Page 42 of Pretty When He Bleeds

“Relax,” he murmurs, tilting my chin up. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Too late for that,” I mutter, but I let him clean the dried blood from my lip and nose.

Damon’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or anger. “I meant what I said earlier,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing over my jaw. “You’re not allowed to bleed for anyone else, Roman.”

I swallow hard, my chest tightening at the intensity in his voice. “Yeah, I got that.”

He doesn’t say anything else, he just finishes cleaning me up before stepping back to rinse the cloth.

When the shower is over, Damon hands me a towel and grabs one for himself, drying off quickly before leading me back into the main room. And I honestly didn’t get a chance to look at it properly because I was too busy being punished by Mr. Possessive over here.

The bed is big and inviting, the black sheets a stark contrast to the pale walls. Damon tosses me a clean pair of boxers, and I put them on without comment, the soft fabric a welcome change from my ruined clothes.

“Sit,” he orders, pointing to the bed.

I roll my eyes but obey, dropping onto the edge of the mattress as he rummages through a drawer. A moment later, he’s kneeling in front of me with a first aid kit, his fingers already working on a fresh bandage for the cut on my cheek.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” he says, his tone softer now. “I said I’m taking care of you, Roman, so just let me.”

I bite back a retort, watching him as he works. His movements are precise, and the concentration on his face is… distracting.

The way his green eyes focus so intently on my face, the overhead light catching the faint flecks of gold in them. There’s a small scar just above his lip, that dimpled chin, and his jawline could cut glass. The slant of his eyes combined with those long lashes is borderline criminal.

God, he’s so fucking beautiful, it’s unfair.

How do I still not see Caleb when I look at him? They’re brothers, but… I don’t evenfeelCaleb in him. Those green eyes I used to think were so like his brother’s are completely different, too.

I’m still deep in thought when he moves on to my split lip next, his thumb brushing over it gently before he dabs at it with an antiseptic wipe. I hiss at the sting, and he glances up at me.

“Don’t be a baby,” the fucker smirks while he says this.

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You’re not the one getting poked and prodded.”

His smirk widens, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he moves on to the bruises on my chest, his fingers brushing over the bite marks he left there. His expression shifts slightly, his smirk fading as his brows knit together.

“These are from me,” he says, his thumb tracing the edge of the mark he reopened.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice softer now.

Damon’s gaze flicks up to meet mine, and for a moment, it looks like he wants to say something else. But then he shakes his head and reaches for the antiseptic again, his movements slower this time.

“You’re a mess.”

I huff out a laugh. “You’re, like, fifty percent responsible for it.”

He glances up at me, and I catch the faintest hint of a smile before he looks back down, focusing on the bruise on my ribcage. His hands are warm against my skin, and despite the sting of the antiseptic, I can’t help but lean into his touch.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he says, his tone teasing but his touch impossibly gentle.

I grin, tilting my head to watch him as he works. “Like me, huh? That’s a big step for a guy who told me to fuck off only a few weeks ago.”

Damon snorts, shaking his head as he reaches for another bandage. “It’s called growth, Hotshot.”

We fall into a comfortable silence as he continues, his hands moving with practiced ease. He cleans the rest of the bruises and bite marks, and by the time he’s done, my body feels a little less like it’s been through a blender.

He stands and crosses his arms, looking down at me with an expression that’s equal parts exasperation and affection.

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