Page 105 of Pretty When He Bleeds

Every ounce of pain. Every piece of guilt. Every fucking thing that’s eating me alive. I pour it into him, and he takes it. His fingers drag over my skin, rough and possessive, like he’s trying to replace everything I’m feeling with him.

And I want that.I need that.

“Damon…” I breathe against his mouth.

“Shh,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down my throat. “I’ve got you, baby.”

The words send a shiver down my spine, and I arch into him as he kisses a path across my collarbone, nipping at the skin before soothing it with his tongue.

My breath comes in short, shallow bursts, my fingers tightening in his hair as he moves lower, his hands smoothing over my chest, and his thumbs brushing over my nipple piercings.

“You’re a goddamn sight,” he mutters, leaning in to flick his tongue over one of them, making my entire body jerk. I let out a strangled moan, my head falling back.

Damon chuckles darkly, dragging his teeth over the sensitive metal before switching to the other, his fingers curling around my ribs to hold me still. “You’re fucking perfect,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

I don’t feel perfect. I feel fucked up. But right now, with his hands on me, with his mouth leaving marks in places only he will see, I can pretend. I can fucking pretend.

I grind against him, desperate for friction, and he groans, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “So needy for my cock, Hotshot?” he taunts, smirking up at me.

“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter, dragging his face back to mine and kissing him hard.

He laughs against my mouth, the sound rough and wrecked, and he lifts me effortlessly, flipping us so I’m beneath him. His fingers trail down my stomach, teasing the waistband of my sweats, and I shudder, my body arching into his touch.

“Tell me you really want this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear.

“God, yes,” I rasp, my fingers digging into his back.

His smirk is lazy and sinful. “Good.”

I can’t even respond because, fuck, all I can think about is him.

Him and his mouth.

Him and his hands.

Him and the way he makes me feel like I’m the only thing that fucking exists.

Damon drags his tongue down my stomach, tracing every line, every dip, every bruise from hockey, and when he reaches my hips, he pauses, his fingers tracing the two piercings just above my v-line.

“These are hot as hell,” he mutters, his voice thick with something almost reverent.

A smirk tugs at my lips, but before I can say anything, he presses an open-mouthed kiss just above them, his tongue flicking against the metal. I curse, my fingers yanking on his hair, but he just grins and pushes me back onto the bed.

The weight of him, the heat of him, all of it burns through me, and it’s exactly what I fucking need. Because with every kiss, every bite, every touch—

He’s making me forget.

He’s makingusforget.

And for a little while—just a little while—there is no grief.

No pain.

No fucking guilt.

There’s only him.

Damon

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