Page 68 of Pretty When He Bleeds

He drags his fingers out slowly, watches his cum drip down, then presses them right back in. “Damon,” I gasp, my voice shaky as his fingers twist and press deeper. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t waste a drop,” he growls, his lips twitching into a wicked smirk. “Still clenching around me like you don’t want me to leave.”

“Oh, God,” I rasp, my voice trembling as he fucks his cum back into me with those long, talented fingers. The possessiveness in his voice makes my cock twitch, even though I just came so hard I’m still seeing stars.

My hands clutch at the sheets as he works me over with slow, deep strokes, his fingers curling just right to make my entire body shudder.

And then he leans down.

I groan, my voice breaking as I feel the first swipe of his tongue against me. It’s dirty as fuck, the wet heat of his mouth lapping at the mess he just made, and my brain short-circuits completely.

“Fuck, Damon,” my head falling back against the pillow as his tongue works me over, dragging every last sound out of me. My legs are shaking, my breath ragged, and all I can think about is how fucking obscene this is—how obsceneheis—and how I never want it to stop.

He hums against me, the vibration shooting straight through my oversensitive nerves, and I gasp, my fingers flying to his hair, clutching at the soft, messy curls as he ruins me all over again.

When he finally pulls back, his lips glisten, and his dark eyes meet mine with a feral intensity that makes my stomach twist.

“Tastes even better coming out of you,” he mutters, his voice full of smug satisfaction. He crawls up my body, his hands framing my face as he leans down to kiss me, slow and dirty, his tongue sweeping into my mouth so I can taste everything he just did.

It’s filthy. It’s perfect. It’s Damon fucking Ward.

My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as I kiss him harder, my brain swirling with every filthy thing he just did. His tongue slides against mine, and all I can think about is how it was just inside me, how he took every bit of control and left me wrecked.

I’m fucking ruined, and I know it. My mind’s a mess of thoughts—how he looked between my legs, how he felt inside me, how much I fucking want him to do it all over again.

And as he presses another kiss to my lips, slow and possessive, I know I’m absolutely fucked.

Because Damon doesn’t just wreck me—he owns me. Completely.

Roman

Thelockerroomisa fucking war zone.

Coach is pacing and barking at us about how we need to “crush those Lakehaven fucks” like our lives depend on it. His voice bounces off the walls, but I’m barely listening.

I already know the speech. It’s the same every year when we play these assholes—beat them at all costs. Win or fucking die.

I drag my jersey over my head, adjusting the shoulder pads underneath, then take a deep breath. The rivalry between Blackthorne and Lakehaven has been around longer than any of us. Even our fucking Frozen Four wins are tied. If we lose this game, we’re giving them the upper hand, and I’ll be damned if I let that happen.

The tension is thick, everyone is locked in, focused, and already in battle mode. Except my brain isn’t fucking cooperating. It keeps drifting to Damon—his stupid smirk and the way he looks at me like he’s ready to tear me apart and put me back together in the same breath. I shake the thoughts out of my head, flexing my hands into fists as I try to get back in the right mindset.

This isn’t the time. This isn’t the place.

I glance across the room, locking eyes with Killian, who’s taping his stick with sharp, aggressive pulls. His jaw is clenched, his entire body wound tight, and I already know why.

Zach fucking Kane.

Killian’s personal nemesis, and the guy leading the Falcons this year. Killian and Kane have been at each other’s throats since our high school years. They’re both centers, both cocky as hell, and both hate losing more than anything.

“Kill,” I call over, my voice low, but he hears me.

“What?” he grits out, still focused on his stick.

“You good?”

His blue eyes snap to mine, filled with a familiar fire. “I’ll be good when I take Kane’s fucking head off.”

Thorn snorts from beside me, pulling on his gloves. “You say that every time, but you’ve never actually done it.”

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