Page 56 of Pretty When He Bleeds

For a moment, the only sound in the room is our ragged breathing, the air thick with heat and the scent of sex. Then Damon pulls out slowly, his hands still gripping my thighs as he looks down at me, his darkened eyes glinting with satisfaction.

“You’re a fucking wreck,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just the way I like you.”

I let out a shaky laugh, my body still trembling as I glare up at him. “Asshole.”

“Damn right,” he says, leaning down to press a rough kiss to my lips before pulling back and smirking. “Now clean yourself up, painslut. I’m not done with you yet.”

Roman

Iwakeuptoan empty bed, the sheets cold on the side Damon was in last night.

For a second, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, my body sore in ways I didn’t even know were possible. The memories of last night hit me like a truck—his hands, his mouth, the way he made me feel like I was the only person in the world.

And now he’s gone.

A hollow ache settles in my chest, and I grit my teeth as I sit up, running a hand through my hair. What the hell did I expect? For Damon Ward to stick around and spoon me until morning? The guy’s a fucking hurricane. He blows through everything, leaving destruction in his wake, and I should’ve known I’d be no different.

But fuck, it still stings.

I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom, wincing as the soreness in my ass reminds me exactly why I’m feeling like I just got hit by a freight train. The shower is hot, the steam filling the small space as I let the water wash over me. It should be relaxing, but my mind won’t shut up.

Maybe I was just a distraction. A game. Something to pass the time until he got bored.

Why did he leave? Did I do something wrong? Or is this just who he is—someone who takes what he wants and walks away when he’s had his fill?

I lean my forehead against the tile, my hands braced against the wall as the water pounds down on me. I feel fucking stupid. Stupid for letting him in, for thinking that maybe he wanted more than just a one-time thing.

And what the hell does that say about me? I barely know him. I’ve spent more time hating him than anything else, and yet… I let him in.

Why the fuck did I let him in?

When I finally step out of the shower, the ache in my chest is heavier than the one in my legs. I wrap a towel around my waist, dragging another through my hair as I open the bathroom door.

And my heart fucking soars.

Damon’s standing in my room, looking completely unbothered, with two coffees in a tray in one hand and a brown bag of what smells like breakfast sandwiches in the other. He’s changed out of his clothes from last night, his dark curls a little more disheveled, but he looks… good. Too fucking good for someone who just disappeared on me.

“Morning, Hotshot,” he says as he puts everything down on my nightstand, his smirk faint but still enough to make my stomach twist.

The sight of him sends a rush of relief through me, but it’s quickly followed by anger. “You left.”

His smirk immediately drops, and his green eyes go wide for a second before softening. “I know,” he says, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry. I should’ve woken you, but I didn’t want to. You looked… peaceful.”

I snort, crossing my arms. “Yeah, well, waking up alone wasn’t exactly peaceful.”

He winces, and then his gaze drops to the floor. “I didn’t mean to disappear. I just—” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t have my meds with me. I had to go back to my place and grab them.”

I freeze, my gaze snapping to meet his. “Meds?”

Damon shifts on his feet, still rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s… a thing. Just antidepressants and shit, nothing you need to worry about.” His eyes flick to mine, wary, like he’s waiting for me to judge him.

I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know he was on any meds, didn’t know he needed them. It’s not like he ever struck me as the kind of guy who’d open up about that sort of thing. But the way he’s looking at me now like he’s waiting for me to pull back or push him away… it guts me.

“Damon,” I start, but he cuts me off.

“It’s fine,” he says quickly, his smirk creeping back onto his face like armor. “I’m good. Got what I needed, and I’m here now, so—”

I don’t let him finish. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I drop the towel from my hand and close the distance between us, slinging my arms around his neck and kissing him.

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