Page 52 of Stick Handled

Damien’s fingers trail down my jaw, his thumb brushing along my lower lip, and I’m not sure if I’m breathing.

“I came to get my clothes back,” he murmurs.

I look up at him, my brows furrowed.

“Seriously?” I huff out. “I would have washed your shirt and given it back.”

He shakes his head with a little chuckle. “I want my T-shirt back now, Avery.” His fingers curl under the hem, and he starts to toy with it.

I widen my eyes in realization. This has nothing to do with him wanting his shirt back.

The air between us feels charged, like static crackling just before a storm.

“You want me to take it off?” I whisper, tilting my head back to look at him. His gaze drops to my lips, and I can feel my pulse hammering, every nerve on edge, as his hand slides around the back of my neck.

He flashes me a wolfish grin, and then his mouth is on mine.

It’s not gentle. Not this time. His kiss is consuming, fierce, and possessive. His fingers tangle in my hair as he tilts my head, deepening the kiss, and I melt into him, my hands clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer.

My back hits the wall, and he leans in, pressing his body against mine, his mouth rough and demanding. When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, heart pounding so hard I can barely think.

He smirks, and his voice is a low growl as he whispers against my lips, “Let me help you take it off.”

Chapter eighteen

~DAMIEN~

I shouldn’t be here. I know that. It’s reckless, even for me. But the second I saw that window open, my body was already moving on autopilot. I can’t stay away from her. Not after seeing her in my T-shirt, calling out my name from the stands today. Not when I can still taste her on my lips, still feel her trembling under me from last night, still feel her tightness around my cock.

And now, here I am, in her room, her scent surrounding me, and she’s looking up at me like she’s caught somewhere between terror and desire. I can’t decide which one I want more.

Her lips are slightly swollen from my kiss, her breathing uneven, and that damn T-shirt of mine is hanging loose on her frame, teasing me with the barest hint of her thighs. My T-shirt. My girl.

And just downstairs? Rowan.

Yeah, I shouldn’t be here. But when has that ever stopped me?

I press her back into the wall, one hand braced beside her head, the other slipping under her chin to tilt her face up to me. Her wide eyes meet mine, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, and it hits me again: how much I want her, how much Icraveher.

“You’re too quiet,” I murmur, my voice low, dripping with intent. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous now.”

Her breath hitches, and I lean closer, brushing my lips just below her ear, feeling the way she shivers against me.

“What are you so nervous about?” I whisper, my tone dark and wicked.

“Damien…” Her hands clutch at my shirt, knuckles whitening as she struggles to find her voice.

“Yes, baby?” I smirk, letting my lips graze her neck.

I pull back just enough to catch her expression. Her brows are drawn tight, her lips parted, and that flush crawling down her neck. She’s caught between her fear and desire. I want her to feel it. I want her toembraceit.

“You feel it, don’t you?” I say softly, dragging my thumb across her jaw. “The thrill? Knowing we could get caught any second?”

Her gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, she looks like she’s about to say something, maybe to stop me or beg me to keep going.

I let my fingers trail down to the hem of my shirt, the one draped over her body, and I tug lightly, just enough to tease her.

“You wore this to practice on purpose,” I murmur. “Do you know what I wanted to do to you once I saw you wearing it?”

---