Page 31 of Pawn

“Feel better?” he asks before he nibbles my lip, my stomach clenching at the sensation. He pulls away, tugging my lip with his teeth before he lets go.

“You’re a fucking mess,” I say, still breathless.

“Your mess. Remember? Or did that go off the roof with my aunt?”

A melody follows Damien’s words. His phone. I’m saved by the bell. He keeps his eyes on me when he pulls the phone to his ear. “Eric,” he answers, and that keeps me awake. “Ah, you agree. That’s what I thought. I’ll handle the balance.”

Unbelievable.

“Looks like you got a new home, Rowland.” Hanging up, he smirks. “With me.”

* * *

I guess I should thank Damien for taking me out of the clutches of the Archibalds.

No more events.

No more Nancy and Eric.

Isobel’s a giant trade-up from Vincent though I’ll miss Holly. Still, it’s hard to believe that just like that, I’m on my own.

Well, kind of.

I’m shacked up with the devil.

Cold air comes through the front foyer of the mansion the next morning, a couple of men moving boxes inside. I’m watching in disbelief at the change of events, my hand on the door in an old oversized band tee. Misfits. I didn’t realize how clean the mansion looks in comparison to how we left it. Baldy came around after all.

“Welcome home, Medusa.” Damien appears next to me in nothing but his boxers, two black mugs in hand, one larger than the other.

Home. It’s still settling in.

Damien got his way, again.

“Filtered, black. The way you like it,” he says. I’m trying to ignore the sexy morning croak in his voice. “Filthy.”

We still haven’t talked about what happened last night. Still haven’t talked about much. When we got home, I went right to my room. I waited for Willow but she texted me saying she’ll be with Jordan and I can’t help but wonder if their friendship is more than platonic. Didn’t have time to think about that though, after the feast Damien had on my body, I was out like a light.

Damien nudges my tattooed arm with the mug, breaking my groggy haze before taking it from his hand. It’s hard not to look at those rippled abs or that steel-cut ‘v’ popping out his waistband.

How am I supposed to fix my life when I can’t get away from Damien? A Damien that looks like a rippled pile of deliciousness.

There’s a smirk on his face when I pull my gaze away, my eyes landing on the driveway. A silver Mercedes truck pulls in, parking behind the moving van.

“What’s Perez doing here?” Damien asks.

I’m wondering the same thing. While we’ve been cordial, Allie’s been keeping to herself. Possibly still mortified from the entire thing.

She hops out of the driver’s seat but she looks a mess. Her purple beanie covering most of her forehead, wavy hair pinned to her long face. Her glasses sit on the edge of her nose, hiding tired eyes.

“Remember when you said you owe me?” She doesn’t even say hello when she’s feet away from us, blinking with a puckered forehead.

She’s in a long, puffy jacket, not her usual attire, and considering the time, I’m surprised she’s even awake. Especially in Damien’s driveway.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, moving to the side so we don’t have to stand in the cold.

She walks right into the foyer before she rubs her forehead with her palm, head to the ceiling. “I need to cash in that favour.”

I take a quick sip of coffee because it sounds like I’ll need it. Once the coffee fills my mouth, I take a hard swallow before my tongue hangs out.

---