**ROSEANA**
My body instantly felt uncomfortable with our position. The small space in the driver's seat limits our movement, which causes our bodies to come too close to each other. I put my hand on Damon's chest, slightly pushing him away to create space between us. I feel that the air I breathe is less
I straddle in his lap, trying to get away from his grip, but his big calloused hands just tighten their hold on me. "Fuck!" Damon moaned softly. I stopped moving when I heard his voice struggling.
I rock my head to the side to stare at his face. Even though I was sitting on his lap, it was still not enough to talk to him with our heads level with each other. Our height difference is still evident. I will just be facing his shoulder if I do not adjust my neck.
I looked at him innocently, clueless about his sudden grunt of pain. "What's the matter? Are you okay?” I asked, concerned.
I was worried when he didn't answer. His eyes are closed while his head is laid back on his seat. His thick eyebrows are almost a single line.
Am I too heavy? I think I am so heavy that his legs are hurting. With that thought, I immediately moved to leave, sitting on his lap. I put one hand on his chest and the other on his strong legs, supporting my weight.
"What are you doing?" with labored breaths, he asked. I almost lost my breath when his deep black eyes opened, electrifying my whole system. His eyes scream danger. It screams desire.
I feel like I swallowed my tongue when that specific emotion shows up in his eyes. I tried to ignore what I saw. In our situation, it would be better for both of us if I just kept my mouth shut.
"I, uh," I said, closing my mouth again to stop myself from stuttering. "I can just sit on the passenger's seat," I explained.
I feel like my brain is not working properly. I am constantly swayed by his electrifying and soul-reading stare.
"No," he growled.
I absent-mindedly wet my lips and then slightly bit them. That is one of my mannerisms when I am nervous. I couldn't think of anything to answer him. I can't go against his will because I know that even though he is trying to calm himself down, his anger can't just be stopped that easily.
"Aren't we going home?" I ask.
I got no answer from him. I brought my gaze back to his face when he suddenly turned quiet. I saw him looking down, throwing deathly glares at the poor thing he was gazing at. I followed what he was looking at, and just like that, I was surprised when his hand, firmly holding my waist, slid towards my exposed thigh.
I didn't realize that the hem of my dress had risen, maybe because I was trying to get out of his lap earlier. My porcelain legs are now exposed for his eyes to feast on.
The feeling of his hand over my bare skin made me feel that familiar tingling sensation. I was nervous when I felt his slight caress. Having his hand on my skin is enough torture already; what more if he is caressing me?
I feel like I’ll have a fever from the emotions he is making me feel. To ease my mind and calm my raging heartbeat, I grabbed his hand and tried to remove it from my skin. I put it back on my waist. But he is just as stubborn as he is because he also returned his hand to my still-exposed legs.
"You dressed up." He spoke with his calmest tone.
"Not really." Without paying much attention to his words, I answered. My attention was on him when his hand left my thigh. As time goes on, his hands become more mischievous, and they are moving upward towards my femininity.
"You planned on going on a date with him."
That was not a question, but a damn strong statement. My eyes instantly flew to his face. I slightly moved my face away from him when he brought his body closer to me, trying to pin me between his masculine body and the steering wheel.
"Are you seeing him behind my back?" he asked.
That was a goddamn question, but why do I feel like he is accusing me? It sounded like he was so sure of it. Did he really think that I had another man?
I looked at him, bewildered. "What are you talking about? Lavigne is not my other man! We are not seeing each other! I am not seeing anyone!” I couldn't help but raise my voice because of his harsh accusing tone.
His grip tightened on me.
"Don't try to fool me, Roseana." He spoke freely. "Why would you leave the house without telling me if you are not going to see another man? Is he better than me? Did he give you more money than I did?"
He looked at the paper bag lying on the passenger's seat that I was holding earlier with rage. He looked like he wanted to throw it out of the car, and he did. I don't know how he did it, but he did actually throw it out.
My mouth hangs open at his actions. I looked at him angrily.
"Why would you do that?" I asked. If earlier it was only him who was angry, now even I am angry too.
I bought it for him! I even took the time to choose what I thought suited him the most! It was supposedly my first gift to him, even though I spent not my own money but his. And still! He just threw it away, like it was the most disgusting thing that he ever saw!
"What? Did he give it to you? He gifted you after grinding on his dick?!"
His words cut deep into my soul, breaking me into pieces he could never imagine. I thought I had heard all the hurtful words. I thought it wouldn't affect me anymore. But hearing it from him hurts me the most.
I saw how regret briefly flashed in his eyes, but it was instantly covered with anger as if he never felt guilty of what he said or of what he called me. His words kept playing in my head like a broken record that produced a screeching sound.
I want to slap him. I wanted to inflict pain on him, and the only thing that I could do was to hurt him physically, as I know it's impossible to hurt him emotionally. Why would he even feel hurt if I am not even someone he cares for? But I didn't. I did not slap him. I didn't push him away. I didn't hurt him.
I sit on his lap, doing nothing. I let his words penetrate my whole being, tearing me apart again.
"I am a whore."
I did not expect my voice to sound chilling. I thought I would cry like a baby once I opened my mouth, just as I always did after all these years, but I did not. Maybe I am too tired. I became tired of crying. My tears run dry. And this is what hurts the most. Crying was my way of easing the pain.
“Why did you even try saying those long sentences when you can just call me a whore?" I looked at his eyes directly. My lifeless eyes met his dangerous ones.
“I never thought all this time you were thinking of me as a gold digger and a woman who clings to powerful men for money.” That was what he meant by his words. I can’t blame him, though. I did use him for my benefit.
"I'm sorry." And just like I always did, I accepted the accusations and hurtful words that the world threw at me. It was my fault. Maybe I did something wrong that caused them to treat me this badly. Maybe I am the one to blame.
With all the strength left in me, I went away from his lap and went out of the car. Surprisingly, I was able to get away from him even though my knees were shaking and my feet felt limp.
I did not hear anything from him. I didn't try to look at his face. It will only remind me of the words that he said to me.
I approached and took the paper bag that he threw outside the car earlier. I breathed a sigh of relief that the contents were not damaged. I walk back towards the car. I stand near its window. "I bought this for you," I said softly. I placed it gently on the passenger seat and slowly walked away.