Page 79 of Pretty When He Bleeds

I roll my eyes, even as my hands slide up his chest. “It’s only been a weekend, babe.”

“Too long,” he says, his tone possessive as hell, and I know he means it.

He doesn’t waste any time. His hands grip my hips, pinning me against the cold tiles as his mouth crashes into mine.

“Fuck, Damon,” I groan against his lips, my hands fisting in his wet hair. “You’re acting like I’ve been gone for a month.”

“You might as well have been,” he growls, his teeth scraping against my jaw before trailing down to my neck. “But I think you need reminding who you belong to.”

I laugh, even as my head falls back to give him more access. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, biting at the mark he left on my shoulder last night.

The sting makes me hiss, my body arching into him, and Damon’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into my hips like he’s trying to hold me still.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he says, his voice low and dangerous as his hands start to wander.

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly, my hands sliding down his back. “That’s kind of the point.”

Damon’s laugh is dark, his lips trailing lower, and I can feel every bit of him pressed against me, hot and hard and completely unapologetic.

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing my collarbone. “One day I’m gonna shut you up for good.”

“Promises, promises,” I tease, but my voice comes out shakier than I’d like.

He pulls back just enough to glare at me, and fuck, the look in his eyes is enough to make my knees weak. “You think I’m joking?”

“No,” I admit, my heart pounding in my chest.

Damon smirks, his hands sliding down to grip my ass, lifting me slightly so I’m pressed even closer to him. “Good.”

The water runs over both of us, the sound of it filling the small space, but all I can focus on is him—on the way his body moves against mine, the way his hands roam like he’s memorizing every inch of me.

“You’re gonna make me late for class,” I mutter, even though I don’t mean it.

“Like you give a shit,” he says, his lips trailing along my jaw.

I don’t. Not when he’s looking at me like this, not when he’s touching me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

“Damon,” I say, my voice softer now, and he pauses, his eyes meeting mine.

“What?” he asks, his tone losing some of its edge.

“I missed you too,” I admit.

“I know,” he says, his voice quieter now as his lips brush against mine. “Don’t make me wait that long again.”

I laugh, pulling him closer. “You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?”

He doesn’t answer, just kisses me again, and I decide right then and there that if this is what it means to deal with Damon Ward’s possessiveness, I’ll take it. Every damn time.

We finish the shower with a lot of teasing and just enough restraint to keep things from escalating again—barely. By the time we’re out, I’m wide awake, my body still buzzing from his touch.

As I towel off, I catch Damon watching me, his eyes tracking every movement like he’s memorizing me. He’s shirtless, a pair of low-slung skinnies hanging off his hips, and the way his tattoos stretch over his skin makes my mouth go dry.

“You’re staring,” I say, smirking as I pull on my jeans.

“Can’t help it,” he says, his voice unapologetic. “You’re fucking distracting.”

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