Page 37 of Off-Limits

It sounds so dirty. Sofilthycoming from his mouth. It unnerves me and sends excitement bucketing through me, and before I realise what I’m doing, I’m up on my knees and we are inches apart.

Violet hues to stormy blues, the only thing that can be heard in his room is our quickening breaths. I lick my lips again, the magnetism pulling us closer together like a magnet to metal, and I try to pull back, honestly, I do, because this can’t happen between us.

Damon’s smirk lingers—he knows what he’s doing to me. It’s as if we are in a trance, there is only him and I in this world of ours, even though we are both acutely aware this is wrong, and we shouldn’t be in this position.

Lost in this lust induced fog that suffocates us, I can’t seem to find a reason to stop what’s about to happen.

“Wench! Where are you?”

Damon’s eyes go wide. She can’t find us in his room like this.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Damon stops abruptly, his eyes moving between me and the bathroom. I see the relief in his face, and I know it’s because he’s found a way out of this for the pair of us.

“Dottie?! Dad?!” Arrie yells again.

“The bathroom. Move your sweet ass, Dorothy. Flush the toilet or start the shower, do something, but you need to move. Now!”

Jumping up, I race toward the bathroom, glancing over my shoulder at Damon to find him looking at me with a look I can’t decipher. It makes me hesitate, but when he shakes his head, I dash in and close the door quietly. With my back against the door, I hear Arrie’s voice.

“Morning Dad, do you know where Dottie is?”

“How in the hell would I know? I’m not her keeper.”

“Sheesh. Get up on the wrong side of the bed or what?”

I take that moment to flush the toilet.

“Don’t use that tone with me, Arriana Louise.”

“Dad!”

Damon chuckles.

“Sounds like Dottie is in the bathroom. I’ve got to get to the workshop.”

I hear some mumbled words while I’m washing my hands, and then the door is open. “How’s your head, Wench?”

At the mention of my head, it starts throbbing again. I guess the adrenaline had suppressed the insistent ache before Arrie arrived. Perhaps I can blame it for what might have happened if she hadn’t barged in.

The smile falls from her face, and I follow her eyes.

Damon’s shirt.

Her dad’sshirt.

Shit!

She doesn’t have to ask the question, because it’s spilling from her green eyes, and I quickly throw her an answer,a liefor why I’m wearing Damon’s clothes.

“When I got in last night, I was so fucking sick. I spewed up all over my clothes, so I just grabbed whatever I could find.”

She cracks asmile.

“Haha! I knew it. You were so fucking drunk last night. What did Harry say to have you hightailing it?”

I groan, remembering the conversation.

“He had too much to drink.”