Page 119 of Anger

I’m a tall girl but Damon still towers over me at 6’5”. The size of his body makes me feel so small, his shoulders twice the width of mine.

His hands are rough on my skin, the knuckles scarred from old injuries, but with new, healing wounds as well. He squeezes tight on my breast, claiming it … claiming me.

I want to see more of him.

I want to see all his scars.

I want to know the narrative of what made him this way.

“Am I the only one losing clothes in this?”

Soft laughter shakes his shoulders. “I’ll lose clothes when I have questions.”

Fair, but not what I was hoping to hear.

I slip my shorts and panties off then kick them away. His eyes slide down my body, a sound of pure masculine approval crawling up his throat.

He reaches down to touch me, but I grab his wrist.

“You have two questions to answer.”

Another low growl, this one in frustration.

“I told you to get out because I didn’t want you to witness a fight. I have a feeling you’ve seen enough in your life already.”

Surprise traces down my spine.

He’s reading me.

Just like I’m reading him.

“And the man was my father.”

I loosen the grasp I have on his wrist, and his hand slides down.

Damon’s not taking this slow tonight. He pushes three fingers inside me, his thumb rubbing over my clit. My knees buckle from the rough pleasure that ripples through my core.

“Already wet.” His eyes flash with amusement. “You’ve been wanting to see me again.”

After the orgasm he gave me at his house? He’s damn right I’ve wanted this again. It’s just sex, though. I keep telling myself that. It can’t be love, because if it was, his mouth would be devouring mine.

Slowly, he pumps his fingers inside me, and I moan, my legs weak as he holds me up with one strong arm wrapped around my body.

“Would an angel like to ride me?”

It a mere whisper against my ear, and I nod my head without thought. I’m already chasing a wave of disastrous heat that washes through my body.

“W-wouldn’t that mean you’d have to l-lose your jeans?”

“Good question, Blue.” His fingers pump faster, and another moan crawls up my throat.

Soft manly laughter against my ear.

He knows what he does to me.

“I have a question for you. Why is it so hard for you to trust?”

I don’t want to answer this question, don’t want the details of my life to spill out into a moment when I don’t feel the pain.

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