Forget (Changing Colors Book 1)

by Alcorn, N. A.

  The anger in his eyes stops me in my tracks. “Don’t fucking say it,” he says in a stern tone.

  In an instant, I’m on my back, Dylan gazing down at me. “Is that what the pictures were for? To gauge what I was really thinking? To see if my expression matched my words?”

  I nod, shutting my eyes in embarrassment.

  He grips my chin. “Look at me, Brooke.” His voice has turned soft. “I’m making a promise to you, right fucking now. I’ll always be honest with you. Even when the truth threatens to kill me, I won’t lie to you. Believe me when I say this, your past, the honesty you just revealed to me, doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

  But I haven’t told you everything . . . I ignore the stabbing sensation in my chest

  “It doesn’t change how fucking gorgeous I think you are. And it definitely doesn’t change my attraction to you.” His mouth is on mine, kissing me roughly for a few seconds. “I could never think of you as disgusting. I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry no one was there to protect you. You deserved so much more than your terrible parents and that vile piece of shit that preyed on you.” His words lull my demons to sleep.

  His mouth moves down my body, licking and sucking at the sensitive flesh. “God, you’re beautiful.” He pushes my legs up until I’m spread open for him and buries his face between my thighs. “You have the most perfect pussy on the planet. I’ve never had anything better than your taste on my tongue.” His mouth works me over until I’m screaming his name.

  He kneels on the bed, grabbing a condom from the nightstand, and before I can calm my panting breaths, he is hovering over me, poised at my entrance. “Dieu, je te veux.”

  “Please, Dylan, I need this . . .” I need you. Because I do. His actions speak louder than any words ever could. He’s showing me that none of it matters. That everything I confessed didn’t change a thing.

  It’s exactly what I need.

  He works himself into me slowly until every perfect inch of him is inside. His rhythm starts off unhurried, each thrust increasing in speed and intensity.

  Our bodies are fluent. His skin soothes mine. And the way he’s looking down at me makes me feel like he has the power to dive into my eyes, remove all of my pain, and taste every single one of my daydreams.

  His breaths are coming out in erratic pants by the time he’s reached a smooth and steady pace, hitting every nerve ending that’s greedy for another release. My panting moans and incomprehensible murmurs encourage him further. He kisses me hard, sliding his cock out until only the tip of him stays inside. He grabs my hands, lifting them above my head. His mouth is near my ear. “Christ you make me wild. I need to fuck you now, Brooke. Hard. I need to bury myself so deep inside your perfect cunt that I don’t know where I end, and you begin.”

  “Yes,” I beg, hips erratic and restless. My hands grip his backside trying to pull him closer.

  In one jarring thrust, he’s buried to the hilt, face buried in my neck as he chants my name.

  “Fuck, you’re tight. So bloody tight. Nothing in the world feels this good.” He drives into me, deep and powerful movements that jolt my body up the bed. “I’m so close, love.” His thumb rubs my clit. In a pained voice he pleads, “But I need you there with me. Let go, Brooke. Let go with me.”

  And I do. I don’t think about my need for control that always trumps my need for pleasure. I submit to him. I trust him. I fly over the edge, floating inside the realm of euphoria.

  He thrusts once, twice, and then comes shouting my name, the weight of his shaking body pressing me into the bed.

  As I slowly float down from my climax, I think about how letting him take control feels good. It feels right.

  “Brooke,” he whispers my name like a prayer, gently kissing my lips. His mouth is soft and sweet against mine.

  He soothes and ignites something deep inside of me. He dances with my angels and silences my demons with a mere whisper of my name from his lips.

  Over the years, there are parts of my soul that Jamie has helped heal, but none of them are as deep as the wound that starts to sew itself together while I’m wrapped up in Dylan’s arms.

  “ANY SONG REQUESTS, BROOKE?” Dylan yells from downstairs.

  After my shocking confession, and the mind-blowing sex that followed, we laid in bed arguing over who had more energy to get up and grab refreshments. My compelling argument of being the only one with a sweet pair of tits won the battle.

  “I know you’re a huge Mariah fan, but I refuse to put that shite on my stereo,” he adds, voice filled with humor.

  “Beyoncé? Taylor Swift? Ohhhhhh, if you’ve got Nick Jonas’s new album, crank that shit up!” I feign excitement.

  Sweet Dreams starts to blare throughout his flat. I’m laughing at the idea that he actually has this downloaded, but I do love this song. The catchy beat could get anyone to move their hips and shake their ass. Beyoncé only makes it through the chorus, and then she’s gone, quickly replaced by Mick Jagger singing Wild Horses.

  “Sorry, but that’s about all I could handle,” he calls over the music.

  “You’re showing your true colors! Replacing America’s Queen of Pop with your hometown favorites!” I shout.

  His loud chuckles echo off the walls.

  A few minutes later, he sets my phone on my belly, setting our bottles of water on the nightstand. “Check your messages. The screen must have lit up twenty times when I was downstairs.”

  “It’s probably Lindsay,” I say, sitting up. And sure enough, there are about a hundred missed calls and text messages. She must have been demon dialing me after my last text. I’m thankful I put it on silent. “Yeah . . .” I giggle as I read a few of the texts. “It was my crazy-ass best friend.”

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Seriously?!?’

  ‘YOU ARE SUCH A WHORE.’

  I only get through half of the messages when he asks, “So deep confessions aside, can I bask in the glory that is being the only guy that’s ever made you come?”

  “And here I thought you were a perfect English gentleman?” I cock an eyebrow at him.

  “I think those perfect tits and that pretty little cunt of yours would agree that I’m quite gentlemanly. Always putting their needs first. Always making sure they’re well and sated.”

  “You’re crazy,” I say through a giggle.

  A mischievous grin hints at his lips. “What, you don’t think they’d agree with me? I guarantee they’re on my side.”

  Before I can give a sarcastic reply, I’m on my back in one second, and the sheet is yanked off my naked body the next. Dylan’s face is at my chest, his hands grip my breasts, pushing them together. “Ladies, you’re looking—”

  “What the hell?” I start to sit up, but he holds me down, hands still grasping my boobs.

  “Shhhh,” he admonishes. His breath brushes across my sensitive skin. “You’re no longer a part of this conversation.” The water has cooled his mouth down. My nipples harden in response.

  “Sorry about that rude interruption, Brooke’s tits. Now, what was I saying? Oh right, you’re looking quite lovely today, ladies,” he says, sucking one pert nipple into his mouth and then releasing it with a loud pop.

  I blush from head to toe, biting my cheek to stop from giggling. The man is outrageous. Sexy, but definitely, batshit crazy.

  “You’re little bombshells, you know that? I swear you could stop wars.” He repeats the torturous process on the other. “I know you’re on my side. And don’t worry your pretty little nipples, I’ll always make sure you feel good. Now, ladies, if you’ll excuse me, it’s high time I have a chat with the queen.” The tip of his tongue licks a line straight across my chest, before starting a slow descent down my stomach.

  I stifle a moan, refusing to let my back arch towards him. Have you seen his ego? Adorably playful or not, no way in hell will I encourage him.

  He slides down my body, gripping my thighs and opening them wide. His fingers spread th
e lips of my sex apart.

  “Hey . . .” I try to sound stern, but it comes out all wrong. The soft chuckle vibrating against my sex is proof.

  Despite the pulsating ache that’s taken up residence below my belly, I stay strong. And like the good, stubborn girl I am, I swallow my moans.

  “All hail the queen. It’s me, your new king . . . And my oh my, you’re looking pretty fucking perfect right now. Pink . . . wet . . . I can tell you’re excited to see me.” He flicks his tongue against my clit. “You’re exquisite when you’re wrapped around my cock, your tight little walls squeezing me like a vice. I’m positive you’re the answer to world peace.” He slides a finger inside of me. “Yes,” he nods, watching my hips move with his rhythm. “No doubt this sweet cunt could bring peace to the Middle East.”

  “What?” I ask, half-laughing, half-moaning from the feel of the come-hither motion that’s thoroughly distracting me.

  He grins, ignoring my question and continues his conversation with my pussy—the newly appointed Queen/world problem solver. “Brooke doesn’t believe that you’re on my side, but I know better.” Another finger joins the first, his thumb pressing circles against my clit. “I want you to remember, pretty baby, I’m the only man that’s ever put you first, and I promise, when you’re with me, you’ll always come first . . . and last.”

  His fingers slip out of me, and before I can demand he put them right back where they were, strong hands grip my thighs, holding me to the bed. Talented mouth punctuates his statement by licking and sucking at my clit until I’m moaning his name.

  I come in thirty seconds flat, hands gripping the sheets, thighs shaking, and loudly screaming, “All Hail the Queen!”

  Goddamn, he’s good.

  I read Lindsay’s last message out loud . . . We’re heading over to Dylan’s place now since you can’t seem to multitask while his dick is inside of you. “I wonder when your brother and my best friend will get—” I start to say, but I’m interrupted by the sound of Lindsay’s voice and the front door opening.

  Dylan’s eyebrow rises. “Here?”

  “Bloody hell.” I fake an English accent, mocking him.

  He laughs and then shifts off the bed. “Get up and get dressed, love. Looks like we’ve got company.” His hand smacks my ass playfully.

  “Don’t mind us!” Lindsay shouts. “We even waited, like two hours before heading over, so seriously, finish screwing in like thirty seconds, because I’m starving!”

  “We’re done, fuck you very much!” I call back.

  “Well thank God for that!”

  Dylan is dressed and ready to go, and I’m standing naked in his bedroom. “Must be nice to be able to throw on jeans and a t-shirt, run your hands through your sex hair, and boom, you’re ready to go.”

  He quirks a brow. “Sex hair?”

  “Yeah, sex hair. You have sex hair, and it’s annoying how good it looks on you.”

  Dylan chuckles. “I could say the same about those messy waves of yours. I quite like them by the way.”

  When I start looking for my clothes, I throw my hands up in the air, frustrated.

  “Your clothes are down here!” Lindsay’s voice reverberates off the walls.

  Dylan laughs and strides towards the stairwell that leads to the living area of his flat.

  I pick up a pillow off the bed and toss it at his retreating form. He stops in his tracks, turning around to face me. “You trying to distract me, love?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, turning away from him and busying myself with finding a new t-shirt from his dresser.

  Strong arms grip my waist, tossing me over his shoulder.

  I yelp in surprise.

  “Go to lunch without us, we’ll meet you there!” he yells. “Brooke wants to distract me. Consider me distracted!”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Lindsay mutters.

  “Café on Rue de Temple?” Jesse asks with a chuckle.

  “Sounds perfect,” Dylan calls back, tossing me on the bed.

  “What the hell?” I question, my ass bouncing off the mattress. It only takes a few seconds for me to forget what I even asked because Dylan is removing his clothes. His t-shirt and pants are gone in one step, and briefs in the next.

  I forget that Lindsay and Jesse might still be in the apartment, when his busy mouth starts sucking kisses across my breasts, down my stomach, and then gets to work on showcasing those mind-blowing oral skills of his.

  In no time at all, I’m coming against his tongue, shouting, “Holy fucking hell I love Paris!”

  Eventually, we meet Jesse and Lindsay for lunch. Her mood is less bitchy now that she’s got food in her belly. If Jesse plans on spending more time with my best friend, I’ll have to warn him to keep her well-fed. Lindsay without food is grounds for serious trouble; feeding Gremlins after midnight comes to mind.

  I’m finishing up my sandwich when my phone starts vibrating. It’s Ember requesting a face-time. Once I accept, Teddy’s adorable face fills my screen.

  “Auntie Brooke!” he shouts into the phone. “Whatcha doin’?”

  Four-year-olds and volume control . . . I grin. “Hi, buddy boy. I’m just eating lunch with some friends.”

  His returning smile is beaming. “Do I know you’s friends?”

  “You know one of them. Lindsay’s here with me.” I turn the phone towards her.

  “Lindseroo!” Teddy shouts.

  She laughs, grinning at the screen. “Tedderoo!”

  I turn the phone back in my direction. “So, what’s going on, buddy? Everything okay?”

  Dylan’s handsome face has now joined me on the screen.

  “Who’s that?” Teddy asks. “Is that your new boyfriend? I thought—”

  “Teddy, this is Dylan.” I cut him off before he can say anything else. My heart rate has picked up speed, threatening to barrel straight out of my chest. My wide-eyed expression meets Lindsay’s. We say a million things without uttering a word.

  “What’s up, little man?” Dylan smiles into the camera, oblivious to the internal conflict raging within me.

  “You have a funny voice. I like it,” Teddy says.

  I sag in my seat; thankful my inquisitive nephew didn’t continue his original train of thought. Lindsay looks as relieved as I feel.

  “Thanks.” Dylan chuckles. “You have cool hair. I like it.”

  “Thanks,” Teddy says, holding the camera closer to his head. The screen is chock full of corkscrew curls. “My mommy wants me to get ’em cut off. I told her no way!”

  “Where is Em, buddy?” I ask, curious because I’ve yet to see or hear my sister.

  Eventually, his adorable face is back in view. “Mommy is doing laundry.”

  “Does she know you have her phone?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope, it’s a secret.”

  I smile at the adorably guilty expression on his face. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  His smile beams.

  “So you just called to chat?”

  “No, I’s had to ask you a question.”

  “Okay, what’s your question?”

  He moves around his bedroom, the camera jostling in uncoordinated movements. His little red table comes to view. It’s covered with pieces of pink construction paper and one purple crayon. “I’m tryin’ to make those hearts Millie told me you used to make when you was a kid like me.”

  I blink back the tears trying to drown my eyes.

  “You’s used pink and purple, right?” He shouts, the camera still pointed at the table.

  “Yeah, buddy, that’s what I used. Pink paper and a purple crayon.”

  “Awesome.” He drags out awesome for a good ten seconds. “So how’s I supposed to cut out the hearts? I can’t use no scissors. My mommy would beat my ass.”

  “I’m pretty sure mommy wouldn’t like you to use that word, buddy.” I laugh, knowing full well Ember has probably spouted that line a time or two, mostly when Teddy has pushed her
to the breaking point. I don’t have any kids, but I’ve seen what my nephew is capable of. Curse words are a given when you’re a parent.

  “Whoops! I’s forgot!”

  “Why don’t you ask mommy to cut the hearts out?”

  His cute face is looking back at me. “Because I wanna surprise her. She’s been kinda sad. I wanna make her smile.”

  So much for holding back the tears . . . I scrub a hand down my face, attempting to hide them. Dylan gives my free hand a reassuring squeeze. I hold his hand with a tight grip, needing some of his strength. It helps.

  “How about you just draw a heart, buddy? Would that work?”

  He nods, enthusiastically, but then his face falls seconds later. “I’m not good at drawing hearts.”

  “You know that wooden heart mommy has sitting on the bathroom sink?”

  “Yep.”

  “Go get that, set it on the paper, and then trace around it with your purple crayon.”

  “Hold on! I’s be right back!” He sets the phone down, and I hear his footsteps run out of his room. He’s back in lighting fast time for a four-year-old, and proudly holding up the heart. “Here it is!”

  “Perfect.”

  “I’s gonna give the heart to mommy when I feed her lunch.”

  “You’re making lunch for her today?”

  His smile is bright, full of pride. “Yep! I gots a marshmallow and butter sandwich in the kitchen for her. And a juicebox. Don’t worry, I used a spoon to put the butter on the bread.”

  “Teddy, you’re definitely going to make mommy smile today.”

  “Yes!” He fist-pumps. “I gonna go, Auntie Brooke! Bye!”

  In typical four-year-old style, he ends the call before I can say bye.

  I miss him like crazy and feel awful that Ember is sad, and I’m here in Paris.

  Dylan scoots my chair closer to his, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “You okay, love?” he whispers into my ear.