Page 19 of Beautifully Damned
Now I’m in too deep. My hands grab the blanket, and with one last desperate move, I throw it over his head, shrouding him in fabric for a moment.
Shit. How the hell did he get even harder? He rips the blanket off and, like the pillows, tosses it out the open window.
There goes my hope for a peaceful night. He shoves me back onto the bed so hard I gasp, the breath knocked right out of me. Before I can even process it, he’s looming over me.
I scramble to think of anything to push him away, anything to make him see me as anything other than an appealing sexual creature. “I—look, I’m not feeling great. The food today was terrible. Honestly, I think it was undercooked or something. I have an upset stomach.” I wiggle my shoulders, hoping to create some space. “Also, I just woke up. My breath smells.”
His eyes narrow. “What are you even saying?”
I grit my teeth. “Well, I’m trying to make you want to get away from me, sosomething’sgotta work.”
His hand slams down beside me, shaking the bed. “Stop tempting me. I can’t stand it.”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“Stop. Just stop.” He growls in my ear.
I swallow hard, but keep fighting. “I’m not doing anything except trying to survive you.”
He grants me my prayer and gets off me. I don’t move a single muscle.
“Surviving me isn’t going to be easy,” he tells me right before leaving, and I can’t help but wonder what he has in store for me.
?Chapter XIII?
Ayla
My table privileges are back.
I stuff pancakes in my mouth like I’ve never seen food before, chewing so aggressively I nearly bite the inside of my cheek. I’m stress eating.
Roman’s sits at the head of the table, glowering. I pretend I don’t feel his stare burning a hole into the side of my head. My stomach curls around itself, but I keep chewing.
What is wrong with this man?
He storms into my bedroom after a night out, reeking of perfume, looking like sin dressed in wrath. He throws my pillows and blankets out the damn window like a toddler in a tantrum, then proceeds to climb on top of me and growl about how I’mtemptinghim.
Tempting. When I looked like I had just crawled out of a grave. No makeup, breath of death, hair a nest. Honestly, I should win a medal for trying to disgust him away from me last night.
I sneak a glance at him from under my lashes. His fingers drum once on the table. My throat dries. I sip water to cover it up.
I want to ask him why he’s looking at me like he’s two seconds away from snapping my neck. But I know better now. Speaking out of turn could land me flat under him again, with that furious, barely restrainedsomethingin his eyes.
I try to focus on my plate, but my fork trembles in my hand. I’m not stupid. I know exactly what this is, if his restraint slips even once—I’m going to end up on my back. Unwilling. And I’dlove to say he would never do that. That he’s a man of twisted honor, that somewhere behind those eyes is a conscience. But I’ve seen no proof of that. He's a certified sociopath. And right now, he’s looking at me like I’ve personally offended his entire bloodline.
I force another bite of pancake past my lips, syrup clinging to my chin. My fork scrapes the plate, the sound too loud in the silent dining hall. Why is he staring at me like that?
My foot taps restlessly under the table. My eyes flick toward the window. Then, finally, he moves. Just a slight tilt of his head. I swear the air drops ten degrees. I clutch the edge of the table and brace for whatever storm he’s about to bring.
“Forget last night,” he hisses.
I wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. “Done,” I say, a little too fast. I reach toward the fruit tray, piling grapes and slices of melon onto my plate, just to have something to do with my hands. The tension makes the skin between my shoulder blades itch.
“I’d pay money to forget it.” I mumble under my breath.
“What was that?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I shove the grape in my mouth. “Just... hope you got a good night’s sleep.” Because I certainly did not.
