Page 49 of Pretty When He Bleeds

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the corners of my mouth from twitching. “I’m serious, man. He’s… he’s insane. Like, ridiculously good with his mouth. And…” I trail off, biting my lip as I glance away.

“And?” Killian prompts, leaning against the counter with his beer in hand.

I groan, my head falling back against the cabinet. “His cock is cut and fucking huge, Kill. Like,ruin my fucking lifehuge. That thing is gonna split me in two when we eventually fuck.”

He nearly chokes on his drink, coughing as he laughs. “You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not,” I say, shaking my head. “I mean, I’ve seen some shit in the locker rooms, but this guy? Fucking hell. It’s not fair.”

Killian’s laughing so hard he has to set his beer down, wiping at his eyes. “Oh, man, Bishop. You’re in so deep, it’s hilarious.”

I glare at him, but it doesn’t last. The memory of Damon, his tattoos, the way he looked at me—it’s all too fresh and too intense. The way he fucked my mouth this morning before making me breakfast... God, that man is going to be the end of me.

“It’s not just that,” I say after a moment, my tone more serious. “He… he looked after me, Kill. After the bar fight.”

He straightens, his grin fading. “What do you mean?”

“I got into a fight last night,” I say, gesturing to my face and catching Killian’s glare. “I was wrecked, man. Dizzy, bloody, ready to pick another fight. He pulled me out of there and got me cleaned up. Made sure I was okay.”

Killian’s quiet for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “That’s… that’s good,” he says finally. “I mean, I’m glad he did that when I wasn’t there.”

I nod “Yeah. He didn’t have to, but he did. And not just last night.”

“Meaning?”

I hesitate, but the truth spills out anyway. “He cares about me. As much as he pretends to be this untouchable asshole, he gives a fuck about me.”

Killian studies me, then nods. “Alright. That’s all I needed to hear.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised by how easily he’s taking this.

He smirks, picking up his beer again. “Hey, if he’s looking out for you, making you happy, and rocking your world in the bedroom? Who am I to complain?”

I groan, throwing my hands up as he cackles. “You’re the fucking worst, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you love me,” he says, his grin wide. “Now go. Get some sleep or something. You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, flipping him off as I head for the stairs.

Killian’s laughter follows me, but I can’t even be mad. Not when my mind is still stuck on Damon—on the way he looked at me like I mattered, the way he touched me like I was something worth keeping.

Maybe this is a disaster waiting to happen.

But for now, I think I’m okay with that.

Damon

Thefamiliarweightofmy sketchpad rests on my lap as the pencil moves across the page, the lines coming together without much thought. My earbuds blast Sleep Token into my ears, drowning out the usual noise of campus life.

It’s Monday, which means the quad is busy as hell—students rushing to classes, groups laughing too loudly, and the occasional skateboarder weaving through the crowd like a dumbass. I glance up briefly, scanning the sea of faces out of habit more than anything, and then I see him.

Roman Bishop, my walking contradiction.

He’s across the quad, his dark hoodie pulled up over his head, one strap of his backpack slung lazily over his shoulder. He’s standing near the edge of the walkway, his eyes scanning the area. It takes me a second to realize he’s looking at me before his eyes dart away again.

The logical part of me says to leave it alone. Let him come to me when he’s ready. But the other part, the part that’s had a taste of him and isn’t willing to let it go, decides otherwise.

My lips twitch into a smirk as I watch him. He’s standing there like he’s debating whether to come over or not, his brow furrowed and shoulders tense. For a guy who spent most of high school acting like he ran the place, it’s kind of hilarious seeing him look so… unsure.

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