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“Because I hate you for what you made me do,” I answer.
That and he’s had too much to drink, so his head isn’t in the right place for what he’s demanding. I don’t want to take advantage of him in this state, but maybe it’s the only way I’ll get answers.
His lips curl. “I feel the same. So take it the fuck off. Might as well drop those shorts while you’re at it, but leave the wings. They remind me of just how much of a liar you are.”
Only because he made me one.
Although, that’s not entirely true, is it?
I lie when I play games against narcissistic men.
I lie when I pretend everything is all right so Brinley doesn’t worry.
I lie to my brother every time I talk on the phone so he doesn’t know my life is still shitty.
Damon didn’t make me a liar.
He only used that part of me to potentially hurt somebody I love.
There’s pure venom in my stare.
The price will be high for Damon’s bullshit.
He tilts his head in question, knowing full well I want this as much as he does. I can’t help myself when it comes to him, regardless of what he’s done.
Keeping my eyes locked to his, I slowly unhook the corset and allow it to fall to the floor.
Damon’s gaze slips down my body to study my breasts then lower to watch me slide the tights shorts off my hips and down my legs.
That’ll be two questions already.
Staring at him, I decide to keep count so I can ask them later.
For whatever reason, what’s happening now is taking priority. My body winning over my thoughts. Damon is like poison running through every vein and artery, my will to resist him becoming weak as fire tears through my body.
He steps forward, and I back away until my wings are trapped between my body and the wall.
One of his hands grips my hip as the other claims the weight of my breast, his thumb rubbing over the tight nipple.
He leans forward and speaks to me in a whisper.
“Touch me, Ames. The way you know I like it.”
A third question for this favor. I’ll continue keeping count.
Reaching forward, I unbutton his jeans then slip my hand in to stroke nimble fingers over the length of his cock.
Damon’s eyes close, his full lips parting.
I take this moment to memorize every detail of his face.
Fuck, he’s perfect. With dark hair and olive skin, shadows dance along the line of his strong jaw and high cheekbones. The scar beneath his right eye draws my attention—the faint white line he refused to tell me about.
That’ll be the first question I ask.
While I stroke his dick, long and hard, he punishes my breast with his hand, running his lips up my neck and along my jaw.
He moves to kiss me, and I turn my head away.
