Page 19 of Pretty When He Bleeds

“Fuck off,” I growl, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he grabs my hip and squeezes hard enough to bruise.

“Oh, you don’t mean that,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his tone. “You like the idea of me pinning you down and making you beg for it. Wanna let go, Roman? Want someone else to take control for once?”

My throat tightens, the heat spiraling in my gut turning into goddamn need. “You’re full of shit,” I say, my voice more breathless than I’d like it to be.

He laughs again, the sound cruel. “Am I? Then why haven’t you tried harder to push me off, huh? You’re a fucking athlete, you’re more than capable. Just admit that you like me touching you like this.”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“Certifiable, got the papers to prove it,” he says nonchalantly. “But so are you. That’s why you came looking for me, isn’t it? You know I’m the only one who can give you what you need.”

His words hit too close, cutting through every layer of denial I’ve been clinging to and for a second, I don’t know what to say. I grit my teeth, but my body betrays me. My hard cock throbbing against his knee, the way my skin prickles under his touch—it’s all too much and he knows it.

Damon smirks and loosens his hold on my neck. “Tell me I’m wrong, Roman. Tell me you don’t want me to take this further.”

The words send a shiver down my spine, and I hate him for it. Hate him for knowing which buttons to push to see the cracks I’ve kept so carefully hidden. I shove him away hard and he finally lets me go, stepping back with a laugh that grates on my last nerve.

“You’re so fucking predictable,” he says, shaking his head and picking up his backpack. “Keep pushing, Hotshot. See how far it gets you.”

I wipe at my lip and glare at him as he walks away, leaving me standing there torn between staying away or running after him and letting him do whatever the fuck he wants to me.

The worst part is, I’m still hard as fuck and I know Damon fucking felt it.

Damon

BythetimeImake it back to my apartment, my hands are shaking. I slam the door behind me and the sound echoes in the small space, but it doesn’t do shit to drown out the noise in my head.

It wasn’t supposed to go that far.

I throw my jacket on a chair and start pacing the room. My chest is tight, my thoughts racing too fast for me to grab onto a single one.

I can still feel the press of his body against mine, still see the way he licked the blood from his lip, and hear the faint scrape of his piercings against his teeth. And those eyes—the ones that always seem to find me wherever I go—boring into mine and daring me to snap.

He shouldn’t be in my head like this.

You gonna beg me next, Hotshot?

The way his breath hitched, the way his body tensed—fuck, it’s all seared into my brain and refusing to let go.

I slam my fist against the wall before I even realize what I’m doing, the sharp sting in my knuckles barely even registering through the storm in my head. I go down on my haunches and hang my head in my hands, pulling at my hair.

You’re pathetic.

The voice cuts through my thoughts the way it always does, mocking me.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Shut up.”

You let him see. He knows.

“He doesn’t know shit,” I mutter, but my voice wavers just as doubt slips in.

He’s in your head now, Demon, just like you wanted to be in his.

The word my father used to call me echoes in my head, grating my frayed nerves. My hand curls into a fist and I press it against my temple, grinding it against my skin like it’ll push the voices out.

“Please—”

You let him rattle you. You liked it, though, didn’t you? The way he looked at you, the way he was waiting for you to break him. Disgusting sinner.

---