardigan was tossed aside and my shirt followed, exposing my naked breasts. Piece by piece we took off our clothes and fell to the floor, our lips still connected in a rough kiss.

Damon lay on top of me, supporting his weight with one hand while the other roamed the side of my body.

The kiss turned hungry, like we had been starving for each other.

And we were.

My hands were on his chest, feeling his heart race under my touch briefly, before moving them to his shoulders.

I couldn’t wait anymore.

I broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, gasping for breath. “I want you. Now.”

“Anything you want, wife,” he replied.

I felt his cock at my entrance and I expected him to tease me like he usually did, but he didn’t.

A gasp escaped my lips when he pushed inside me.

“Oh, fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

My hips lifted slightly and I cried out as he stretched my walls around him, filling me inch by inch until I was completely his.

I was still enjoying the stretch when he pulled out slowly.

“No,” I whimpered, my hands moving down to his arms. “Please.”

Damon didn’t give in to me this time.

He leaned down and kissed me instead, his tip right at my entrance but not moving in, as if we had all the time in the world.

He broke the kiss and held my gaze. “Is it okay if we go slow this time?”

My breath hitched.

His question caught me off guard.

“What?”

“I only…” he paused and cleared his throat awkwardly, “I have never wanted to… make love.”

Warmth spread across my chest.

“Damon-”

His hand moved to caress my cheek. “Can I… make love to you, wife?”

My brain short–circuited.