Page 28 of Pretty When He Bleeds

He doesn’t answer, and I know I’m not the only one feeling this—the pull, the weight, the fucked-up need to see how far we can take this.

“You hate me,” he mutters as he pulls back, almost like he’s trying to remind himself.

“Yeah,” I say, my fingers flexing against his throat. “I hate you.”

“Then why the fuck did you kiss me?”

“Why the fuck did you kiss me back?” I counter.

He doesn’t have an answer for that, and I can see it eating at him. His grip on my shirt tightens, his knuckles brushing against my chest like he can’t decide whether to push me away or pull me closer.

“This is wrong,” he says, his voice cracking on the words. “You know this is wrong.”

“Yeah,” I say, my gaze dropping to his lips. “I know.”

And then I kiss him again.

His lips part under mine, and I take full advantage, my tongue sliding against his in a way that makes him shudder. His hands move, one gripping my shirt, the other tangling in my hair as he yanks me closer.

I shouldn’t be doing this.Weshouldn’t be doing this.

But fuck me, it feels good.

Roman makes a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat, and it sends a jolt through me, straight to my cock. It strains painfully against my jeans, and I can’t help but groan into his mouth.

I back him into the side of a wall, the rough brick scraping against his shoulders as I press him against it. His hands are everywhere—my shirt, my hair, the back of my neck.

“Fuck,” he breathes against my mouth, his voice wrecked. “This is so fucked up.”

“Yeah,” I say, nipping at his bottom lip. “It is.”

But neither of us stop. Neither of us even try to.

Roman gasps into my mouth when I press my body against his, pinning him to the brick wall as I devour his sweet mouth. His nails scrape down my neck, his grip shifting from my hair to my shoulders as he tries to catch his breath.

I don’t let him. I grind my cock against him, feeling the heat radiating from his body and the hardness pressed against my thigh.

“Damon,” he whimpers—actually fucking whimpers—when I nip at the sensitive skin just below his ear, and it’s like a switch flips in my brain. I want to hear it again. I want to hear him break for me, to know I’m the one making him fall apart in a way no one else ever could.

“Fuck, Roman,” I groan, my hand sliding under his shirt, my fingers splaying over the taut muscles of his stomach. “You feel so goddamn good.”

His skin is burning, his abs clenching under my touch, and I press my palm flat, feeling the way he tenses beneath me.Perfect.All of him—tight and warm and shuddering against my hands.

His head tips back against the wall, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “This is insane,” he mutters in a shaky voice.

“Yeah? Then why aren’t you stopping me?” I whisper, my teeth grazing his collarbone as my hand moves higher. My fingers skim over his ribs, dragging along his heated skin until I brush over something hard.

Holy fucking shit.

My breath catches, and I rub my thumb over his pierced nipples, watching his body react instantly. He jerks against me, his breath stuttering, his fingers digging into my shoulders.

“Fuck,” I breathe, my voice rough as I circle his nipples, flicking it lightly just to watch him shudder. “You’ve been hiding these from me?”

He doesn’t answer, his hands tightening on my shoulders as his hips buck against mine like his body’s giving me the response his mouth won’t. I roll the piercing between my fingers, fascinated and completely wrecked by the way he twitches and gasps, his lashes fluttering.

The friction is almost enough to drive me mad. I bite down on the space between his neck and shoulder hard enough to break skin and the taste of his blood explodes on my tongue. He shudders and cries out as his fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt.

“Keep making those noises, Hotshot,” I murmur, my lips brushing against his ear. “Let me hear how much you fucking hate me.”

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