Chapter 17
I should say something. Anything. But all that came out was a shaky breath, my eyes glued to the way his hand wrapped around himself.
My knees threatened to buckle.
"Which would it be, Peach?" He whispered. "Or perhaps, you'd like me to make the choice for you."
Before I could form a response, he had fisted my dress in his hands and flung it into the pool.
My heart dropped. "What the hell!?"
"Come get it, Peach," Damon said with a smile, and then he turned and walked towards the edge of the pool. And then, he dived in.
For a heartbeat, I just stood there—stunned, seething, yet stupidly aware of the ache building low in my stomach.
The splash echoed in my ears, and I hated myself for the part of me that didn’t care about the dress, that didn’t care about decency, that onl
