Page 98 of Give In

I shifted away and tugged my shirt down, ignoring his knowing chuckle. He knew the effect he had on me. I was the mouse to his cat, and he liked playing with me. As the stickiness that made my shirt cling to my skin proved, he got off on it.

Determined not to give him any more of a reaction, I schooled my features to look uninterested and uncaring as I gathered my things. I ignored how he sat and leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out like I was his stripper again.

Or still.

Or whatever.

Once I had everything, my cold shoulder and I moved to unlock the door.

I’d just opened it when he called, “Angel.”

Automatically, I looked over my shoulder and, in an instant, I knew I’d lost. Because I hadn’t shuttered the hope that’d bloomed in me at his one word. The hope that he was calling me back to finish what we’d started.

It’d been clear as day on my face, and we both knew it.

I’d been willing to do anything for a release.

I’d have handed him my strings and danced like a good marionette.

Like his good girl.

My stubborn independence—the deep-seated need I had to be free—had carried me through all the shit in my life.

And in a blink, I’d given it up.

No, that wasn’t true. Damien had seized it, along with my sanity and, apparently, my ability to orgasm.

Trying to hide his smirk, he tilted his head. “You forgot your coffee.”

I backtracked and grabbed it off the undisturbed corner of his desk because I was pissed, but not insane. Petulantly stomping toward the door, his sudden movement grabbed my attention.

Eyes on me, his tongue swirled obscenely around his middle finger. The one that’d been in my panties. Practically inme.

The fire he stoked burned hotter, but so did my temper.

“You’re an asshole,” I hissed.

“And you get off on it.” He smirked. “Or not.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe if you learn to listen. See you at home,” he called to my retreating back.

I flipped him off and kept going.

Chapter Twenty-one

Leap into Fuck-Upped-Ness

Eden

A car door slammed, and I jumped, knocking the book from my lap.

It was fine, I hadn’t been reading it. When Damien had texted that he was on his way, I’d reread the same paragraph close to twenty times before giving up to watch the clock.

My body went rigid at the lock turning, but I didn’t look up. Picking up my book, I stared at it unseeing, pretending like it wasn’t a big deal I was there.

The door opened and closed, keys rattled as they were set on a side table, and something lightly rustled. As he approached, his sock-clad feet were visible in my periphery, and I realized the noise had been him removing his shoes. The intimacy squeezed my heart, but I wasn’t sure whether it was from panic or yearning.