7. Roman
Roman
I’m rooted on the spot as I watch Damon walking away from me, my brain short-circuiting as I try to piece together what the fuck just happened. I can still feel the warm press of his body pinning me to the wall while his words still echo in my mind like a bad song on repeat.
You want to get hurt and I’ve got just enough anger to give it to you.
My fists are clenched, my jaw is tight, and my chest is heaving but none of that bothers me as much as the bulge in my jeans. I look down and it’s obvious as hell that he saw it. The fucker licked me. Licked the blood off my lips like it was his to take and now I’m hard as a fucking rock.
“What the fuck,” I mutter to myself and run a hand through my hair, pulling at the short strands.
I want to blame the adrenaline, the fight, and the tension that has simmered between us since the first time I saw him on campus. But none of that explains why my body is betraying me like this. It doesn’t explain why my stomach twisted when he pinned me against the wall and it certainly doesn’t explain why my pulse kicked up when he dragged his tongue over my lip.
It’s fucked. All of it.
I stay outside for a few minutes longer before deciding I need to get the fuck out of here. I pull up my hood and straighten my back, and for some fucked-up reason, I lick my split lip and immediately hate the fact that I can taste Damon’s nicotine.
Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I walk back inside and head straight to our table. Kill immediately spots me and he frowns when his gaze moves to my cheek.
“You good?” he asks, while pushing the blonde from his lap and ignoring her protests.
I nod and grab my bottle of water on the table before settling next to him. Killian knows me well, and I just fucking know he can see how rattled I am. “Where’d you go?”
“I needed some air,” I say way too quickly and take a long sip of water.
He studies me for a minute before he leans in and whispers, “Who’d you piss off now?”
I force a laugh and screw the cap back on the bottle. “No one. Listen, I’m gonna call an Uber and head out. You staying?”
He nods. “For a bit. Text me when you get home, yeah?”
I offer him a mock salute and walk toward the entrance while pulling up the app. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait too long and even the ride is quiet. The driver doesn’t engage in small talk, which is a godsend, because the last thing I want is to explain why I look like I’ve been in a fight.
When I finally get home, the house is blissfully quiet since most of the guys are out. I head straight to my room, kicking off my shoes and dropping onto my bed without bothering to change.
The events of the night are on a loop in my head; every word, every look, every fucking touch.
The way Damon’s tongue dragged across my bottom lip.
The way his voice dropped when he told me only he can give me the pain I need.
The way my body reacted to him, heat pooling low in my gut and making it impossible to think, much less push him away.
This is all so fucking wrong. He’s Caleb’s brother, for fuck’s sake. The guy has always hated me and would probably kill me if he could get away with it without punishment. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. I shouldn’t be fucking reacting like this at all.
This isn’t me. I don’t let people get in my head anymore, especially not people like Damon fucking Ward. He’s a mistake waiting to happen and I have more than enough of those to last me a lifetime.
I sit up and run my hands through my hair, pulling it as if I can somehow pull these thoughts out of my skull. I try to push out the image of him so close to me, but no matter what I do, I can still feel him—his hard body pressed up against me, his tongue, the heat of his breath against my skin. It’s all still there, tangled up in an ache I can’t ignore.
He knew exactly how to fuck with me and I let him.
I drop back down on the bed with a groan and stare up at the ceiling like it might have an answer for me.
It doesn’t.
Because there’s no fucking answer for whatever the hell this is.