Damon walked down the hallway of the second floor, his wet sleeves clinging uncomfortably to his forearms. His heart was a relentless drum in his chest, pumping adrenaline and guilt through his veins.
But it wasn't guilt for desiring his stepson. He had passed that milestone miles ago.
It was guilt for how much he had enjoyed breaking him today.
He stepped into the master bedroom, the doors shutting with a click. He went straight to his walk-in closet. He unbuttoned the ruined dress shirt with jerky, uncoordinated movements, stripping it off and tossing it into the laundry hamper.
He caught his reflection in the full-length mirror.
His chest was heaving. He looked wild, his hair slightly damp from the steam of Leo's bathroom, his eyes dark and dilated.
Damon braced his hands on the island in the center of the closet, dropping his head.
"God," Damon exhaled, the sound tearing from his throat.
