Page 28 of Sweet Temptation

Once I believe she's wet enough for me, I remove my belt before sliding off my jeans and slipping my boxers down my body.

I just want to get this over with before I second guess myself and remember things I shouldn't. Gripping my length in one hand, I pump slowly before sliding a condom over myself.

Stacey—I caught her name during foreplay—wiggles with excitement as she watches me. Gripping myself again, I slowly push inside her, then flex my hips before thrusting in and out at a fast pace.

Stacey's moans fill the bedroom as we continue, and I let my mind confuse me. Pulling back, I sit there, my forehead covered in sweat, before I look at the confused brunette. ''I can't do this. I'm sorry. I just can't do this,'' I say quickly, ripping the condom from my dick.

Once I have my jeans safely on my waist again, I throw on my shirt and head for the door. ''Again, I'm really sorry,'' I reply before leaving her naked and sprawled out on the bed. Why isn't my head in the game? This should be easy. A fuckable girl who just wants to spread her legs, no strings attached.

Fuck. Why does my mind keep screwing me over? Hanna chose what she wants, and I can't change her mind, so why can't I move on and go back to being me. Frustrated, I wander back downstairs, grabbing a beer and chugging it back.

This wouldn't be so hard if she fucking realized what she wanted before I had my head between her sweet little thighs. Grumbling, I make my way toward the door of the sorority house.

This night fucking sucks. I make a beeline for my car before I slide into the driver's seat. Once the car shifts into first gear, I head back to the condo.

I should have ignored my damn thoughts and gave myself what I needed. The same growl of frustration erupts from my lips as I slam into park outside the condo, angering me even more.

Flinging the door to my bedroom open, I saunter inside and close it behind me. Why does she get me so fucked up? She has me so fucking crazy that I literally couldn't even fuck another girl.

Flipping the TV on the Boston vs Edmonton game, I shove my arms behind my head and grumble. Staring off into the TV, not even paying attention to the hockey teams.

How can one girl fuck with your brain. Fuck. Screw it. Turning off my TV, I throw on my leather jacket and exit the house, shooting my mother a quick text before I reverse out of the driveway.

A twelve-hour drive is literally the last thing I want, but I need a distraction. I need to do something to distract myself.

The twelve-hour drive is not a picnic, and by the time I get there, it's almost the afternoon. I instantly regret my decision once I step foot in my childhood home. My mother is perched on a lounge with two of her bodyguards on their knees in front of her.

"Really?!" I growl as I stalk toward the kitchen and ignore my mother. Fucking seriously, of course I walk in on my mother with men between her legs. Couldn't get worse than that.

The clicking of heels makes me turn, and I glare at her while she fastens her robe around her naked body. "Damon, I thought you weren't coming? Where's Damien?"

Squaring my shoulders, I turn to face her. "Not here, as you can see, and I changed my mind."

Her eyes search me before she speaks again. "What do you want, Damon? You weren't supposed to be here," she barks out harshly.

Flexing my arms, I stare her straight in the eyes. "Figured a change of scenery would be nice. I know you called yesterday because there are traitors to be tortured."

My mother's eyes scan her surroundings before her eyes meet mine. ''Where is Damien?''

I dig my teeth into my lip before I speak again. ''It's just me."

She nods a couple of times before curling her finger at me. "Follow me, then." I raise a brow as I follow behind her to our basement full of cells.

A man with sandy blonde hair is chained to the rafters while my youngest brother stands next to him with a meat grinder. Fucking sick fuck is what he is.

"Baby boy, your brother is here to join you," my mother calls, her voice void of emotion. I can see where Soren gets his emotionless side from.

Soren flicks his gaze to me. His face is painted in blood while fingers scatter the floor by his feet. If anyone loves torture, it's Soren.

The man loves the sight of blood, and he loves using his toys—mainly a hook, especially when he digs it into their spine and lets them hang. Nobody is as sick as him, not even Damien. "This is my time. I'm the one who likes this. So why ask for help?" he questions, bringing a sadistic smirk to his lip. All while dropping the meat grinder and bringing a carving tool to the side of the man's face with no emotion for his screams. He really is a sadist.

"Well, I'm telling you, your brother is helping," my mother growls before disappearing up the staircase.

I watch Soren with a tilt of my head. My brother never wants help with torture; he likes to perfect his art in his torture without a helping hand. He prefers it that way. "Well, if you're helping, grab one of my toys and get over here," he snaps.

Rolling my shoulders, I grab the nail gun and join him. This is going to be a long couple of days.

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