Page 97 of Give In

It’s going to shatter me into stardust, but it’ll be worth it.

Damien’s movements stopped, halting mine. “I’ll make you come once you start listening to me, Eden. Give in and I’ll make you come until you can’t see straight. Until you can’t walk. Until you’re—” His words cut off abruptly as he removed his hand from my pants.

I’d never been a crier. Ever. From what I’d been told, I’d hardly even cried as a baby. But right then, tears of frustration pooled in my eyes.

Slowly, one dripped down my cheek.

Then another down the other cheek.

My crying didn’t scare Damien away or soften his black heart. His cock jerked and throbbed as he watched each tear fall before tenderly following their marked path with his fingertip.

A fingertip that was coated in my arousal.

Stepping away, he began stroking himself, but his rhythm was gone, something base and primal taking over.

“Until I’m what?” I asked.

“Until you’re ready to listen.”

“I will,” I rasped, my eyes greedily taking in the show that my body was desperate to join.

“No, you won’t. Not yet.” He grunted harshly, “Lift your shirt.”

“I promise, I’ll listen.”

Manic eyes bore into mine. “Then listennow. Lift your shirt so I can come on the prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen, otherwise I’ll come all over the prettiest face I’ve ever seen. Either way, I’m coming on you, so decide and make it fast.”

I yanked my shirt up just in time for the hot stickiness to hit my breasts, bra, and belly. Some fell to my pants between us, but the leggings were already ruined with my own wetness.

When he finished, Damien slumped forward to grip the edge of desk on either side of my legs, his head hanging. The etched muscles in his shoulders were visible through his shirt as they flexed with his heavy breathing.

We stayed like that for long moments, neither of us moving or speaking. I didn’t even try to lower my shirt or shift away. My emotions were so tangled, I couldn’t feel them all, and instead was left numb. Tears leaked down my cheeks, slow but there.

When he finally stood and began righting his clothes, his focus was on my breasts and the mess he’d created there.

My mind raced with jumbled thoughts of premeditated—though justifiable—murder, the scorching hotness of what’d just happened, and the ravenous desire pulsing through me that I’d give anything to satiate. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say first, but when I opened my mouth, I blurted, “I’m the prettiest face you’ve ever seen?”

His eyes widened slightly, though I wasn’t sure if the surprise was from my timing or the question itself. Either way, he stopped what he was doing to curl his hand around my throat, his thumb under my chin tilting my face up. “My depraved angel, you’re so damn beautiful, it hurts. Physically hurts. But it’s the best kind of pain.” His gaze dropped to study the smile I hadn’t even realized I’d given. More to himself than me, he muttered, “Fucking hurts.”

I hadn’t been fishing for a compliment, but the one he gave was the sweetest I’d ever received.

Dismissively, he said, “You have a class and so do I.” He gestured to his broken zipper. “And before that I need to change my pants. I’ll see you when I get home.”

The reality of the situation crashed down on me, burying me in anger. “You really aren’t going to make me come?”

He skewered me with an exasperated glare. “We already discussed this.”

“But—”

“Class.”

Glaring, I bent down and grabbed a fistful of tissues from the box Damien had knocked to the floor. I was about to wipe my breasts when he caught my hand.

“Don’t. My day will go better knowing you’ll be waiting for me at home with my come on you.”

“I’m not going to your place,” I said, though his expression told me he didn’t believe me. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I believed me. “Plus, it’ll get on my shirt.”

“Not all of it.” As if to prove his point, his rough fingertips skimmed along the spots that’d already begun to dry.