Page 51 of Off-Limits
“Excuse me?”
Damon turns to look at me. I want to tell him to fuck off, but I am not poking that bear right now. Instead, I turn and face Harry. “Probably best you do as theassholesays. I think he’s had a bad day.”
Damon’s eyebrows cave and the tick in his jaw returns, but he doesn’t move even though I can tell he wants to.
“Fuck this. This is bullshit,” Harry curses.
Damon and I don’t move. We’re in a stand-off, neither one of us backing down, and I can see it’s taking everything inhim not to react. However, when the garage door slams shut and we know everyone has left the workshop for the day, he moves.
I’m up against the wall in a nanosecond, Damon’s hard body pressing into mine while he fists my hair, and I can’t stop the want rising up inside me even if I wanted. Lust dances over my ire toward him, making a mockery of it.
He doesn’t get to do this to me, not again, but when I open my mouth to tell him as much, his face is in my neck and I lock up, unable to move when I feel the tremors vibrate against my body.
“Why are you testing my every fucking resolve, Little Dottie?”
“Stop. Calling. Me. That,” I demand, but the shake in my voice gives me away.
I feel his smirk on my neck, but when I go to move, his grip on me intensifies. Pain pricks my scalp, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing so. Instead, I stay still, hating the pulsing in my clit when I remember his mouth down there.
No one has ever gone down on me like that, made me come like that, but I’ll be fucked all the way to hell with a cactus before I ever let him in on that dirty, little secret.
“You’re awfully quiet, Little Dottie. Are you thinking about my head between your thighs like you do every night, baby? Are you remembering how my mouth felt on your pretty little cunt? Or maybe you’re thinking of my tongue lashing your clit, or my fingers deep in your hole as you squirted all over them?”
“Stop it,” I choke out, my eyes fluttering closed.
“I can still taste you on my tongue, Dottie, feel you on my fingers, and it fucks with me every single time I see you. But you understand that, don’t you? Because you feel the same when you see me.”
“Damon, please…”
I have no idea what I’m asking for. I’m starting to question my own damn sanity, but he releases me, putting as much distance between us as possible.
“Leave,” he tries, but it comes out gravelly.
“Damon?”
“Now, Dorothy! I won’t be able to - you need to leave.”
With one final look at him, I shake my head with my emotions whirling inside of me. I don’t know what I’m feeling or what I even want, all I know is he’s doing is the right thing. I stop at the threshold and keep my back to him, but I leave him with some parting words, ones I hope will help him deal with whatever war he’s wrestling in his mind. “Thank you.”
I don’t give him time to reply. I dash out of the office toward my car. Leaning my head on my headrest, I close my eyes and let everything consume me.
It hurts.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I open my eyes and grip the steering wheel, knowing I’m about to cause myself more pain. Turning the engine over, I put the car in first gear and leave the workshop, heading to the place where the pain first began.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m parked out the front of the house I grew up in. Even though it’s not completely dark yet, my father has left the light on the fishtank that sits outside the front door to signal he has pot for sale.
Heaving in a breath, I get out of the car. Making my legs move, I step up the six stairs and glance at the flyscreen and listen. I can’t hear anything, but that doesn’t mean mum and dad aren’t fighting.
I rap my knuckles on the door.
“Coming!” My mother’s voice causes my heart to skip a beat.
When the door opens, her dark brown eyes find mine and start to water.
“Dottie? You came back.”
“Hey Ma.” I don’t finish my sentence before her arms around me, squeezing.
