Chapter 80

Lyra

Oh damn.

Fuck.

My Damon.

I love that he defended me in front of that bitch. I love it so much I might actually cry. Or scream. Or crawl under the table and hump the air just thinking about it.

Gosh, the way he stood in front of me, towering like a whole wall of sin and testosterone, voice calm but lethal, looking like he could throw her out the window and then bend me over the counter before she even hit the ground—God. I think I just fell in love with him all over again.

And yes. I said my Damon. Because I don’t care what anyone says, not even that dusty-ass, bleached-blonde ex-wife with the $20,000 ass and $3 personality.

He is mine. Mine in the way his voice dropped when he told her off. Mine in the way he touched me after, like I was delicate and dangerous at the same time. Mine in the way he kissed my temple like I was a goddamn reward for surviving the storm.

He looked so hot doing it too. Like full-on, ruin-my-life,