Page 81 of Deviant Knight

“Have you told her?” There’s a bite in his tone like he’s jealous, but there is not an ounce of surprise in his eyes.

“Not yet.”

His fingers claw against my chest through the thin material of my shirt as he fists the fabric, the same way I did him minutes ago, grasping at his control.

“Then why are you here with me? Why did you demand I come to see you?”

“She wasn’t the one I fell in love with first.” My admission comes out calm when in reality, the organ in my chest is jackhammering against my breastplate.

“Don’t.” His fingers flatten, and then he shoves, but since my body can’t go any farther, my back only reclines away from him.

“She doesn’t get to hear it before you do,” I continue, suddenly needing to say everything on my mind just as much as I want him to hear them come from my mouth.

“Stop,” he barks.

“I love you.”

“I said—”

“I fucking love you. I loved you first. Do you hear me?” I push forward with the intent to get in his face, but he jumps back like the invisible flames burning my body, as I wait for my words to sink into his head, have the ability to burn him alive.

“That doesn’t mean shit to me. I said we’re fucking done, sohearme, motherfucker. It’s over.”

* * *

He walked out after that.

He left me standing in his office, alone, after I handed him half of my fucking heart.

He didn’t just stomp on it and leave.

His words sliced my chest wide open when he said my love meant nothing to him; thatImean nothing.

My knees gave out at some point. I landed on my ass with my back against the mahogany wood, my head cast down and bent between my knees.

It feels like he ripped out not only his half of my heart but Ciera’s half as well. I’ve never felt anything this gut-wrenching in my life, and I didn’t think anything could compare to the pain of losing my parents.

He broke my goddamn heart with three sentences.

That doesn’t mean shit to me. We’re fucking done. It’s over.

And I let him.

I let him reach inside my chest and rip the muscle clean from my body.

“Domenico?”

I hear Ciera’s voice, but the vision in front of me is nothing more than glassy images that I can’t make out.

“Dom,” she calls out to me again, her tone louder, more assertive. I should look up, answer the command in her voice, but I don’t have the willpower to do so.

Hands push down on my knees, forcing my feet to slide across the carpeted floor as my legs straighten. Her feet step on each side of my legs, then her sexy, curvy body squats in front of me as her ass sits on my lap and her hands cup my face, forcing me to look her in the eyes.

The fact that liquid spilled from my eyelids when she tilted my head back should have been enough reason not to let her see me like this—a mess of a man. A weak man, affected by the words and actions of another.

“Talk to me.” Her thumbs swipe across my cheeks, ridding my face of the evidence that tears were there to begin with.

“He broke up with us,” is all I say while kicking myself for not stocking his or my office with alcohol. Drinking has always been a leisure activity and certainly not one of need like it is right now.

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