Page 18

Chapter eighteen

Ashia

Three days later

The reflection staring back at me in the mirror is a stranger. One that looks like me, and sounds like me, yet I don’t recognize her. The purple and blue bruises that Cooper left on my body are finally at the stage where they’re looking better instead of worse. My voice is finally starting to go back to normal, and thank God for that, because it was only drawing attention to my wounds for my clients.

As I look around the bathroom, I realize just how weird these past few days have been. I didn’t invite him to my place. Not once, and yet Damien has stayed in my apartment every night for four nights. In the morning, he gets up, makes coffee for both of us, and then we shower and get ready for the day together. As if this was completely normal, and not some weird, crazy, stalker situation. Every night now, he just walks right on in, ties me up while I'm asleep, fucks me, and then sleeps next to me like he owns the place.

He can’t knock? Or, I don’t know, wait for an invitation? Of course not. That would make too much sense.

After my outburst, our argument, and his declarations of eternal interest, I’ve been mostly keeping quiet. Well, when we’re not having mind blowing sex, I am. Just before we go to sleep, we make some small talk. Ask about each other’s day, and that’s about it. I know he’s treading lightly. Not wanting to push me over the edge or make me upset.

A part of me feels bad. Like I should be making more of an effort to get to know him. I’m just not sure how. As if my brain didn’t freeze up enough just when he gets close to me, I don’t know how to act after sex. It’s like when he touches me a whole other side of me comes out, and the fear melts away. Like I don’t have to think anymore, and the only thing that fills my head is Damien.

Him killing me isn’t a present concern of mine anymore, though it is for Serena. She keeps threatening to sit outside in her car to see how he’s getting in, but I don't want anything happening to her, so I’ve begged her to stay away for now. At least at night. I don’t think he’d do anything to her, but I’m not willing to risk her life over something that’s currently not a threat.

I'm not sure how, but I think Damien can see our conversations. He’s asked if I told Serena about him, which I have, but I haven’t told him what she’s said about him. Though he seems to know how she feels. Giving subtle hints of what she’s said. Verbatim. Somehow quoting her perfectly while throwing around his sarcastic undertone. I try to be an honest person, but when he asked me what she’s said, I couldn’t tell him. Even though he obviously knows. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Unfortunately including his, but that changes today. No more rolling over and taking his shit.

Or his dick.

I need to push back harder than I have been. I'm being weak. Just because he’s hot, has a large dick, makes me smile, takes care of me…fuck.

Stay focused, bitch .

Just because he’s all of those things doesn’t mean he can just come and go as he pleases. That’s how it starts. He’ll come and go every night, then he’ll skip a night here or there, and then the next thing I know I’ll never see him again. While a part of me swears that’s what I want, another part of me aches to the thought. Which I know is completely insane. I still don’t know him, and I need to remember that he is dangerous. No matter how dick-matized I may be.

I think the weight of everything is just finally catching up with me. Today is not a good day. I’ve been so angry, like no matter what someone did or said, it just ticked off another check on my ‘what could piss me off today’ board. I'm sore, ALL OVER, exhausted, anxious, and I cut my finger pretty badly while I had my last client. Right on the knuckle of my left middle finger, almost taking it off completely. So, every time it bends, it breaks back open, and bleeds all over the place. I was so distracted from my previous client’s profane words, that I wasn’t paying attention to how fast I was cutting.

I'll never understand where men get their audacity from. Earlier today, after I washed a man’s hair, I told him he could dry his hair with the towel around his shoulders and go back to the cutting chair. This older, leather bag looking man had the gall to the look at me and say ‘That didn’t really feel like you wanted me to leave’. What a pig. I just washed his hair!

I can’t stand comments like that. Well, from anyone except Damien, and that makes me even angrier. Why is it that he says something crude, and it turns me on, yet another man tries to get mouthy with me and all I see is red? What is up with that?

I unravel the bandage from my finger, and it’s still pouring blood. Damn, I got it really good this time . Following the normal routine when I cut myself, I rinse it off, pat it dry, and attempt to swipe the liquid skin Emmett gave me over top of it. Though, it doesn’t help this time. It’s all just running down my finger and into the white porcelain bowl. The amount that it’s still bleeding might actually be concerning, but I think it’s just from the placement of the cut.

“What the fuck happened?” I jump when I hear Damien’s voice behind me, and I look back up in the mirror to see those electric, ocean blues staring at me in the glass. Somehow instantly calming me the moment I see him, and that only makes things worse. My body shivers as it calms and rages at the same time, and I can feel the opposite reactions fighting their own war deep within my chest. I attempt to gather whatever self-preservation I have left and straighten my spine.

“Well, you’re early tonight.” My eyebrow flicks up as I force my attitude into my observation. It is early for him, only about eight in the evening.

“Who am I killing?” His eyes narrow, seemingly turning dark as the words make me shiver with their forceful anger.

“What!?” I choke out.

“I asked you a question.” His tone is hard, and sharp tonight, as if I’m not the only one in the room who had a bad day.

“You know, I love how you just get to break into my apartment and demand answers from me. It might be my favorite part of this crazy situation.” I roll my eyes and go back to cleaning my finger.

Stay strong, Ashia. You can do this.

My words backfire, and I can’t stop the small flinch as his boots slap against the floor, clearly showcasing his anger. He walks up behind me and grabs my hand. Lifting it up so he can see it and causing blood to run down my wrist. His other hand raises up to grasp my chin and forces my eyes to look into his. The grip firm, but not enough to hurt me.

“What. Happened.” He stares down at me angrily. I feel my strength begin to crumble at his tone, and my body attempts to cower into itself and away from him.

Don’t back down. Don’t back down.

“I cut my finger during my last client.” I jerk my hand away from him. Immediately holding it over the sink again so it can drip onto another surface other than my arm. “It’s not a big deal.” He grabs my hand for the second time, tighter than before. The anger in his grasp is still present, but now more of a worried look shoots across his eyes. The color in them seemingly lightens as he side steps to stand next to me instead of towering over me from behind.

“Stop being so damn stubborn and let me look.” His grip softens as he takes a washcloth from the small hanger on the wall and presses against it slightly. “Fuck, that actually might need stitches. You got yourself pretty good.”

“I said it’s not a big deal.” I almost plead. Please no more stitches, I’ve had enough for two lifetimes…

“You’re bleeding, it’s a big deal to me.” His gaze softens, as well as his words, and he begins looking through the medicine cabinet for supplies. I sense a tad bit of embarrassment? Maybe from such a large reaction over a small cut that I inflicted on myself? “You got anything for this?”

“Bottom drawer.” I gesture to it as he opens it and pulls out some gauze and medical tape. “Emmett gave me that liquid skin stuff, but it’s not working very well.” I warn him, but he doesn’t even look at the bottle.

“It’s because it has to be dry and clotted first.” Putting a gauze pad over my finger, he squeezes down, and I can’t help but wince at the pain. It’s sharp and quick, kind of like the snip of my shears that caused it, and just took me by surprise. His gaze snaps back up to me at the small noise. “I'm sorry.” He says much calmer than before, almost as I whisper. Is he sorry for pushing on the cut or his reaction when he first came in? Probably the cut, but either way I feel my heart begin to tug in his direction.

Shove it back, Ashia.

“I can do that you know.” I say pulling every ounce of resistance I have in me.

“I know, you're not helpless. I just want to take care of you.” He looks back into my eyes and begins reading me again. Tilting his head to the side in a thoughtful movement as he rakes his eyes over my face. “You're feisty this evening. Bad day?”

“You don't already know?” I glare my eyes at him with an attitude twanged in my voice. He shakes his head. A frown taking over his features.

“I was really busy with DH today, I only had time to check the cameras twice and make sure you were okay. Couldn’t watch much past that.” The swell in my chest builds again, and as much as I try to push it back down, I feel a little bit of it slipping through. He watches me just to check up on me? He could’ve just texted or called, but I suppose from the view of a man as possessive as he is, seeing is believing.

“Then yeah, bad day. You?” I say, my voice a little softer.

“Not the greatest.” He lifts the cloth to check the bleeding. “What kind of movie are we watching tonight?” I furrow my brows, waiting for the joke, but it never comes. He seems very serious about his inquiry. Is it because I haven’t watched anything since he’s been here? He actually wants to watch a movie? Spend some time that doesn’t involve him ramming his dick into me?

There’s that swelling feeling that just keeps building. Is that all it takes for me to melt? A simple gesture of not wanting to just be used as a piece of ass? Something as simple as watching a movie and relaxing can really make my walls drop? As if he could put a band aid on all of my wounds, and that would magically fix everything?

“Well?” He asks as he gently removes the cloth and applies the liquid skin before wrapping it up and taping it. Careful not to tape it too tight.

“You actually want to do something other than have sex?”

“I'll always want to have sex with you, but yes, I want to do everything I can with you.” I pull every last sliver of defiance from my brain, regardless of how sweet he looks right now, and a part of me instantly regrets it.

“Or you could leave.” I sharply say, looking down at the floor to avoid his gaze. I actually had to force those words out of my mouth, knowing I only halfway mean them. I’ve been telling him to leave every night now, but every day I mean it less and less. His presence, while unwelcome, is soothing. Warm. I know I'm not a piece of ass to him. The way he holds and caresses me every night tells me that.

I’m still just having a hard time accepting everything. I haven’t left the building or seen Ser in person. Not wanting to upset him and put anyone in danger. It’s not that he said I couldn’t leave, or threatened to do anything if I did, but I can’t help the similar feelings of when I would be locked up with Cooper. There would be times when I knew he didn’t lock the bedroom door, but I was terrified to come out anyway. Or telling me that I could go to work or the store but knowing that it was a trap, and he’d find something to be mad at me about once I left and made me face the consequences when I got back.

This is not the same, and I know that. I keep trying to shove those feelings down and work through them, but it’s harder than it sounds. While I know that he hasn’t forced me to do anything, and hasn’t demanded a thing from me, I’m terrified to test these boundaries. Flinging my attitude around with words and plucking his nerves isn’t enough to set him off, but what if I did? I’ve heard of the violence he commits. How mangled his victims are left sometimes. How can I be sure I won’t end up like them? I don’t believe that he would hurt me. Every pull and tug of my gut tells me that, but I’ve misjudged people before. My mind is so conflicted, I don’t know what to believe.

“It looks like a horror kind of evening.”

I focus my gaze on Damien again. My anxiety starts to conjure and bubble up from my racing thoughts.

“I'm serious, Damien.” No, I'm not . “I'm tired, and maybe next time you could try knocking.” He gently puts my hand down and walks behind me again. Which instantly allows a sharp fear to grow and tear its way through my body. I feel as he moves my hair from the back of neck over my shoulder, draping the long straight locks down my chest, and I look up in the mirror to see his large hand reach for the base of my neck.

I jump slightly to his touch, expecting to be drug out of the bathroom like a dog on a leash, but instead he begins massaging my nape. The pads of his fingers caressing me with perfect pressure motions. I release a pent-up breath at his touch, feeling the release all the way down to my trembling fingertips.

“There are plenty of other things these hands can do besides make you scream, baby girl.” I dip my head down in relaxation to absorb his mesmerizing touch. His fingers squeeze all of the right spots as he moves his hand down where my neck connects to my shoulders and brings his other hand to meet it. Squeezing and rolling them just right before he drags them down to my shoulder blades in serene bliss and begins to massage there.

His precision surprises me, as if my body told him exactly where it hurts. The stinging pain feels so good against my sore muscles, I can almost hear them sigh with relief. My body feels like jelly, like from his kneading motions alone, it travels through my bloodstream and infects my entire body. His palms glide down my back, putting pressure on and stroking every muscle he can find. I release a slight moan as he travels down to my lower back.

“Tell me what you want. Do you want me to make you feel good, baby?” He whispers, his tone soft, as he moves his strong hands down to my hips and presses his hard body against mine. Those magical hands still kneading and massaging my hips. He towers over me, and his body encases mine as he gently leans into me. Every touch he places emits a relaxing, tingly feeling, and I shamefully feel the warmth and wetness begin to gather between my legs.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, this man turns me on. He always touches the right places, says all of the right things, and I’ve never felt so attended to. Cooper never made sure I was taken care of, in any sense, but especially sexually. Damien? The only thing he seems to care about is if I'm taken care of. Making sure I have coffee when I wake up, paying my medical bills, protecting me. He holds me so close at night, as if I’m the most precious thing he’s ever touched. It’s nice, I must admit.

I stupidly nod, and he glides his hands up to remove my shirt and bra before he reverts to massaging my back. He begins to gently kiss my exposed neck as he squeezes. Leaving soft, peppered kisses along the soft column as he moves his hands down to my hips simultaneously. I feel as he angles his head, directing his warm breath against the shell of my ear as he nuzzles into my hair.

From my hips, he slides his hands inside my pants and thong, and begins pushing them down, massaging my thighs as he does, and leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. My whole body heats up, and I can’t help but squeeze my thighs together as I squirm.

Once he gets them down all of the way, I step out and turn away from the mirror. Pivoting towards him as he begins massaging my ab muscles. Those rough fingers now feeling soft as he glides his thumbs across my mid-section. Using the other four digits to caress and knead the skin on my sides. He lowers to his knees, kissing up and down my stomach as if he was worshipping every cell. I want to throw my head back and take it all in, lose myself in the feeling of his lips and hands, but I also want to watch him. Damien on his knees in front of me is a sight to behold. As if he’s bowing to royalty and swearing an oath.

He continues to slide and kiss down my body until his lips reach my vagina. His tongue slips into my folds. Coercing a small moan to make its way through my mouth as the tip of his tongue swirls around my clit and flicks against it like he’s flipping my internal switch. He moves his hands to the back of my thighs. Gently spreading my legs apart for better access and buries his face further into my pussy. The tip of his tongue lightly grazes the throbbing bead again, circling at a teasing pace, before he flattens his tongue against my core and slowly drags it through me. Lightly flicking my clit again as it passes.

My knees immediately feel weak as he swirls his tongue around my sensitive bead. Pressing his textured tongue against me with more pressure than previously. I reach out to grip the edge of the counter, but then he firmly grabs the back of my knees and squeezes, buckling them on purpose. As I fall, he gently lays down on his back and uses his strength to keep me from slamming onto my knees. Lowering me down gently and putting me in the perfect position to ride his face.

The pressure of his tongue increases, sending ripples of pleasure throughout my body as he alternates tactics. Tight circling movements, then flattening his tongue, then lapping into my entrance and circling the walls. The process repeats. Over and over, and I start to grind and ride into his face. Moaning louder and deeper as he buries deeper with every thrust of my hips.

His teeth begin scraping, gently grazing my pulsing clit, and I have no choice but to anchor myself by grabbing onto his hair. Looking down to see his heart-piercing eyes only amplifies the ripples of my pending orgasm, moving closer and closer together with every swipe of his tongue. One of his hands trails up my body and begins massaging my breast. I arch my back in pleasure, forcing my pussy into his face even more. He moves his other hand underneath me, between us, and he slides a finger into my pussy.

“Oh God…” My breath is being tugged in the opposite direction by my pulling vagina. The climbing sensation yanking my hips to drive on to his face faster and harder and his hand deeper.

My breaths come out in short pants, and the pressure in my lower stomach builds to the point where I'm not sure I can hold it much longer. My moans ring through the bathroom as he gently pinches my nipple, twisting my gut with it.

I tip over the edge, giving myself over to one of the most powerful orgasms I’ve ever had and scream his name. My body tenses as my legs try to flinch closed around his head, shaking and trembling around him as I feel him begin to swallow my release. His gulping sends shots of pleasure through my core, prolonging this euphoric feeling.

Once I finally come down from my high, I slide back off of his face and straddle his hips. Relaxing as I breathe myself down. My hands resting on his chest as I pine for something strong to ground myself to. Fighting the urge to cuddle up next to him on the floor.

He sits up with a cocky, satisfied grin on his face as his devilish tongue licks my arousal off the middle of his top lip. Topping off his obvious feelings of victory by running his fingers through my hair.

“Feel better?” He says with soft eyes before leaning in close to my throat. His soft, plump, now slick lips start to peck, smearing his saliva and my arousal over my neck. Any ounce of anger, resistance, or fight in me is gone. Completely obliterated by my orgasm.

“Much…” I whisper as I unwillingly nudge my head into his. Seeking out more of his affection. My eyes widen and my cheeks flood to the adoring gesture. Forcing me to retreat slightly. It was more of an impulse than a thought, and now I feel embarrassed and clingy.

“Good.” He kisses under my jaw as he moves his hand behind my head and gently scratches my scalp. Then, as if he sensed my embarrassment, he nuzzles his face into mine forcefully and confidently. Definitely much more dramatic than mine was, as if to show that he approved of the notion. “Are you through with your tantrum?” He says as his grins widens, flashing those dangerous teeth. That intoxicating, cocky aura of his radiating off of him in waves.

“Yes…” I can’t help but grin back at him. Why did that just turn me on again? What is wrong with me? I'm such a weak bitch.

“Okay. Let’s go watch our movie.” He uses his strength and grip on my hips to stand me up on shaky legs. Keeping me balanced as he reaches his full height and wraps his arms around me before he starts walking. Guiding me to bed as he begins undressing himself with every step.

Once we reach the bed, he lays down on top of it and pulls on my hand, gently forcing me down with him. The relief I feel as we lay down is foreign, but I repress the instinct to pull away and rest my head on his defined, yet comfortable chest. He drapes my favorite blanket on top of us. Almost in a sweet and caring way, before he wraps one arm around me and holds me close to his warm, snuggly body. I reach for the remote to the TV, but he quickly snatches it and turns on ‘The Strangers.’

Fitting, I suppose.

As we lay and watch the movie, he runs his fingers through my hair, and I make it painfully clear that the motion relaxes me by allowing my eyes to feel heavy. The lids causing my vision to go in and out with every droop. I force them back open each time, trying not to be swept away by his calming waves.

He is gentle with me, and he is always concerned with how I feel or what I want. I suppose for tonight I can stop being a brat.

“I'm sorry you had a bad day.” I tell him without looking at him. My voice coming out so soft I'm not sure he could hear me. I feel his head move downward, and he’s either burying his nose into my hair again, or he’s moving so he can look at me.

“I'm sorry you did too.” There’s a moment of silence between us, and I think we’re both just enjoying the peace. Each of us taking the moment to gather our thoughts. “Need me to take care of anyone?”

I huff out laughter. He just can’t help it, can he? I shake my head against his chest.

“No. Some men are just assholes.”

“Did anyone touch you?” He says with more present anger as his grip on me tightens. It’s such a small reflex, I'm surprised I felt it, but I can feel his gaze burn holes into my body, and I don’t even have to look up to see it.

“Nope. Just crude comments mostly today.” His grip softens, and his fingers move in a gentle, raking motion. As if to reassure me.

“I'm sorry.” He replies softly and I shrug my shoulders into his body. Sinking me into him even more.

“I should be used to it. I don’t know why I get so upset by it sometimes.”

“Because it’s degrading. You have every right to get upset.” I nod my head and relax a little more against his chest. Attempting to glue my attention to the screen instead of the man I'm laying with. “Do you even like being a barber? Why did you choose to do this?” He asks with genuine curiosity. Did he just ask me that? Now that I think about it, I'm not sure anyone has asked me that question.

“Honestly?” He nods against my head. “It was an easy out. I knew I couldn’t afford college. My grades were good, but I never had time to do the volunteering and other things scholarship programs like to see. Cosmetology was free in high school, and I could graduate with my license. Once I had it, it was easy for me to work with Emmett and get dual licensed as a barber. I do like it most of the time. Just days like today suck.” He nods his head again in understanding.

“I’m sure.” I decide to take this opportunity and dig a little. If he can open the door to personal questions, why can’t I walk through it?

“What about you? What made you start Devils Hands?” There’s a brief silence before he takes a deep breath. Like he’s hesitating. Shit. That was a bad idea. The weight of my intrusive question comes crashing down, and I can feel myself internally cower. Like I’m trying to crawl into my own body. Surprisingly, he runs his hand up and down my back. Like he can sense my uneasiness, then answers.

“Not sure really. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I wanted to help people, but my ideas of helping were a little…”

“Unorthodox?” I ask, that word definitely being the understatement of the year. He chuckles.

“Yeah, you could say that. So, at first I looked into the police department, fire station, EMS. I definitely didn’t want to follow in my father’s steps and join the military. So, I was walking down the street on the far side of town one evening, when a mom and her daughter were in trouble. I helped them out and took them to the hospital to be looked over. The urge to do this work started then. I guess something just clicked that day.”

“When you say helped?” I ask cautiously.

“I killed the man trying to hurt them.”

I nod my head, not really surprised by the outcome.

“Was that the first person you killed?” I look up to him and shudder at the realization of the question I just asked. The tiny voice inside my head screaming at me to shut my mouth.

Jesus, Ashia, you nosey bitch.

“No. The second, though he was the first not in a controlled environment.”

What does that mean? Controlled environment? Like he was set up to kill his first person? Did someone just drag a random person into a room and say ‘Here, kill him?’

I think of what his day could have possibly entailed. How many people did he murder? Did he blow up a building with Dust members inside? Was there a thirty-mile car chase with the police? His days are filled with violence and here I am complaining about how people speak to me? I'm sure his day had much worse things going on.

“Well, what about today? Why did your day suck?” He starts to run his hand up and down my back again, and I’m not sure if he’s preparing me for the answer or getting himself ready.

“Well, I was planning on watching this enchanting woman through my phone all day.” I giggle embarrassingly as if stalking me was funny, but to be honest, I like how protected and wanted he makes me feel. He couldn’t be with me all day, so instead he wanted to see me anyway he could? I shouldn’t like that, but I do. It surprisingly makes me feel safe. “But I had to take out three dealers instead. The last one had abducted two girls. One sixteen and the other fourteen. So, I killed him, got the girls out, and took them to the hospital. After that, I just wanted to see you, so I headed over.” I sit up, not caring that the blanket falls to pool in my lap, and turn to look at him. That’s why he came early? Because he had a shitty day and just wanted to be with me? I'm such a bitch…

“Are they okay?” I ask, my voice cracking under the circumstance.

“They were pretty shaken up, but I had asked for their parent’s numbers and called them on the way to the hospital. So, they shouldn’t have been alone for too long.”

“Are you okay?” I freeze up the moment those words leave my lips. I'm not sure why I asked him that. He’s clearly okay physically, but I don’t know, his mind and demeanor feels off tonight. I couldn’t imagine having to do what he does or see the things he sees. Those poor girls. I can only imagine from my own experiences what that that must have been like for them. So young. Why do these things happen at such an innocent age? Does that not matter to anyone?

The soft grin spreading on his lips pulls me from my deep thoughts. His face clearly softening into a look of adoration. He gently cups my face and runs his thumb over my cheek bone. Taking a shaky deep breath in before he speaks.

“Yeah baby. I'm okay.” The sweet sentiment sends ripples of comfort through my body, but I practically throw them away with the cold chill running through me. Why can’t I just accept the small affection? Every time he shows the slightest bit of endearment I close the cage to my soul and lock it.

“Well, I'm glad you got them out.” I say, gently shifting back and creating a small amount of space that wasn’t there before.

“Me too.” He smiles at me, and I try to bite away my returning grin. He softly moves his hand back around my hip and cups my side in his large hand. “What’d they say to you today?”

“Just stupid, sexual based comments. And a couple asked about the bruises on my neck.” I pause, and a look of concern grows across his brows. “I had forgotten my old excuses, and didn’t know what to say this time.”

“So, what did you say?” I try to keep the embarrassed grin from popping on my face, but I feel it sprouting. I'm already a walking train wreck. Do I really want him to know what happens when I panic?

“Don’t laugh at me.” My face sours.

“Okay.” A smirk is already twinging on his lips.

“When Serena put those notes into my patient file, she made a joke about falling onto the railing by the stairs.” I cringe at myself as I say those words, and I watch as he tries really hard not to burst out laughing, only to fail. He flings his head backward as a deep guttural laugh escapes his mouth. His body shaking as he does. It’s so contagious, I can’t help but smile at his dramatic response. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!” I say as I hit his shoulder and begin to giggle. “I panicked okay? It’s been a long time.” He actually has a really nice laugh. Deep, amusing, and not wheezy or snotty.

“I'm sorry.” A few more chuckles escape his mouth. “Please tell me you did not fucking say that?” More chuckles escape as he tries to finish his sentence. I start laughing and tearing up from the embarrassment.

“I did.” We both burst into laughter again. His grip tightens around me, and he pulls me closer to him, without him even realizing it, I think.

“That is some Final Destination bullshit. You know what? That’s what we’re watching.” He reaches for the controller, but I swipe it before he can grab it.

“Don’t change my movie. I can't stand that.” I laugh and point at him with it as he chuckles. What only seems like a few seconds passes us by, and our laughter starts to die down. His face softens even more and I notice the way his pupils dilate as he stares at me. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…” He pauses. “I've never heard you laugh. You should do it more.” I raise a brow.

“Come on. You've been stalking me for what? Over two weeks, and you haven't heard me laugh?” He shakes his head and his face forms into what I can only describe as a smolder.

“No, I haven't, but you need to do it all the time. It might be the best thing I've ever heard.” God damn it. If he doesn’t stop saying things like that I’m going to melt into a puddle right here on the bed. “Though, you might want to pick a new excuse out of a hat tomorrow. If that one was the best you could come up with, I can only imagine how horrible your old excuses were.” I silently thank whatever God exists for his sly joke.

“Yeah, they were pretty bad back then too.” We laugh again, and I’ve never felt so comfortable with someone other than Serena. Most of the time, the people I talk to can’t handle my dark humor. Damien? He’s laughing over a poor excuse for my attempted murder evidence. Who else laughs about that? No one.

I come back down from my laughter to the warm feeling in my chest again. The adoring plague ravaging its way through my entire body. It’s becoming more and more frequent, with no signs of stopping or a cure being invented. With every sweet word that comes out of his mouth, that’s just one more lock picked on my defiance.

“I'll be sure to come up with something better next time.” A dark cloud descends on our happy mood, and I immediately feel the regret join my butterfly plague. I shouldn’t have said that. I'm not even sure if I meant that, but I suppose you never know what the future holds. I had said before that it would never happen again. Guess I was wrong. Look what happened only four nights ago.

I watch as he lays his hand on my thigh and his eyes burrow deep into my soul. Any evidence of his playful mood is now gone, and I know it’s my fault. I really need to start learning to keep my thoughts to myself when I’m around him.

“There will be no next time.” He gently squeezes my thigh. “I will kill any man who even thinks about getting near you. Any man will be lucky to live after breathing the same air as you.” The crazy thing is, I believe him. He’s possessive, obsessed, sex crazed, and dangerous.

Though, he’s not dangerous to me. I may be the only person on the planet who is immune to his violence. He’s done nothing but show me patience, temperance, and attentiveness. Even as I’ve screamed, yelled, and mouthed off to him, I’ve never thought he’d hurt me.

“I believe you.” I say quietly, needing to say it, but a part of me hoped he didn’t hear it.

“Good.” He pulls my hand gently, guiding me to lay against him again. I nestle up to him, and he quickly jerks the remote out of my hand and turns it to Final Destination.