Page 166 of The Carnage We Keep

“The offer’s off the table now, dickhead.” I snatch my underwear up from the floor next to his chair. “You wanted to talk about my feelings? Congratulations. We talked about my feelings. But when you actually have needs?”

I smile sweetly at him, eyes blazing with fury.

“You can go fuck yourself. Enjoy the couch. Those sounds you’ll be hearing later will be me getting myself off.”

I turn, march upstairs, and slam the bedroom door behind me.

Fuck this man.

The supremely annoying thing is, as furious as I am right now, I’m still fucking horny.

Obnoxiously, distractingly so.

So even though I’m still feeling stabby, there’s a twitch in my pulse when I peel my clothes off again. There’s eagerness pulsing in my core as I open my underwear drawer and pull out the semi-realistic vibrating dildo.

By the time I’ve turned out the lights and made myself comfortable propped up against the headboard of the queen-sized bed, the throb between my legs is impossible to ignore.

The modestly sized rubber cock in my hand buzzes to life. I close my eyes and relax as I spread my thighs wide and ease the vibrating head to my opening.

Tingling, rippling pleasure hums through my core. I bite my lip, my eyes squeezing shut a little more to fully immerse myself in the sensation as I push the head in and out, then drag it up to my clit.

Goddammit.

I mean, it’s not unpleasurable. But it’s also not fireworks. My face scrunches up a little more as I push the toy inside, angling it to hit that spot on my front wall.

Buzzing. Humming. Tingles.

No fireworks.

I turn the vibration dial as high as it goes and grind the shaft of the toy against my clit. My face tightens even more, my eyes squeezing shut as I rock my hips, desperate for the release I need.

“You can fuck yourself better than that, little nightmare.”

Thankfully for our weird neighbors, the scream dies in my throat as Damiano’s low, velvety baritone rumbles through the dark bedroom. But I still instantly drop the toy and practically levitate off the bed as if to scramble away from the sound.

My pulse is galloping and my heart is clawing up my throat when my eyes snap to the doorway.

Damiano’s dark, glinting eyes pierce me from the shadows. He’s still shirtless, and the dim light from downstairs sends shadows across every groove and indent of his muscled body. His arms are gripping either side of the doorway, as if caging me in.

My eyes drop to his shorts, and my breath sucks in at the massive bulge tenting them.

“W-what are—” My throat is so tight I can barely get the words out.

Damiano steps into the room. He moves right to me, gobbling up the distance between us as my heart slams so hard against my chest it feels like it’s going to wedge itself between my ribs and permanently hide there.

“What are you do⁠—”

“Taking over.”

The breath whooshes out of me when Damiano grabs my ankle and yanks me forcibly down to the foot of the bed. He pulls me to the edge until my legs hang over it with him between them.

His big hands grab the backs of my knees, pushing them up and apart until they're spread wide, my giant of a husband standing between them.

Bare-chested.

Hard.

His dark eyes burning, black fire flecked with gold as they cut into me.