Page 71 of Ink Deep Devotion

“Why?” She pushes out the ointment onto her index finger and then comes my way. She takes a brave step forward, pushing her hips against my knees.“Let me,” she exhales as a blush covers her cheeks. The red makes her eyes look more green.

“I’d let you do anything.”

Our eyes lock, and fuck. I want to kiss her.

“I want to kiss you,” There, I said it.

Her eyes sink lower, over my racing heart, down my body, until she sees the very large bulge in my jeans.“Is that all you want to do to me, Damian?”

“It’s where I want to start.”

“And where does it end?”

“Let me show you.” I reach out, grabbing her hips, parting my legs, and waiting for her to step closer.

Her chest rises and falls, and I find my face leaning closer to it. But then her eyes land back on my cut lip.“I know where it ends with bad boys, Damian. They walk away, and I’m left with a battered and bruised heart.”

“You keep saying 'boys.' I’m not a boy.”

She smirks, casting a fast glance at my cock again.“I bet you aren’t.”

She pushes into me, and my legs part wider as she settles between my thighs; one more inch, and she’d feel how hard mymanhood is. She’s wet, too; I can sense it without even slipping my finger into her panties.

“I know you think I’m the type of girl that would let you bend me over this counter; you’d fuck me so good my nails would scar the wood.”

Holy. Fuck! That vision is heaven.

“I’m not.” She deadpans.

“I didn’t think that.” I shake my head.

“You’re fitting the mold, Damian.” She exhales with disappointment.

“What mold?”

“Bad boys, I mean bad men, they lie.”

“I’m not lying. I don’t think you’re that type of girl. I just think this chemistry we have makes us both do crazy things.”

“Crazy things have repercussions, and as you have proven, you like to vanish.”

I close my eyes and hang my head.

“Stay still,” she whispers as she raises her hand, her finger with the ointment aimed at my cut lip. I freeze in shock as she gently presses her finger to my cut lip.

“Why are you doing that?” I murmur back.

“I’m used to patching people up.” She pulls her finger away, steps back, and leaves an empty, aching absence between my thighs. I watch her walk to the sink and wash her hands.

“Who?”

“Who?” She replies.

“Who hurt you? Give me a name.”

She smirks to herself,“That is why I will go homealonetonight. I know that side; protective to the point of insanity. Don't worry; I can handle my own battles, Damian.”

What else will your hands be doing alone in your home tonight?

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