Page 155 of Watch Me Burn
Every kiss, every caress, every whispered endearment is a promise between two damaged souls who found salvation in each other.
As I drift in the aftermath, I can’t bring myself to regret a single choice that brought me to this moment.
Chapter forty-one
Luna
Isteady myself against the tiled wall as steam swirls around us, the hot water finally running cool. Damien’s hands linger on my hips, his thumbs tracing lazy circles, promises I won’t let him deliver. Not now. Not when my stomach is literally eating itself from the inside out.
“Luna. We’re already in here. It’s the perfect place to get dirty.”
I press my palm flat against his chest. “No.”
“No?”
His lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout that I never imagined I’d see on the man in front of me.
“I’m so weak from hunger, I’m going to pass out if you don’t get me some food.” I duck under his arm and reach for my towel. The cool air hits my wet skin, sending a shiver rippling through me. “I’m serious, Damien.”
He crowds into my space as I wrap the towel around my body, his mouth ghosting over the pulse in my neck, and my heartbeat stutters and jumps against his lips.
“How about I take you to lunch at Nancy’s?”
The offer tempts me more than it should. But reality crashes back in. The one that exists beyond this bathroom, beyond his bed, beyond the bubble we’ve constructed around ourselves for the last twenty hours. Where the outside world and all its complications don’t exist.
“I can’t.” I turn to face him, water droplets racing down his chest in paths I want to follow with my tongue. The sculpted planes of his stomach, the sharpcut of muscle at his hips—everything about him is designed to make me forget my responsibilities.
Focus, Luna.
“I need to get to the sanctuary. Maren’s there alone. None of the volunteers are coming in today.”
His jaw tightens, the muscle jumping in a way I’ve learned is a sign he’s trying not to argue.
“You have to eat.”
“I know.” I step past him into his bedroom, his gaze tracking my movements. The weight of his attention is almost physical, sliding over my skin in heated waves. “Come with me. I’ll make grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for all of us.”
“What are you, twelve?”
I turn a sharp gaze on him, ready to defend my food choices, but his teasing smirk melts my irritation.
“You can stay here and find something to eat on your own, if you prefer.”
“Fine.” The word comes out clipped, edged with frustration. His fingers find the edge of my towel, tugging. “But first—”
I slap his hand away. “Stop it.”
He grins, shameless, and tries again. I catch his wrist this time, laughing because this playful back-and-forth is new.
“You’re impossible.”
He dips his head to kiss my shoulder, and my traitorous body leans into the touch before my brain catches up and reminds me we have places to be.
“Damien.” I step away, putting distance between us before I give in. “I need clothes.”
I came over yesterday afternoon for a conversation I was sure would end in tears and recriminations. Some final, terrible closure that would let me move on with my life. I hadn’t anticipated the revelation that shattered and rebuilt everything I thought I knew about him. Staying the night wasn’t even on my radar. Or stayingthe morning. Or agreeing to forever with the serial killer who broke my heart and then somehow pieced it back together with blood-stained hands.
My clothes sit folded on top of his dresser, neat in a way that screams Damien’s particular brand of control. He must have gone downstairs at some point when I was sleeping and grabbed them from where we’d abandoned them in his office. I pick up my jeans, shaking them out.
