Page 146 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

Eyes falling to my neck, he places his hand above my collar bone, his thumb and index finger gently resting across the base of my throat. I suppress the wince that comes with the palpating of the tender, bruised flesh there.

“I wish I could heal them,” I say on a breath.

He nods and slips his hand up the side of my neck with a feather-light touch. He cups the entire nape of my neck with his large hand, tilting my head back for a deep, soul-rending kiss. Exhaling slowly through his nose, he tilts his head and slides the split in his tongue over the swell of my lower lip, a brief warning before he tastes the inside of my mouth. Damien’s kisses are usually so quick—even a little bit brutal, but the way he kisses me now...it’s gentle. Mournful. I light my hands over his waist and he guides me slowly backward. All the while, I meet his kisses with my own. When my back touches the far wall his hands slip down to my hips and he lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his middle.

He parts the kiss, cool piercings catching my lip as he whispers, “You’re going to make me leave.” Not a question, exactly. But it sounds like he hopes I’ll say no anyway.

“I’ll make you stay in your band,” I say as he brushes the point of his nose down the line of my neck.

Suddenly, a sharp pain spears through my shoulder right where it meets my neck. “Damien,” I snap, trying to sound angry, but it comes out strangled and weak instead. The pain rises to a peak as he bites down harder. I squirm against him, bucking my hips, but he doesn’t budge. Panic seizes my throat, but just as quickly as the feeling rises, it taken over by a bliss as sweet and viscous as honey.

He finally opens his mouth, tongue lapping at the abused spot. “I’m so fucking frustrated,” he hisses against my shoulder. “Nobody told me that when I got everything I’ve ever wanted, it would all be at the same fucking time.”

“I know,” I whimper.

“And I just want to fuck you into this wall. But you’re hurt.”

“You could—”

“No,” he growls.

Even as he says it, he thrusts, the rough fabric of his jeans dragging over the seam of my lounging shorts, pressing it into my clit and dragging. I whimper, balling my fists in his shirt. “Damien, please,” I beg.

“Not while you’re hurt,” he grunts, thrusting again.

That drag again makes my eyes roll back, head slumping against the wall. He looks down between us, and I follow his gaze to the impressive bulge tenting his jeans as it vanishes and reappears past my hips.

“Damien—”

“I’m not fucking you, Lillith,” he growls. “If you want to come, you can do it like this or not at all.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a fucking jealous prick,” he says. “And if you’re going to make me be without you for two straight weeks, then I’m going to make you suffer a little bit too.”

He groans, his abs trembling as he grinds another delicious thrust against me. The fabric of my shorts clings to the wetness coalescing there, making it drag just a little more against my clit.

Damien pins my hips against the wall with his large hands, holding me still so we both get more friction. “God, you’re fucking unreal. How does your pussy feel this good when I’m not even inside you?”

“I don’t know,” I gasp.

“You going to miss me when I’m gone?”

“O-of course,” I whimper.

“Good.” A long. Slow. Drag of his erection.

“Can you go faster?”

“Manners?”

“P-please? Pretty please? The most prettiest of pleases?”

He chuckles and nods. Increasing the pace. It’s steady and perfect and I don’t know what else I expected from a drummer, but in no time, I’m careening toward climax.

My thighs are slick with my own arousal, but for some reason I can’t seem to fall over the edge. “Bite,” I whisper.

He doesn’t ask for clarification, doesn’t make sure he heard me right. He lowers his mouth to the shoulder he didn’t bite earlier and clamps down, hard. I squeeze my eyes shut as that final tension coils up in my lower stomach, then one more perfect stroke has me shattering against him.