“You’re hotter when your mouth is closed.”
“Fuck, Chloe. I might come just from you sassing me.”
I scoff. “Really? The great Damon Lombardi, who all the girls bragged about lasting for hours, is going to come from my smart mouth?”
“You underestimate how much you affect me, Duchess.”
He takes my mouth in another rough kiss before I can respond, before I can even process what he’s said.
Because those words are a direct contradiction of everything he’s said to me since the night I watched him kill an innocent man.
The night that changed the course of our relationship forever.
The night we went from best friends to enemies.
A moan slips from my throat as his thigh presses to my aching heat. Suddenly it’s really fucking hot in here.
“Jesus, Chloe,” he groans against my lips. “I bet your cunt is fucking dripping for me. I bet you’re desperate for my cock like the little slut you are.”
His degrading words wash over me like a welcome breeze. I should be insulted, especially coming from him, but it only drives my need higher.
Smirking against my lips, he continues, “Fuck, you really are a perfect whore, aren’t you, baby? So desperate for my cock, so desperate to be my little fuck toy.”
Is it possible to come from words alone?
I lift my hips to meet his thigh, the need for friction stronger than that of my self-preservation. I’m going to die anyway, so I might as well get an orgasm out of it.
But we’re interrupted when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket, tearing us both from the moment like a bucket of cold water.
I shove at his chest at the same time he rolls off me and onto the hard stone ground.
Saved by the fucking bell.
He fishes his phone out and answers it without bothering to check who’s calling.
“What?” he growls, rearranging his pants around the impressive bulge that must be causing some discomfort.
He listens to what the other person is saying, but I have no hope of hearing it over my racing heartbeat.
“Keep me updated.”
He ends the call but doesn’t move immediately.
I sit up slowly, pressing my back to the wall, but there’s nowhere for me to go. No way to escape the consequences of my own actions.
For long minutes we stay like that in perfect silence.
I refuse to be the first one to speak when I wasn’t the one that made the first move. This is his mistake.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
When he finally turns his head and his cold eyes meet mine, I know that everything we just shared is long gone. “You need to eat something.”
And with that, he shoves himself to his feet and leaves. As if he didn’t just pin me down and dry hump me.
As if I mean nothing to him.
Screw my hopeful heart for thinking anything between us could ever change.
