His arms come around me, circle, pull. I follow him onto my side as he lies down beside me, enveloping me against his chest. “It makes you very upset to be abandoned…but I am losing grasp on my senses. Mirabelle…” His fingers thread into my hair, close, and tug the strands. “Oh…Mirabelle.”
Tension evaporates.
The rampant beat of his heart rests against my cheek.
He’s a liar, and a manipulator…and his heart is racing. His arms are quivering. His fingers are burying themselves in my side.
This is…undeniably…pro.
Closing my eyes, I let the exhaustion of existing take me away.
Chapter 21
?
Precious, wicked angel.
Damion
It should not turn me on to learn that Mirabelle is, actually, evil, yet…
I drag my gaze to the woman who showed up outside my bedroom door hours ago looking like a seductive temptress, teased me within a centimeter of my brain, and then fell asleep on my bed like she wasn’t in a desperate man’s arms.
I should really be recording this as a massive negative point against her, for the sake of my breaking sanity.
Unfortunately, I have instead written the time, the date…and a swear word in my Mirabelle journal.
The woman makes a soft noise, stretches, and rolls over, finding her stuffed pig. I stare as she cuddles the little thing and curls up in a ball.
Cuteadds itself to my incredibly thorough records.
Then another swear. Thenadorable.
Innocent as a succubus, she would have let me do anything to her. Yet now, she’s asleep on my bed with a stuffed pig.
Do I have regrets?
…
No.
No, I don’t.
Well…
I shake my head, fix my gaze on my journal, and run my fingers through my hair as I tap my pen against the lines. “No,” I whisper, “you don’t.”
I might. But they’re not real regrets so much as they are desperate pouting desires going unhomed.
I did not know she was capable of this event; therefore, I don’t know her well enough to make lifelong decisions yet.
I write,This is torture.
I swallow.
I might like torture.
Letting my head fall into my hand, I free a tight breath. I think I need an emotional-support pig.
