I open my eyes and turn my face, laying it on the same pillow as his.
He caresses my hair, and I think how strange he is. How opposites seem to collide inside him. Hard, then soft. Soothing, then hurting.
Our faces are inches apart. This is the closest we’ve ever been, I think. The most intimate.
And all I can think is how beautiful he is. Olive skin. Dark hair. Perfect bones. And charcoal eyes looking at me like this—I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me like this.
I think about this bond between us. This thing that needs to be played out. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know that he does either. But Damian and I are locked together for some strange, grim purpose.
Will we survive it?
He may since he’s the one pulling the strings.
But will I?
A tear slides from my eye and down my cheek.
His gaze shifts to it, and there’s something almost confused in it. Something entirely absorbed by that tear.
He brings his thumb to it and traces its progress before shifting his gaze back to mine and lifting his head, coming closer.
I don’t close my eyes this time. I watch him as he rolls me onto my back and then closes his mouth over mine, kissing me.
He swallows my whimper as my heart skips a beat. I think he knows the effect he has on me because he draws back and lays his palm on my breast, over my heart.
I lick my lips, wanting more. I taste whiskey. I can’t move when he slides his hand from my heart into the cup of my bra, thumb on the scar. I can’t close my eyes to hide myself, hide the havoc he’s wreaking inside me as he manipulates my nipple, sending sensation straight between my legs.
“You like my hands on you.”
I can’t deny it, not verbally. So, I shake my head, refusing to meet his gaze.
“You like me kissing you.”
“No. I—”
“You’re a bad liar, Cristina,” he says, not letting me finish.
“I can’t like it, Damian.”
He stops at that. I stop, too.
Shit. I said that out loud. “I mean—”
“Tell me something,” he starts with a grin. “Do you wonder what it’ll feel like?”
I look at him. “What?”
“Me fucking you?”
My stomach flips. Does he see right through me?
“I do,” he says. “I imagine what you’ll feel like. Warm and wet and soft. Tight too, I’m guessing.”
“Stop.”
“You don’t want me to stop, sweetheart.”
“I do. I hate you.”
“You may say you hate me, and you may wish you did, but you want me to fuck you, too. Don’t you think I smell it on you? Smell how wet your pussy is?”
“Uncuff me.”
“I wonder about the color of your eyes when you come.”
“Leave me alone.”
“I’m going to watch you take me the first time. Watch when I stretch your tight little cunt.”
“God. I…Please stop.”
“Is it making you too wet?”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I want it too, sweetheart, but we’ll have to wait. Take care of some things first.”
“I don’t want you!”
“No?”
He sits up, and for a moment, I think he’s going to get off the bed, but he looks down at me and grins. Suddenly, his hand is on my thigh, pulling it apart from the other.
“Damian!”
And to my horror, he leans down, and when I open my mouth, it’s on a gasp because his mouth is on me. His lips…my god, the sensation when he runs his tongue over my sex, then closes his mouth over my clit.
Fuck.
I let out a moan, and I’m vanquished.
My back arches and when I dare open my eyes again, Damian is looking down at me, eyes black with want, and a smug, knowing look on his face.
“You’re soaked, sweetheart.”
I can’t deny it. He just tasted the evidence.
My face burns, but he’s not finished yet.
“And you taste…inexperienced, Cristina. Like a virgin.”
Can you even taste that?
“Are you, sweetheart? Is my dick going to be the first you take? Will it be me who makes you bleed? Because I owe you, don’t I? I owe you a bleeding.” He holds up the hand I stabbed.
“Shut up! Shut the hell up!”
“Answer me and I will.”
“How would you know what a virgin tastes like? I’m guessing you only fuck whores. Tell me something, do you have to tie them up so you can touch them?” I push, poking the bear. “Are they as revolted by your touch as I am?”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so far from revolted—”
“Do you have to cover your mangled hand? Keep your shirt on so they don’t see your arm? Your torso?”
His jaw tightens at that and I know I have him.
“Do you? So they don’t run and hide from the monster you are?”
“Be. Careful.”
But I’m not careful. “Do you force them, Damian?”
He watches me, anger replacing the arousal and desire in his eyes. His jaw locks tightly. I need to stop. Heed his warning.