Page 85 of Sinful Sacrifice

They’ve become frequent accessories on Damien.

My body softens at his touch as I appreciate the roughness of his skin brushing mine. I love how they collide, like two different worlds merging into one.

Once, after drinking too much wine, I referred to us as a strawberry couple. He stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“Rough on the outside, aka you—” I said.

“Please refrain from comparing me to a fruit again,” he interrupted me. “While I don’t fit into the comparison of a fruit, I’d have to say you taste as sweet as one.”

The next day, I bought strawberry-printed pajamas.

That night, he came home with chocolate-dipped strawberries. He squeezed the juices between my legs and licked it up while fingering me.

Damien saying my name breaks me away from my thoughts. With his hand still on my waist, he stares down at me in awe, a tenderness in them I’ve never witnessed before.

“You’ve completely changed my life,” he says, his tone matching the warmth in his eyes. “Because of you, I don’t come home alone to a cold bed. No matter what condition I’m in—broken, battered, bloody—you’re my strength. You see the best in me even though I don’t deserve it. You giving me that is something priceless. The least I can do is spoil the shit out of you and make every dream of yours come true.”

I stare at him, speechless.

Good thing he’s holding me, or his heavy words would’ve dropped me to my knees.

He presses his soft lips to mine. The kiss lingers, both of us wanting more, but neither pushing it. No, thank you on being arrested for indecent exposure.

I’m absolutely, no doubt in my mind, falling in love with this man.

He’s the one for me.

I gulp in thick breaths when he separates from me, trying my hardest to come up with a response.

He’s all of that for me.

My home. My strength. My heart.

I blink, attempting to conjure a prose as perfect as his in my mind.

I have a way with dancing. It seems Damien has a way with words.

“Let me escort you to our seats,” he says, interrupting my brainstorming. “The show is about to start.” He falls back a few steps and crooks his elbow.

I lace my arm through his, feeling on top of the world. “Where exactly are our seats?”

“Wherever you want them to be.” He motions toward the room. “Your pick, baby.”

I test three different seats in two different rows before finding one with the perfect view. Damien is a patient man each time we move and try another.

Just as I’m making myself comfortable in my final selection, the orchestra files out, taking their chairs in the pit. Damien squeezes his hand over mine, interlacing our fingers as the gold-fringed bottom curtain opens and the show starts.

Tears prick at my eyes, eventually slipping down my cheeks. My makeup will be a wild mess by the time this is over.

I cry as the dancers unfold their beautiful love story.

I cry for the love and devotion this man is showing me.

Neither of us was looking for love. If we’re being honest, Damien was looking to possibly murder my father. But here we are, falling in love with each other.

Now, I just hope the fate I wished for stays on my side.

“Oh, no, I’m not finished with you yet.” Damien pulls me against his wall of a body to stop me from walking toward the theater’s exit.

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