Page 47 of Fragile Twisted Vows

Hell, this wasn’t really about anything. He saw me in a short skirt and he wanted to fuck me, that’s it. I know better than to read further into it, despite my own, desperate, stupid feelings. Desperate feelings that have me focusing on the sound of him gathering his breath. Desperate feelings that have me clinging to the sting of his hand on my ass because it’s the only touch I have to remember after tonight.

I know as soon as I turn around, after he removes this rope and my wrists fall from the bed post, Damien Reed will be long gone. I’m an intelligent woman, I’ve been through enough to have a bit of wisdom in my day, but that doesn’t mean that hope and love can’t make me somewhat stupid.

Okay,a lotof stupid.

He does exactly that too. He removes the rope and releases me instantly, never standing too close. I can hear him shuffle around to gather his clothes as I straighten myself on the bed. He never undressed me, but I am a mess underneath my clothes. Does it make me gross if I don’t want to clean up? If I don’t want to wipe him away from me?

Maybe I am sick and twisted like him.

“I have to go,” he grumbles as he zips up his pants and grabs his tie from the bed.

I watch him from the corner of my eye as he stares at the tie for a second too long.

I left bite marks on it. Wet indents from my teeth. Evidence of my arousal. And he’s eyeing it up. Will he wear it? Will he put it back on because he wants the reminder? Because he wants to remember the sounds of my muffled groans as he fingered me?

The answer is no. Because eventually, he shoves it into his back pocket as he straightens his shirt.

I sigh through that small bit of rejection that I feel and stand as I take out the ponytail he messed up. I run my hands through my waves as they fall to my breasts and when I look up, I find him watching me. And there’s lingering arousal in his gaze, but suddenly, he seems annoyed.

“I have to clean up the mess you made the other day in the warehouse,” he growls out, and I want to roll my eyes at him, but I stop myself because the memory of blood and a blown out head fills me.

He has to dispose of the dead body of the man he killed right in front of me. A man that he killed for me because he was running at me with a knife.

I want to stand there in the fear that the memory suddenly brings, but I know better.

I am stuck in this lifestyle of Damien Reed whether I like it or not. I cannot hide from his brutality, from the cruelty of his world. The best I can do is face it. And face it head on.

Which is exactly why I meet his gaze once more and cross my arms with a sharp and quick demand.

“Take me with you,” I bark softly, trying to sound both cold and clipped.

He’s surprised by this, but his annoyance is still clear as his hazel eyes narrow on me.

“No-”

“Yes,” I grunt out, cutting him out.

“It’s my fault, like you said. I should help clean up my mess, shouldn’t I?” I propose, his head tilted at me in curiosity now.

“Look, you’re forcing me into marriage. I watched a man die because of you. I can at least see how you plan to cover this up. I need to be in this with you if you want this to be authentic, if you want me to cover your ass when you need it. No secrets,” I say, and his eyes are still narrowed on me, though I can’t tell what emotion lies within them.

“I’ll never need you to cover my ass, Lucille. I’m a grown man-”

“Who’s marrying the senator’s other daughter because the government is snooping around your shit. So you want this one to be clueless as well?” I bite back and I know he wants to decline, I know he wants me to be clueless, but he should know by now, I don’t shut up until I get what I want. And if I do, it’s because I’m plotting a way to escape quietly to get what I want. It’s what my family taught me to do, forced me to do.

And I guess after a while, he does get this. He does realize who I am and what I will do. Because eventually, he sneers at me and turns on his heel. And when he reaches the door to leave, he gives me a quick wave to come after him.

And I do instantly.

Well, after I stop by my room to change clothes, which agitates him even further, but I haven’t had a second to clean up after what we just…did. I swear, my legs are shaking the entire journey that I make from his room to mine. Initially, I planned on changing into comfier clothes, ones that I don’t mind getting…dirty. Being as the last time I witnessed him working I ended up covered in blood, however, when I reach my room, I’m rendered speechless.

There sitting in the small, two step alcove with bay windows lies a massive easel with a fresh canvas on it. My mouth drops as I walk to it, my eyes moving from the canvas to the wooden art station next to. It is filled with brand new acrylics, brushes, oil pastels and even water colors. I’m mesmerized by all of it when I run my fingers down the side of the easel, tears threatening to pool in my eyes because I’ve never had anything this nice before. My parents refused to buy me any supplies other than my books and pencils. All of the paints and small canvases came from my own pocket so nothing was very lavish. My mother didn’t want me ruining her carpet or drapes and I never had space for something like this at Jenni’s.

This is a first for me. A dream come true. And I can’t help but realize that today is suddenly filled with a lot of suspiciously wonderful things.

I hear Damien clear his throat behind me, but I don’t turn to look at him when I speak. I am too enthralled with this.

“Did you do this?” I whisper, my voice shaky and choked up. I know he can hear me though. I can feel his discomfort in the air.

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