Page 131 of Morally Gray Daddies

I shook my head and scoffed. “Because, babygirl, I know you. And having money isn’t the same as having places to go. Especially if you don’t want the paps to follow you.”

Another tear fell, and again, I caught it. This time on the tip of my finger, which I lifted to my mouth. With my eyes locked on hers, I stuck out my tongue and licked the tip of my finger, lapping up the salty drop. “Face it, baby girl. After that trip down memory lane, there was nowhere else you were gonna go.”

She looked like she wanted to bolt. Jutting my leg out, bent at the knee, I shoved it between her thighs, forcing them open.

Knowing she wasn’t getting away, that there was nowhere she could go that I wouldn’t be able to get her, I moved my hand from the wall to cup her chin, pinching it between my fingers.

“I laid the trap, and you walked right into it. Ran even. Back to the scene of the crime. Back home. Back to Daddy.”

“You’re not... That was a long time ago, Damon. You’re not… that… anymore.”

She was refusing my title. That was a development I hadn’t planned on. And one I wouldn’t accept.

“Oh? I’m not?” Smirking, I dragged my hand beneath the hem of her dress, up her inner thigh, across the seam of her panties, until I was cupping her mound, with only the thinnest layer of silk between my fingers and her clit. I rubbed hard and felt it pebble beneath my touch. “Your pussy says otherwise, babygirl. You know what it says?”

Her pupils dilated and her throat constricted when she swallowed. Her mouth opened and moved like she was going to answer me, but at first no words came out. Finally, she stuttered. “Wh-What?”

“It says ‘forever and always’. That’s what we said, babygirl. That’s what you promised me. And now, I’ve come to collect on that promise.”

She had the gall, the audacity to roll her eyes at me. She gave her head the slightest shake of denial and said, “Damon, that’s not… We were kids. We didn’t know any better. I thought I meant it, but things changed. You can’t just come back here and take what you think is yours based on some stupid promise made by lovestruck teenagers who were basically the only good things in each other’s lives.”

There was a time I might have taken her words to heart. There was a time I might have listened. But years behind bars had changed me. Now her denial only served to fuel the fire within. The more she said I couldn’t, the more determined I became that I would.

As if to prove that to her, I growled, dipped my head and lowered my mouth onto hers.

She tried to fight at first. There was a hint of resistance. I had to fight to get her mouth to open for me. I had to force my tongue between her lips, but once I was there, it was suddenly like no time had passed. Her shoulders relaxed. Her tiny hand wrapped around my neck, while the other held my waist. Her body melted into mine.

She was making this too easy. I didn’t want it to be easy. I wanted to make her hurt, the way she had hurt me.

Chapter Three

Sabrina

After a moment of weakness and longing for the “us” we used to be, I came to my senses. Bracing my hands flat against his chest, I shoved him away.

He let me, but we were both panting. I was in shock, and Damon… looked scary. He may have let me end the kiss, but this wasn’t the end of it; that much was clear.

It became even clearer when he backed up two steps, bent at the waist and flung me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

The breath whooshed out of my lungs and for the first time, I really took in how much he’d changed. He’d gone to prison a wiry, punk-ass kid. He’d come back a man. His hair, usually shaggy and in his eyes, was all buzzed off, and his muscles strained the fabric of his shirt instead of being hidden underneath. Right now I was staring at his back, but I’d seen the filled-out, manly face, with its stubble beard, strong cheekbones and piercing green eyes.

Damon took a dozen steps, across the tiny house, flung open the door to my childhood bedroom, and flung me down on top of the decade old, purple and black comforter, a remnant from my ‘rebellious’ phase. And then I was staring up again, at those dark, glowering green eyes, the full lips, the hard cheekbones. My gaze traveled over his chest, down to his stomach, where the waves of his six-pack was visible through his shirt, and down to where he was so obviously hard, and so obviously packing.

“Stay there,” he growled, shaking a finger at me.

I thought about running, but the truth was, I couldn’t have if I wanted to. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

He returned moments later with a duffel I hadn’t noticed before. Maybe he’d had it stashed somewhere. I watched with my heart in my throat and my stomach in my toes as he wordlessly unzipped it and withdrew a roll of duct tape and a package of industrial strength zip-ties. The hardware-store stalker starter pack.

Run. Run before you end up dead.

My brain was screaming at me, but my heart didn’t want to hear it. This was Damon. My Damon. At least, I was pretty sure my Damon was still underneath there somewhere. Maybe. The stalker starter pack was begging me to think differently.

Run!

Fuck. I waited until he was struggling to unroll a length of the thick, silvery tape, and once he was distracted, I rolled sideways off the bed and leapt to my feet, sprinting for the bedroom door, and then the front door.

His scream of rage was right behind me, and his hand reached the front door mere seconds before I did.

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