Page 93 of Sticks & Serpents

I thought back to our last encounter with his mother—the way she had twisted every word like a knife, using them to cut into his soul until there was nothing left but fear and resentment. Would moving in with Cooper really set him free? Or would it just replace one cage with another?

“What if she tries to come after you?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“I’ll deal with her.” His voice hardened, conviction coursing through it like wildfire.

But I could still see the flicker of doubt behind his eyes—a fear that even freedom wouldn’t be enough to break the chains that bound him so tightly.

As we pulled up to Cooper’s townhouse, I felt a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirl in my stomach. The building stood tall, nestled among the other charming homes on the block, with warm brick and a welcoming front porch adorned with potted plants. It looked like a place where laughter could echo off the walls and memories could be made.

The door creaked open as we stepped inside, revealing an open space filled with soft light that spilled through large windows. The air smelled faintly of fresh paint and wood polish, mingling with the warmth of home-cooked meals that lingered in the corners. A cozy couch sat invitingly in front of a coffee table littered with magazines and empty mugs. This had to be Everly's doing, I was sure of it.

Before I could take it all in, Damien pulled me toward the bedroom. His grip was firm but not forceful; it felt deliberate, as if he needed this connection as much as I did. My heart raced as he guided me down the hallway, away from the chaos of the outside world.

Once inside, he closed the door behind us without a sound. The room was simple yet elegant—neutral colors adorned the walls, with a large bed taking center stage, dressed in crisp white linens that promised comfort. A few personal touches—a hockey stick propped against the wall, framed photographs capturing moments of laughter—made it feel like home.

Damien didn’t speak; he simply studied my face with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. I felt vulnerable under his gaze—the fading red mark on my cheek from where his mother had hit me a reminder of how fragile everything was between us.

His fingers ghosted over my skin, light as air yet sending electric shocks through me. I held my breath, surprised by how gentle he was being. Then he leaned in closer, pressing his lips softly against the bruise as if trying to erase it completely.

The kiss lingered there for what felt like an eternity—tender and fierce all at once—reminding me that even amid turmoil and pain, there were moments like this: moments when everything else faded away except for us.

My breath caught in my throat, and the tightness swelled within me as I looked at Damien. His expression was vulnerability and defiance, the kind that always made my heart race.

The rawness of his knuckles drew my gaze. It broke something inside me to see him like this, battling not just the world but himself.

I cupped his jaw gently, turning his face toward mine. He flinched slightly at my touch, but then relaxed into it, as if he were allowing me to anchor him amidst the storm swirling in his eyes.

Without thinking, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his knuckles, one by one. The warmth of his skin against my mouth felt electric. Each kiss was soft and deliberate, like I was trying to heal something deeper than just bruised flesh.

He searched my eyes for something—maybe understanding or perhaps a way out of the darkness he seemed trapped in. But all I could offer was my presence and these small gestures of affection that felt so monumental in moments like this.

His breathing steadied as I kissed the last knuckle, lingering there longer than necessary. The connection sparked between us; it was almost tangible. I wanted to take away his pain—the scars left by fists and words alike—and replace them with something softer.

Damien watched me, something wrecked in his eyes that made my heart ache. “You always do that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do what?” I tilted my head, trying to understand the weight behind his words.

His gaze dropped, as if he couldn’t bear to meet mine any longer. “Look at me like I’m worth something.”

The truth hit me hard, and my chest tightened. He was worth everything. But no one had ever told him that, had they? Not his mother. Not his father. And certainly not the cruel world that had shaped him into this fierce and broken man standing before me.

I stepped back, fingers trailing to the hem of his shirt. “Let me see you.”

Damien didn’t move at first. He stood there, still as stone, holding his breath like he feared what would happen next. But then, finally, he nodded.

With that small gesture of surrender, I gently tugged at the fabric of his shirt, unbuttoning it one by one and letting it fall to the floor. The sight of him sent a rush of warmth through me—muscles taut beneath skin marked by scars. Each mark was a reminder of how far he had come and how deeply he had suffered.

I wanted to reach out and trace each scar with my fingertips, but I hesitated for just a moment—uncertain if I should tread lightly or dive in headfirst.

“Damien…” My voice wavered slightly as I took in the vulnerability etched across his features. There was an unspoken invitation in the way he stood before me now, stripped bare both physically and emotionally.

He watched me with those eyes—haunted yet hopeful—as if daring me to break down the walls he had built around himself for so long.

And so I did. Slowly, deliberately, I stepped closer again until I could feel the warmth radiating from him—the heat of a body alive but shadowed by pain.

I stepped closer, my fingers grazing his chest. His breath hitched at my touch, and I felt the warmth radiate from him, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. The moment felt monumental; he was laid bare before me, not just physically but emotionally too. This time, he didn’t hide.

“Let me,” I whispered as I reached for his slacks. He nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, and I slowly unbuttoned them, feeling the tension coil between us with every movement.

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