I never denied I was a selfish son of a bitch.
“This place is freaking me out. Is that an actual painting? And not like the ones Mom buys at Ross for five bucks. And the cars. The furniture. The kitchen. Their clothes. I mean look at these.” She tugged on her shorts, adorable face outraged and amazed. “It’s real silk, Dylan.”
I stared at her. The way her soft pink lips glistened. The way her tits swelled in her silk top, how the bud of her nipple hardened enough to tease me. My lungs struggled. Her entirety was overwhelming. I wanted her to overwhelm me.
“Dylan?”
I couldn’t help myself any longer.
I leaned over and kissed her shocked lips, nipping at her top one the way I’d always wanted. She gasped into my mouth, responsive as ever. Her responses to me were the kind of sexy I’ve yearned for. The honest emotions coming off of her when I made her feel good made my cock throb painfully. That was the umpteenth hard on she’d given me today. Each had gone unsatisfied. They’d continue that way until the confusion was gone from her eyes. When she looked at me and knew it was me she wanted and not just to forget, then I’d give her what she wanted. I wasn’t going to be the one to take the blame for her ruin.
Her lips were supple and warm. There was no free space between our lips; that’s how perfectly they fit. Her breath seeped out when she could breathe, filling my mouth with the taste of spearmint mouthwash. I wanted to taste the inside of her mouth, run my tongue over her teeth, eat her fucking soul. I could only imagine the taste of that. Good, sweet—it would be the best damn tasting soul around.
“Get on my lap.”
She waited a second before she followed my orders. She melted against my body and tentatively urged her tongue into my mouth. Her hesitation turned me on. The smell of her soft skin turned me on. The feel of her body against me turned me on. I was so turned on I couldn’t think about anything else in the entire world but the woman in my arms.
Our kiss, which had been purely impulsive on my part, slowly transformed into something more intense. She moaned long and deep, the way people do when they’re tasting something far more exquisite than anything they’ve ever had. It was a lit match tossed into a gas tank. We erupted. I had to have her, right now, right here. My thoughts faded into senseless fantasies. Her naked body beneath me, pussy wet, eyes begging me. Her tongue in my mouth, searing and hot. My name on her lips as I made her come so hard she never wanted to moan another man’s name ever again. Our bodies wrapped around each other, entangled, one, sweat and sex emanating from our flesh.
My hands roamed greedily over her body. Her face, her sides, cupping her breasts through her cami. Her nipples swelled, and I squeezed them both, earning a pained beautiful moan from her. She arched in my hands and pulled away, looking down in wonder at my fingers.
“Does that feel good?”
She nodded.
“Look me in the eye. Always look me in the eye.” She complied, eyes wide and naughty, these jade green orbs teeming with want for me. Me. “Does that feel good?”
“It feels so good, Dylan.” Her eyes poured her pleasure to me.
But I wanted more. “Arms up.”
She lifted them without a hint of hesitation. Always good. I pulled her cami off, revealing her tits. Her nipples were bright pink, hard and excited. Her tits were the perfect size. Goosebumps spread across the tops as I cupped them in my palms, swallowing them. It was like they were made for my hands. Hillary pulled in ragged breaths when I palmed her.
“These have got to be the finest tits I’ve ever touched. Soft like silk, warm. They fit perfectly in my hands. What do you think about that?”
Her eyes never left mine.
“Tits? Can’t you call them—”
I grabbed both nipples between my index and thumbs, shutting off her suggestion. “They’re tits to me. Perfect tits with pink nipples that are harder than rocks in my hands. Call them what they are.”
“Dylan.” She writhed, almost close. I could feel her thighs clenching around mine.
I pinched them harder, giving them a twist. She almost fell off the couch.
“Tits,” she moaned. “They are so tits.”
“Perfect tits.” She had to know she was perfect.
“Mmm. Yeah. Perfect.”
“Do they taste good?”
“I don’t know,” she mewed, losing control.
“I’ll let you know.” I wrapped my lips around her nipple and sucked it hard between my teeth, sucking on her hard nub. She arched so far her hair brushed the wooden floor, making me follow. Her body bowed in my arms, giving herself to me. I sucked until I felt her shake. Until she was begging me, limp, pliant—mine in my arms. I pulled her back and settled her on my thigh. And then I wrapped her in my arms, holding her to my chest as she shivered from her orgasm. “Better than good,” I whispered in her ear.
She nodded against me, breaths too loud to speak. As I held her, I rubbed her. I didn’t want to stop. My hands felt her smooth back, the swell of her ass. I couldn’t get enough of her.
“Did you kiss Whitney like that?”
“Like what?” I knew what she meant, but I wanted to hear her say it.
“Like we were one. Like everything I felt you felt. Did you kiss her like that?” Her tone was so soft I had to press my ear to her face.
“No,” I answered simply, rubbing my hands up and down her bare back. “I shouldn’t kiss you like that. But I couldn’t help it. I’m so confused,” I whispered, hugging her tightly. “I can’t help myself around you. Look at you, half naked, lips puffy, letting me make you come in someone else’s living room. I can’t even carry you to your bedroom behind closed doors like you deserve. You really want to go down this path?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to take this clean body and make it dirty?”
A pause, and then, “Please yes.”
Shit … My hard dick just got harder. “Hillary.”
“I feel so good right now. My nightmare’s gone. It’s just you and me. I want this however I can get it. Don’t you understand? You understand,” she insisted softly, as if that last part hurt her. “Right?”
“I understand, baby. Trust me I do. But I also know when you’re hurting you do bad things for yourself to deal. I know, because I’ve done them.”
Her arms tightened around me. “Then you’re my bad thing.”
My eyes closed in regret. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She snuggled closer. “I want to be right here. On you. With you. Please don’t make me do this alone.” Tears blocked her voice. “It’s inescapable. All day, all night. But with you, it’s quiet. I can breathe. I know you don’t want me around, and I’m not the kind of woman you want, but—”
“We keep it quiet.” I couldn’t hear her beg me another second.
She looked up, tears gleaming. “I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Why would I want to date you?”
I smirked and moved my hands to hold her waist. “I get to do whatever I want to this body.”
She swallowed hard, eyes wide, but she also managed to maintain contact with a look of her own. Her hands settled on my shoulders. “Then I get to do whatever I want to this one.”
Hillary doing whatever she wanted to me? The possibilities made it hard to sit still. “Fine. We’re not a couple, so don’t expect me to deal with your jealousy.”
Anger narrowed her eyes. “Don’t give me a reason to be upset.”
Just say it. You were jealous. “Those are the rules, Hillary. Otherwise, this has to stop. I can’t keep doing this to you. It can’t end well. You know that, don’t you, baby?” I held her face. Her scared eyes understood. “Rules keep this from getting messy. They protect us. I want to protect you.”
She nodded within my grasp, but she did it too quickly. She wasn’t thinking about any of this the way I needed her to. “Can I have a kiss? A real one
. A soft one. Like the one Whitney gave you.”
Why did she insist on wanting what other girls had? It infuriated me. So I crushed my lips to hers and kissed her until she was out of breath and her fingers were in my hair, tugging on my scalp so hard I yearned for it to be harder. I kissed her like I had never kissed anyone. Because she wasn’t like anyone else. That’s what made her special. “Don’t worry about other women again. You are you. How many times do I have to explain that?”
She was reprimanded, eyes downcast, long golden lashes blocking them from my sights. “Can I have my shirt back?”
I reached over and picked it up from where it lay on the other end of the couch. “Up.” Her arms rose. I pulled the cami over her head, and then brought it down over her breasts and stomach. “We should probably get some sleep.”
When she met my eyes, hers were filled with apprehension. “Together?”
This damn girl. What didn’t she understand about boundaries? “No, Hillary. Not together. Go back upstairs. You’re safe in this house. No one’s going to hurt you.” As I talked her eyes grew more fearful, more upset. “Go upstairs.”
She swallowed hard and rose off my leg, standing in front of me with her hands wrung together. I would not give in. We weren’t a couple. She wanted to forget, and I wanted that too.
“Goodnight, Dylan,” she whispered, as if I was the reason she was going to be in pain tonight.
I closed my eyes. “You’re safe upstairs.”
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Even quieter, on the edge of tears.
“There isn’t anything to be afraid of in this house.” I refused to open my eyes.
“I’m not afraid of anyone in this house. Don’t you get it? I’m afraid of everything that’s inside of me.”
When I opened my eyes, she was gone and the lights were off. “Goodnight, Hillary,” I whispered to no one because the only people that were safe around me was an empty room.
I sunk lower in the couch and cringed at the pain. It was throbbing like a pulse in my lower extremities. Reminding me that though I was ready to try, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t fail. Sleeping took some time, but thankfully I managed to get a few hours in without my nightmares dragging me back to the guns, the blood. When I cracked my eyes open Nena was staring down at me.
I started, grabbing at my chest. “What are you doing?” I demanded, pulling in a breath.
“Watching you sleep,” she said unnecessarily, since that’s clearly what she’d been doing. Her southern accent was thick and sticky.
Nena Evans was put together like no other woman. Her glossy dark brown hair framing her face. Designer clothes, yet still comfortable. There was no sleep in her eyes or a mark on her face. She was gorgeous, with sharp eyes and a shrewd, no bullshit attitude I could now appreciate. I didn’t when I met her, because everything I ever said to her was a lie except that I had loved her daughter. At the time I felt that love was all that mattered. Now I had to wonder if maybe I had it wrong. Holding on to one truth and lying about so many others to keep it might have been exactly like pushing it away.
She picked up Aubrey’s blanket and began folding it. “Is it terrible of me that I’m glad you’re a liar?”
“Possibly.”
She smiled. “If you hadn’t lied so horrendously, Harley wouldn’t have Bach. And I will admit I was hard on him at first, still am sometimes, but he’s the right man for my daughter. She’s whole now, the way I was with Brad. Sometimes things happen in a way we don’t understand. There’s Whitney and Aubrey as well.” Her smile grew. “I love that little girl. Your lies brought us together and yet you’re on the outside.” She looked at my crutches leaning on the back of the couch within reach. “So, I thank you for lying, but I forgive you for it too. With Brad gone I know it’s hard on Harley. She’s not the same since she lost him. Since she’s met Bach, she’s more herself.” She had a point and was moving toward it, eyes intense. “If you make that little girl grow up without you for one more day I will do my best to make you pay. Daughters need their fathers. Do you hear me, Dylan?”
I held her gaze. “I hear you.”
“Have you applied for any benefits? The government can help you? If you need help, all you have to do is ask.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I mumbled, wanting this conversation to end. But I had one more thing to say to her. “I loved Harley.”
“I know. What’s not to love?” She smiled at me, letting me know she understood exactly what I was feeling. “Betty’s about to start breakfast. Why don’t you go get cleaned up?”
“It’s hard for me to shower or walk up the stairs.” Or face you. Or accept what my life has become. Or stave off my growing attraction to my best friend’s little sister who was falling apart and looking for me to push her over the edge. I looked at my leg rather than free those thoughts.
“There’s a bathroom in the guesthouse. It’s stocked. No stairs and there’s a shower seat in bathroom. I’ll send Bach in with some clothes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Code for the alarm is Harley’s birthday.”
I cracked a smile on my way to my feet. The pain was dizzying, but her eyes were on me, and I didn’t want to show it. When I got around the corner and past the piano room I slid the back door open as best I could and came out by the gazebo.
The sun was blinding off the crystal blue pool. Waterfalls cascaded into the water, shimmering. The taupe stones announced my crutches as I struggled past the walkway to the guesthouse Harley showed me on the tour she gave me my first time here. I chuckled at my old self. So afraid to meet her family I puked in the bathroom before dinner. I never told her about that, wouldn’t still, but Harley Evans was the first woman to knock the air out of my lungs. She humbled me, showed me I was a piece of shit that could be better. When I left and lost her I had to be that piece of shit again. But apparently that wasn’t an option anymore. Everyone wanted me to be … who? Some man I didn’t know? Who the hell was this guy?
The guesthouse was four times bigger than my own and so damn badass I kind of wanted to move in. After punching in the alarm code with Harley’s birthday, I entered into the living room. The mansion was older, rustic. This place was sleek and modern. It still smelled brand new. One wall in the living room was glass, but reflective so you could only see out not in. I entered into the main bedroom and gawked at the bed, the walls, the flat-screen and gadgets. There were built in speakers in the walls and a touchscreen. I pressed it, and it came to life, wanting to know what I desired. I didn’t want anything, so I left it alone until I came to the bathroom.
The lights turned on automatically when I entered. Smooth gray tile on the floor, rich, deep, red paint on the wall. Glass, so much glass. The lights made it look like the bathroom was breathing. Sure beat washing my balls in Afghanistan. Two Finger had joked that our cover would be blown by the smell of my balls alone. Earlier in the day we’d run across a grouping, surprising them. We were surprised too. It was the first time I’d ever had to use my gun. As I peeled my clothes off and sat on the seat in the shower, I closed my eyes as the sounds assaulted me.
The gunfire wasn’t like when we practiced at the range. It wasn’t for practice. This gunfire was real. It was meant to take our lives. It was so loud it burst my ears. Rap, rap, rap, rap. Rapid fire at our unit. Spits had grabbed my arm and tugged me away from where I’d been frozen.
“Shoot them, you pansy!”
I didn’t realize how much I didn’t want to be there until the truth was around me. This was war. Survival. Guns. Blood. Bach had been right. It wasn’t a game. There was no pause button. My anxiety was so sudden, the kind that’s life-altering. The kind that makes you a different person within seconds.
“Shoot them!”
I didn’t want to kill anyone. My unit was going at it, taking cover behind an old run down tank in the streets. The bullets were banging off it, making hot metal sounds. The smells of heated gun powder burned my nose. I had to kill them
? They tell you this. Show you things. Warn you. Bring in soldiers. They make sure you understand what’s going to happen overseas. But they don’t prepare you for this part. They can’t. It’s impossible. And I had just learned that.
Swanson, a bulky guy with a beard and an affinity to blow smoke in people’s faces, went down first. I watched him writhe on the ground, screaming so loud his words were rasped raw. The sight of him bleeding spurred me into action. I brought forth my gun and settled beside Spits. Up until that point my gun was an accessory. That day it became a weapon. I looked at a man, who was trying to end me, and pulled the trigger. Because if I didn’t, I lost. My men lost. Their wives lost and their children lost.
Aubrey lost me.
I no longer had a choice.
I puked in the shower. It trailed down my chest as my body shook with the truth I’d been running from for months. At the time it wasn’t about killing. It was about not being Swanson. Bleeding, injured, and suddenly quiet. My adrenaline made me hyperaware. In the shower, eight thousand miles away, I could still hear it like I was there. Bullets whizzing past me, men shouting in a different language, the cackle on our radios. I had to reload twice, bullets emptied with the intent to kill. I hadn’t realized what I did until the gunfire stopped. Until Spits cheered and clapped my back.
I slid down in the dirt and stared at the empty street. Spits settled in front of me on his hunches and stared into my eyes; his burned.
“We’re not killing because we want to. We’re killing to survive. You have a baby at home. You don’t have a choice. Just remember something. They were trying to kill you. Otherwise, you never would have pulled out your gun. You know what you gotta do?” I shook my head. “Forget it. Shove it down. Think about tomorrow and not what you did yesterday. You gotta forget it, D.”
Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2) Page 21
