Especially when it's curled up naked in my bed, trusting me to protect her from the world when the thing she really needs protection from is me.
Chapter 13: Viviana
I wake up alone.
The bed beside me is cold, which means Damon's been gone for a while. I can hear the shower running in the attached bathroom, and for a moment I just lie there, processing the fact that I'm naked in his bed, sheets tangled around my legs, and everything between my thighs aches in a way that's entirely new.
I had sex with Damon Lombardi.
The thought should probably terrify me. Instead, it sends heat racing through me that I try very hard to ignore.
I sit up carefully, wincing at the unfamiliar soreness, and look around for my clothes. They're scattered across the floor where we left them last night, my shirt by the window, my shorts near the door.
I need to get dressed and get out of here before he finishes his shower. Act like nothing's changed. Maintain the casual attitude we agreed on last night.
Even though everything feels different now.
I'm pulling on my shirt when the bathroom door opens and Damon emerges, hair damp from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. He stops when he sees me getting dressed, and his eyes do that thing where they take inventory of my entire body.
"Leaving already?" His tone is carefully neutral.
"Just getting dressed." I try to match his tone. "Didn't want to make things weird by hanging around."
He moves to his dresser, pulling out clothes. "What would you expect if you stayed?"
"Nothing."
"How are you feeling?" he asks, pulling on a shirt.
"Fine. Ready to get back to normal."
I take a step toward the door and can't quite hide the wince when pain shoots through me. Damon notices immediately.
"You're hurt."
"I'm just sore," I say, heat flooding my cheeks. "It's normal."
"Bullshit. Did I hurt you last night?"
"No, of course not."
"Then why are you walking like someone who's never been fucked before?"
The crude words hit me like a slap. "I'm fine. Anyone who has sex gets sore sometimes."
He leans against his dresser, arms crossed, studying me with those dark eyes. "When's the last time you had sex before last night?"
I scramble for something believable. "A few months ago."
"Who with?"
"Does it matter?"
"Hell yeah, it matters. Because if you're this sore after a few months, then either he was doing something very wrong, or you're lying to me."
"I'm not lying," I insist.
"Then what's his name?"
