Page 47 of Pretty When He Bleeds

“Still think I’m reckless?” he asks, his voice teasing.

I bark out a laugh, shaking my head as I reach for him, pulling him up and kissing him hard. The taste of my cum on his lips mixed with his blood should feel strange, but it doesn’t. It feels like claiming him, like sealing whatever the fuck this is between us.

“Yeah,” I say against his mouth. “But you’re my kind of reckless.”

Roman

TheengineofDamon’sbike purrs beneath me, the rumble settling into my chest as I hold onto him. My arms are draped around his waist, my cheek resting against his back like I’m not losing my goddamn mind over everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Damon wants me. The guy I thought hated me, wants me, and fuck, I want him too.

When we pull up to the house, the driveway’s packed with the usual chaos—Killian’s SUV, Thorn’s old beat-up truck, and a couple of random cars that probably belong to their hookups or friends.

“Alright, Hotshot,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at me. “End of the line.”

I roll my eyes, sliding off the bike reluctantly. “You make it sound like a train ride.”

“Better than a fucking Uber,” he retorts, pulling off his helmet. His dark curls are a mess, and it makes him look unfairly good.

I tug my helmet off, running a hand through my hair as I step back. “Thanks for the ride.”

He leans forward, his hand brushing my hip as he pulls me in by my belt loop. “Come here,” he murmurs, and before I can respond, his lips are on mine. The kiss is possessive as fuck, and completely Damon. I melt into it for a second, my hands gripping the back of his head before I realize where we are.

“Damon,” I mutter, pulling back slightly. “We’re in front of my house.”

“So?” he says, smirking as his thumb brushes over my cheek. “Let ‘em see who you belong to.”

My stomach flips at his words, but I don’t argue. Instead, I kiss him one last time, quick and soft, before stepping back. “Later, Hotshot,” he murmurs, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.

I swallow hard as I hand him the helmet then step back. “Later.”

He shakes his head. “Keep it, and get inside before you freeze your ass off,” he says, his smirk softening. Then he slips his helmet back on, revs twice, and drives off while I stand there, staring after him like a goddamn idiot before I hear a voice behind me.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck?”

I turn around and see Killian standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open like he’s just witnessed a murder.

“Shit,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair as I walk toward him.

“Was that Damon fucking Ward?”

“Yeah.”

“And did he just kiss you goodbye?”

“Yep.”

“Care to explain why the fuck he would do that?” he asks, his voice loud enough to cut through the quiet.

I groan, dragging a hand down my face as I walk past him into the house. “Can we not do this right now?” I call behind me.

“Like hell,” Killian says, following me inside and shutting the door behind him. “You’re gonna spill, Bishop. Right fucking now. I don’t even fucking care about the new bruises on your face because I know you went out looking to get beat up.”

I drop the helmet onto the kitchen counter and grab a bottle of water from the fridge, ignoring his pointed glare.

“Roman,” he says, his tone serious now.

I sigh, cracking the bottle open and taking a long sip before meeting his gaze. “What do you want me to say, Kill?”

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