I nod, thankful I got it right. “Please?”
Damien leans in and brushes his lips over mine. This time, he doesn’t pull back quickly—he drags his tongue over my bottom lip, making the stinging worse, and pushes it past my lips, forcing me to open for him.
I do.
It’s automatic.
He hums, teasing my tongue with his. Some part of me knows that this should turn me on. That it used to, even, but I feel nothing. Not a flutter in my stomach or a trip in my heart. Not a twitch in my cock. Nothing. It shouldn’t feel this way, this… empty.
I kiss him back, sighing into it, leaning closer to him.
When he pulls away, he presses a soft kiss to my nose, then smiles. “That sounds perfect, love. Go get freshened up, and I’ll change, then we’ll go.”
I’m turning to walk away when Damien wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him. My body collides with his, and a sharp gasp tears through my throat at the sudden bloom of pain in my ribs. He gives me a curious look, so I breathe through it and smile up at him. “Took me by surprise.”
He smiles back before leaning down and rubbing his nose against mine. “I like that I can still surprise you. Did you talk to Austin today?”
My breath hitches, but I’m not falling for this again. “No, of course not. I told you I wouldn’t.”
“Good,” he murmurs, letting go of me. “Go get ready now.”
I don’t wait for him to stop me again. I just turn and leave the living room.
It’sstrangelivinginthis house. After growing up in a small town with below-the-poverty-line parents, I was overwhelmed the first time I saw it. I didn’t even know theymadehouses with thirteen-foot ceilings and crown molding. The walls were an elegant shade of cream, the kitchen expansive and unlike anything I’d seen before. I can still remember Damien’s smile when I didn’t understand why anyone could possibly want two ovens. I remember moving in here at nineteen and thinking I was in a mansion.
Now, it feels oppressive, but I’ve made my bed, and I have to lie in it. Quite literally. Damien is snoring beside me, and I’m blinking up at the ceiling, wondering how everything ended up this way. How I’ve wasted over seven years of my life here.
I’m not even sure how it started or how I let it happen. I just know that one day, I was happy, planning my future. And now, I’m… whatever this is.
Damien rolls toward me, wrapping his arm around me. He squeezes, making my breath catch. Goddammit, my ribs hurt.
I blow out a deep breath, closing my eyes. I need to sleep, even though my ribs are throbbing and my lungs feel like they’re bruised. Tomorrow, I have to clean the house. I also need to get some extra groceries. I’ll pick up ingredients to make cookies. Something simple and sweet. That would be a nice treat, I think. Damien really likes chocolate chip cookies, so maybe it’ll make for a good evening.
My body grows heavy, my mind going fuzzy as I think about all the things on my to-do list for tomorrow.
I’m not sure what wakes me up. Maybe movement, possibly something else, but then I hear the chime my phone makes when it’s being unlocked, and my body and mind snap to attention. My eyes fly open, and I glance at Damien.
He’s sitting up, my phone in his hand. I take a deep breath. He’s not going to find anything. I always delete my calls to Austin. It’s okay. “Are you okay?” I ask, trying to regulate my nervous system.
“I thought you weren’t talking to Austin.”
The cold tone of his voice has my heart racing. “I’m not,” I lie.
Damien’s eyes find mine in the dark. I can’t read his expression at all. Then he glances down at my phone. “Do you think there’s a market for romance books with domestic violence?”
My stomach twists into a knot. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t even defend myself. I didn’t delete them. I didn’t fucking delete them. My lungs are burning from holding my breath, my heart pounding so hard I can hear the echo of it in my head.
The silence stretches between us—loud and suffocating.
Finally, he speaks. “You think I’m abusing you?”
My throat tightens. “Of course not. It was just an idea. I was thinking about writing again, and I—”
“You wanted to write a story about domestic abuse?” Damien says, cutting me off. “Is that it? You wanted to write me into one of your silly little stories like I’m the villain?”
My body starts to tremble. “N-no, of course not. No. I just—”
Damien grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling me into a sitting position. The scent of sour wine washes over my face as he leans in close to me. “I give you everything, Luca. This house. Your clothes. Your car. Everything you have, you have because of me. And this is how you see me?”
