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“You sure about this?”
She considers it for a second, fear traipsing down my spine that she’ll change her mind.
Blue tilts her head and stares up at me.
“Depends on what you’re offering, Champ. But I know I need something. So I’m willing to find out what neat tricks you have.”
That’s all she needs to say for me to push her forward and shut the front door.
I’d intended to take her upstairs to my room, but my need for her takes over before we make it through the kitchen.
Amélie
Consequences…
Cycles…
They’re always repeating because the same mistakes are made.
It’s the definition of insanity, really. Always doing the same thing while hoping for a different result.
I’m hoping this cycle isn’t just another example of the universe’s jokes. And I’m terrified of the consequences I’m facing for the decisions I’m making tonight.
Leaving the club with Damon might have been the first mistake. But I knew when he saw my bruises it was either I fuck up by leaving with him or watch him fuck up and kill Granger … his life forever ruined from the murder charges.
The lesser of two evils, you know?
What happens tonight probably won’t have consequences that last the rest of my life.
So that’s why I chose to leave.
I can handle Damon.
I have plenty of experience with damaged people.
I wasn’t all that surprised when we pulled up to Damon’s house. I knew he had money. No other person would be dumb enough to pay thousands to Patrick just to enter the club and then a few grand to me for five to ten minutes in the back room.
I’ve never given him anything more than letting him see and touch my boobs. None of it was worth the amount he paid.
The only reason he would keep coming back is if the money didn’t matter to him. Those thousands were just a drop in the bucket, but I’m not surprised by that either. The clientele at Myth have always been the super wealthy. That’s the only reason they would even know about the place.
Still, it hits a little different to be walked inside a mansion where the foyer alone is bigger than my apartment. I had to crane my neck up to look at the vaulted ceilings, had to wonder about all the different hallways and where they led.
It’s interesting that we ended up in the kitchen of all places, but even this space is more picturesque than any place I’ve seen in my life.
I barely have time to admire it when Damon grabs my hips to lift me up onto the counter of the center island. He spreads my legs then moves his body to stand between them. It draws my attention away from the gleam of stainless steel appliances and the ebony color of his hardwood cabinets.
Damon’s dark hair is a disheveled mess, like he’s been running his hands through it all day. His amber eyes are glimmering with desire instead of rage.
I can’t help but to react to the need I see inside him. I feel the same need too, which is dangerous.
Never in my life has it felt like all my senses have gone wild. He touches me in one place, yet I feel it all over. My breath catches in my lungs while my heartbeat pounds in my head. The nerves in my body are heightened to a point where I swear if he doesn’t run those strong hands over every inch of my skin, I’ll go crazy.
The scent of cologne is barely there, but it brushes past me like a phantom, drawing me in. I want to reach out and touch him, pull him closer, bury my face into the side of his neck and breathe him in.
But it’s the cuts and bruises on his face that hold my attention the most, the new scars added to the old.
I touch one, softly running my fingertips along the edge of it. The bruise isn’t brand new. It’s had time to darken into a deep purple.
