As if he could read my thoughts, he licked his bottom lip, making it glisten enticingly under the moon. I wanted to lick it too, for him to glisten with me.
“You can’t be jealous. I shouldn’t have done what I did to you in your bedroom. I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman and you were there, in those little shorts. I lost control. You don’t need to be around a guy like me, do you?” His held my chin, rubbing his thumb gently over me. The pad of his thumb was smooth and warm, so soft against my skin. “What I did to you in that bedroom was a small taste of what I like. You’re not ready for that, are you?”
Why did it feel like he was asking me a question, but at the same time telling me who I was? The two conflicting responses confused me. Combined with the look in his eyes and the dirty promises of his words, and I was a muddled mess. I wasn’t ready for that, of course I wasn’t, but I wasn’t in the mood for one more person to tell me what I could handle either. “If I’m not ready then why did you do it? I haven’t changed. I’m the same girl I was before you touched me. I don’t think the problem’s mine.” I released him, stepping back.
“I licked your tight little asshole. If you can’t say it, then the problem isn’t only mine.” He raised his eyebrows condescendingly. “Still jealous?”
Hearing him say it like that knocked the air out of me. I didn’t know why I wanted him to sugar coat it. Make it something it wasn’t. Turn it into something that wasn’t so filthy, so unlike me. “Dylan. All I want is to forget.” My tears were a sudden unwelcome rush. “I can’t forget anything, but when I’m around you, I can. If you want to do dirty things to me to make it so I can breathe, then I’ll take it.” As soon as the words left my mouth, all semblance of sanity left with them. “Damage me, Dylan, so I can finally feel safe.”
It was his turn for his mouth to fall open. His eyes shed the filthiness and exchanged it for a myriad of emotions. I ignored them inside, but I still caught them. Shame, guilt, shock, sympathy, and at the tail end, pure understanding. Dylan had been damaged too, the same way Bach had been, and within their damage, they found a way to exist. I wanted that. I needed that, or I had this consuming fear I would never get out of bed again.
“I can’t do that. I’m not doing that. You don’t even know what you’re asking for.” He grabbed my shoulders. “You’re losing it. Baby, you promised you weren’t going to let him change you.”
“I’m not allowing anything. Don’t you get it? I’m now allowing any of this!” People around us stopped dancing to stare at the damaged crazed couple on a faux double-date in the corner of the patio screaming about things that should remain in quiet. “Help me, Dylan.”
He shook his head at me as if he were hearing nonsense and mayhem and they had no business being in the same room. “Let’s go back inside. Cut the jealous shit out. There’s no reason to be jealous. There’s nothing here.” He motioned between him and me. “You’re hurting; you’re not thinking straight. That’s all this is.”
He didn’t understand. What did thinking straight have to do with anything? If he wanted me to think straight, he shouldn’t have pulled my shorts to the side and tasted me.
“Let’s go back in. Stop looking at me like that.”
I bit my lip.
“Let’s. Go.”
“I’m going because that’s where I have to go. Not because you told me to,” I retorted snidely, stomping away from him into the crowd.
I swore, that man could make me mad. When I got to the table, Bach and Harley were dipping chips into guacamole. I grabbed my ice water and took a long icy drink, letting the coolness eradicate the heat inside of my body. Truthfully, Dylan was right. I wasn’t thinking straight. Nothing felt straight right now. That was the problem. Everything was lopsided and no matter how hard I tried to find purchase I kept slipping.
“Long bathroom break,” my brother noted.
I ignored him, picking up my menu. When Dylan showed, he fell gratefully into his seat and grabbed his own water. Then he grabbed the guacamole and began shoving his mouth full. I think it was to keep his lips busy.
“Eat.” Bach pushed the lobster nachos over to me, tone soft.
“Can’t I just go home?”
“Nope,” Harley responded. “After this, we’re going to the movies.”
“I could just call a cab.” I had emergency cash in my purse. Dylan continued to shove his face. It was then I remembered why. He wanted to see his daughter, playing along to get what he wanted. I thought of all the times I’d yearned for my father before I learned he was a monster. I didn’t want that for Aubrey. So I reached into the gauntlet and came away with two chips dripping with spicy cheese and butter poached lobster. It was bursting with flavor, the best tasting thing I’d had in weeks … other than Dylan. “Mmm.”
Beside me, Dylan coughed.
I frowned at him, taking another chip and moaning when it touched my tongue.
He groaned and then touched my thigh in warning. “Stop.”
I moved my leg away. “Stop what?”
“You know what.” He looked at the chip in my hand and then at my mouth.
Pervert. I was just eating.
“What should we watch?” Harley asked.
“Aubrey’s going to be asleep,” Dylan mumbled.
“I know. Mom had one of the guest rooms made up for you.”
“Aubrey doesn’t usually sleep through the night anyway.” Bach took a drink of his soda, making a face as if he wanted it to be something different. “She says she’s too excited, whatever the hell that means.” He chuckled fondly at her reasoning.
“I don’t know anything about my own damn kid.” Sadness overtook his statement.
“Yes, you do.” Harley licked the salt off her margarita, staring into the pale green liquid. “You need to talk to Whitney. Beg her. Apologize. Pride isn’t worth your daughter.”
“I’m not prideful. What is there to be prideful about?” His appetite visibly shriveled up. He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.
“There are some things you can do.”
He shook his head, smiling at the table top. “You’re a piece of work, Harley. What does she want me to do?”
“One? You get a physical therapist.”
Harley was good. Get Dylan in public, promise him his daughter, and then drop the bomb on how he got to keep her.
“Two? You figure out your path. You’re going to be getting help from the government, but that isn’t going to make your life better to sit around all day. Three? You get a therapist. You need therapy. What you went through overseas isn’t the same as what you went through growing up in Crystal Gulf. You’re strong, but there’s only so much strength before it starts to eat you alive. Four? No drinking or drugs. Five? You lash out one more time in front of Aubrey and Whitney’s filing for sole custody. And last, but not least, you stop living in the past.”
His sad smile grew, and he laughed this bitter rotten sound. When he looked up his eyes were pure evil, but I sensed something else in him, something hidden and protected. Deep down I thought Dylan might have been scared. Scared of all that he had to do, because there was a chance he couldn’t do it. In that moment I wanted to help him, to prove that he could. To hold his hand and be there for him. This wasn’t for himself, but for his daughter. No child deserved to yearn for their other half. At eighteen, I still yearned. Even after learning my father was a monster, I still ached for the part of me he created.
What did a creation become when a part of it were missing?
Was the remaining half damaged?
Or did it get stronger, because it had to live with a missing part?
“It’s hard, D.” Bach scrubbed a hand down his face; we were all dragging these days. “It’s been six months, and I still have no idea how to do this shit.”
Brittney walked over to our table, graceful, long and model-like. I felt terrible for what I did when I saw her shin already bruising. Was I jealous? It hadn’
t felt that way when I reacted. In the rush of emotions, I knew one thing. I did not appreciate Dylan looking at another woman, or that woman looking at him. Keeping that in mind, I didn’t want to date him. I didn’t want him to call me his girlfriend, and he didn’t want to either. Dylan was my safe zone. My fear felt safe within his. I refused to share that with another woman. They could go find their own. My anger was back full force. It wasn’t jealousy. It was the overwhelming damaging desire to keep the one man I felt safe around.
“You guys look like you’re having so much fun.” Brittney tittered. “Let’s order, so you can eat and leave, and I can actually get a tip.”
All four of us mumbled our orders. Once she left the quietness didn’t lessen. It once again magnified until it was louder than the chatter of the restaurant. When our food arrived, and our drinks were refilled, I dug into my enchiladas for something to do. Dylan stabbed at his, prodding the chicken that fell out of his tacos. His sadness seemed to link with mine. The two negative emotions heightened so strongly he turned to look at me. When our eyes locked, I knew we both wanted the same thing. To forget. I wanted it so strongly I felt a painful hunger between my thighs. It wasn’t a feeling I had until Dylan. It was a sudden attack of feeling empty and wanting to be filled.
The rush of heat left me clammy and breathless. The look in his eyes promised me another dirty moaning onslaught of forgetting. I could see skin, smell his cologne, feel his abs beneath my lips and the quiver from deep inside of me as his fingers circled me. I craved another opportunity to make a choice I wanted. Right now what I wanted was for the restaurant to empty save for him and I. We would take our clothes off, and I would pick up where I left off, licking down his long hard body …
“Ahem,” someone coughed, slicing through our bubble.
Beneath the table, I crossed my legs and tried to calm my erratic breathing. Was it appropriate to feel this way about a man when you were a virgin? Shame came quick and painful. I shouldn’t be here. Wanting to inhale the scent of his body, feel his tongue …
“When you two are done locking eyes I’d like to get going.” Bach’s tone oozed anger.
I avoided his gaze and nodded, dropping my napkin on my barely touched food. When Harley rose and her back was to the table, Bach dropped a thick wad of cash on the tip tray, giving me a tight look when he caught me watching.
I wrapped myself around his arm, and we both followed Dylan and Harley outside. There was a man smoking in the parking lot. The smoke drifted ominously in the air, reminding me of the smell that came off of Zane’s skin. In Bach’s truck I slid close to Dylan because I wanted his lap. I wanted to wrap myself around him and block out the feeling of being watched. The feeling made my stomach turn. I could smell the smoke. It was choking me. My mouth, which had tasted like enchilada sauce a minute ago, now tasted like the chalkiness that had settled on the bottom of my beer. My eyes were opened, but all I could see was the look of pure evil in Zane’s gray eyes.
“You know you’re tempting me right? Those innocent eyes in those sexy clothes? Drink your beer. It’s gross once it’s warm.” His cold voice pounded into me, hurting with each syllable, taking parts of me I hadn’t even known were in danger.
“Don’t scream.” There was a hand over my mouth suddenly. The image in front of me faded slightly. Half nightmare, half reality. My shocked moan was muffled by the sound of music. There was another hand on my chest just as fast. It fumbled around until it found my breast, and then fumbled some more until it found my nipple. Dylan rubbed my nipple through my shirt, sending a bolt of lust through my body. My nightmare faded further. “I’m going to let you go.” The hold over my mouth disappeared.
“Your lap,” I whimpered.
“Not right now. Doesn’t this feel good?” His warm breath caressed my temple and ear. He pinched my nipple through my shirt, making it harder than it had ever been before. “All I want from you is a nod or a shake.”
My head went up and down slightly. I was back in Bach’s truck. With my brother, his girlfriend, and Dylan. Shocks exploded from my nipple. They traveled lower and nestled inside of my panties, making me squirm. Dylan was giving me what I needed—a chance to forget. I leaned back against his chest and breathed into his neck, but he gave me a gentle shove, forcing me to sit upright.
“Don’t say a word.” He left my nipples alone, causing me to feel an extreme sense of disappointment. It had felt so good and new. Nonthreatening pleasure that could go on forever. His hand traveled over my stomach and settled between my thighs. He cupped my core in his hand through my jeans, pressing his palm hard against me, grabbing me in one handful so roughly it felt like he was claiming me. “You’re safe with me. Yes, or no?”
Of course, I was. I nodded, watching as he unzipped my jeans slowly. The tops of my white cotton boy shorts poked out, hugging my mound.
“You want me to touch your pussy?”
I frowned through my need. Couldn’t he have picked a better word?
He growled quietly into my ear and slipped his hand inside, cupping me even rougher through my panties. “Yes or no?”
My head bobbed.
“You’re a good girl, Hillary.” He kissed my temple softly before his fingers massaged between my folds, nestling inside of me. “As long as you’re with me nothing can hurt you. You know that, don’t you, baby?”
My chin lowered, too shocked and consumed to nod completely.
“You want this? You want my help forgetting?” He pushed deeper between me, finding my tender clitoris.
A pitiful shake was all he was getting. I covered my mouth with my hand and stared straight ahead as Dylan took me in the backseat. I could focus on nothing but the intense hunger he was unleashing inside of me. Gone was my terror, and in its place was Dylan’s tattooed arm moving against my stomach as his fingers circled my clitoris in the most damaging intoxicating way.
“I want to forget too,” he whispered, picking up speed. “But if I agree to this I know what’s going to happen. It might break us both.”
I reached out and held on to his arm, around a tattoo of a wave swallowing a railroad track. My head bobbed again, teetering on the edge of perfection.
“Put your mouth over my ear. I want to hear you come.”
I gave him what he wanted. I put my mouth over his ear and breathed heavily, trying with all my might not to moan out loud. But it felt so good. Pleasure radiated throughout my entire body. I had never felt so … bad. I hummed with it. I lost myself in the tidal wave, chasing the undertow. I slipped up and moaned slightly. My lips were coated in my spit, and they slid around his ear as I senselessly breathed through my orgasm. He rubbed me faster, harder, massaging the hard nub of my clitoris through my panties. His fingers felt wet, and I felt damp, clinging to his strong, protective, tattooed arm as I fell apart.
I was vaguely aware of him removing his hand, zipping my jeans, and placing a soft, quick kiss to my lips.
All the while the music played and Harley laughed uncontrollably at something Bach had said. Neither had any idea Dylan Meyer had just made it so my panties were soaking wet, and my entire body felt empty yet completely satisfied.
“Feel better?” he whispered, giving me a knowing smile when I finally met his eyes.
I snapped. I scrambled to get to him. But I’d done so regularly, and unfortunately he could predict it now. His hands were on my shoulders, holding me down.
“Not right now. Don’t look at me like that.” He rubbed my knee in apology and then shifted.
I didn’t miss his cringe. I looked down at his thigh, picturing his infected flesh. As guilt assaulted me, I noticed something else. There was a mound in his pants. It was long and thick, straining his dark green cargo shorts. When I realized what it was fire painted my face and elevated my body temperature.
All of this was fine when he was doing it to me. When he was touching me, it was only about me. It always stopped when I was done. I hadn’t truly considered doing anything to him. Somehow the
sight of Dylan’s erect penis sent a bolt of perspective through me. Was I ready for sex? I could deny where this would lead, but that would only further lessen my ability to react in a way I saw fit. I wasn’t ready for sex. I was only ready to forget.
Dylan makes me forget.
I couldn’t remain a virgin forever. I had to have sex eventually. Wouldn’t it be better to give it to a guy who could not only take me out of my nightmare, but had his own?
I knew for certain one thing; no regular man had ever made me see them. But I saw Dylan even when he wasn’t there.
For the remainder of the drive to Houston, these thoughts occupied me. Half way through Bach’s phone rang. He looked at it and then turned the radio up, so it played louder in the back as he talked to whoever it was. I knew it was Mom. I wondered how many times she’d called and recalled my phone was still on silent under my pillow. I looked away from his phone because I’d just let Dylan Meyer finger me in the backseat and I feared my mother could sense my impending damage in the air.
Damage I wanted, chose, and craved.
“Of course, she’s safe with me. I love her,” he defended darkly. “I will. I promise.”
I love you too, Bach. An unfamiliar emotion warmed me over. The only person to say that to me and mean it was my mom. My friends—I meant the girls who left me when I wasn’t as perfect as they wanted—said it all the time. Love you this, and love you forever that. Friends lied. Bach and Dylan may not like each other right now, but I sensed they’d never lied about how they felt. That’s why they were in the same car together. They loved each other. They suffered together, and I was learning that when you suffered together, it formed a bond.
Is that why the idea of sitting on Dylan’s lap felt like curling up against the only safe spot in the entire world? I wondered if I had ever felt safe. Safe to be myself, to know who I was—safe to make a choice and know I wanted it.
When Bach turned off the highway, we were on a dirt road, winding through the night. Soon a plantation-inspired mansion rose from the meadow it was nestled in. It was lit up like the White House. My jaw dropped, having grown up on the other side of the railroad tracks in Crystal Gulf. It was bright and white, this large beauty set against the dark night. There were expensive cars parked out front and even in the dark the flowers trimming the house were bursting with color.
Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2) Page 19
