He pulls me back forcefully, flinging me to the leather couch near his office walk-in closet. A loud scream escapes my lips as I land on the settee with a thud.
What the hell?
Before I can jerk myself up, he racks up before me, his coat and tie lying on the floor. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up above his elbows. I quaver, this time with immeasurable fear. I am a sobbing mess, and he is getting a kick out of my pain. I jerk my back up from the seat, kneeling on it.
"Damian..." I cry.
"You don't get to walk into my life and leave when you f*****g please, you b***h!" He takes another step, and I stand on my heels on the couch—a horrible idea because, in a flicker, I'm hauled down to the floor, his fangs almost tearing the thin fabric of my dress.
As I desperately attempt to
