Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (5 page)

After a few quiet moments, he opens his eyes. They go wide, blinking several times. He swipes a hand across his tired face. “
Brooke?”

“Uh…hey, I just thought I would stop by.”
Stop by?
Oh god, I’m an idiot.

Dylan stares at me like I’m a mirage, a cold glass of water sitting in the middle of a barren desert. His confused gaze is locked with mine for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, he slides off the bed and moves towards me, hard-on still prominent and on display. Color has returned to his cheeks, a glare replacing the shocked look on his lips.
“Stop by?
For what exactly?”

Yeah, I’m definitely an idiot, and this is turning out to be six thousand shades of uncomfortable. “I’m not really sure.” Because I’m not. What in the hell am I going to say to him? There isn’t anything I can say that could make this better.

And I can’t stop my eyes from trailing downward, catching sight of the obvious bulge beneath his boxer briefs. I’ve tasted every inch of perfect skin resting below his waistband. My mouth has worked him over, swallowed his pleasure.

I strive to remember what he tasted like on my tongue.

I’m briefly transported to a better time, a happier time. We were in his flat in Paris, showering together, and I was making use of the cozy shower seat resting beneath the spray. Every muscle in his body was clenched tight as I ran my tongue over that perfect cock of his, licking and sucking at his shaft until he couldn’t hold back his need, practically fucking my mouth into submission. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than watching Dylan come apart at the seams—the primal growls that escape from his throat, his clenched jaw, his grip tightening in my hair. My skin flushes at the memories.

Good God, get it together, Brooke.

I bite my lip and shut my eyes, trying to dislodge the urges coursing through my body.

When I open my eyes again, he’s standing in front of me, arms caging me against the wall. His green eyes are so dark, fierce even. “I guess
congratulations
are in order. I wish you had given me a heads-up. I would have…I don’t know…
bought a card
…” He leans in closer, lips near my ear. “So tell me. Were you engaged the whole time?” His warm breath brushes against my neck. “When you were spread across my kitchen table with my face between your thighs as you came against my tongue?” His mouth brushes against the spot behind my ear. “Or when you were sliding my hand up your skirt, begging for more? Or how about when I pinned you to Ari’s tattoo table? Sliding my cock so deep inside you that
you
were screaming
my
name.” He hisses his questions, voice throaty and deep.

The heat of his body blankets my skin. His voice near my ear and the memories his words spur have my nipples hardening against the cotton of my shirt. I close my eyes, fighting the moan bubbling up from my throat. Despite his obvious anger, I can’t stop the primal, animalistic reaction my body has for his. I want him. I’ll always want him. I can’t picture a time in my life when I won’t want Dylan.

The music switches over, and
Talking Body
by Tove Lo fills the silence.

His fingers slip underneath my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “Tell me, Brooke.
When?”

“After. I wasn’t engaged in Paris.”

“But you were with him? You were together?”

I nod.

He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against mine. He looks wounded, so fucking pained. Guilt and regret suffocate me. I’m the butcher in this scenario, and the reason why both of our hearts are in shreds. My lip trembles, and I bite my cheek until I taste blood—struggling against the tears waiting behind my lids.

He inhales a ragged breath. “Why, Brooke?
Why?
Was I alone in Paris? Did I think we were more than we actually were?” His words are a whisper, barely rising above the music.

“No,”
I refute firmly, loud enough to force his eyes open. “Those were the best days of my fucking life.
The. Best.
And it had nothing to do with the city or Millie’s bucket list.” My voice breaks, but I keep going. “It was you. Only you. It’s always you.”

“Then why did you choose him?”

God, why does this have to be so complicated? Too many fucking secrets. I’ve never hated it before, but I do now. I hate this. I hate that I can’t just open up and be honest with him. “I didn’t choose him, at least not in the way you’re thinking.”

His eyes pierce me, staring into the depths of my soul, searching for the answers I wish I could give. Our ragged breaths mingle while Tove Lo sings about perfect bodies and fucking for life. I wish I could live those lyrics, live those lyrics with him,
only him.

“What does that even mean, Brooke? Why can’t you be honest with me?” His hand slides behind my neck, gripping the nape. Without stopping, without thinking, his lips crash against mine. Hot and heated, the kiss consumes me. His lips are insistent and demanding in a way I’ve been desperate for since I walked away from him. The taste of whiskey fills my mouth as our tongues dance in an erotic tug-of-war.

“You. Are. Mine,” he growls against my lips.

God, his mouth, his oh-so-perfect mouth. It renders me helpless. His lips erase my inhibitions. They’re dangerous, those lips. They have the power to break me down, forget why I shouldn’t be here, doing this with him—or worse, make me admit the truth.

I pull my mouth away, desperate to catch my breath and find my bearings.

His hooded gaze stares me down. Long, thick lashes, shadow his emerald eyes. He leans forward, and I turn my head to the side. “No, not on the lips. I can’t, Dylan. I just can’t.” It hurts like hell to say it, to deny myself his kiss, to deny him my lips, but I have to.

A deep, unquestionable truth tells me that if I let him kiss me again, I’ll lose myself to him. I won’t be able to resist him. I won’t be able to stick with the plan. Tears burn the back of my throat, a blazing inferno of unrequited passion.

Dylan’s brow furrows, a frown marring his lips. His heated gaze moves across my face, homing in on my lips, and then meeting my eyes. He growls, frustration shading his voice. His mouth swoops down, latching onto my neck, placing deep, opened mouth kisses against my skin. He’s kissing my neck like he would my mouth, lips and tongue, wet and hungry. His mouth becomes more urgent as he moves down to my collarbone, and then my shoulder. Each kiss laced with anger for denying him my mouth.

But God, it feels good—his hands moving across my body, his lips lighting my skin on fire. So. Fucking. Good.

I whimper when he presses his body against mine. My arms move around his neck on their own accord, my legs wrapping around his waist as he grips my ass. In the deep recesses of my mind, I know this is a crash and burn type of situation, but I can’t stop it.

I can’t pull myself away from him as he presses my back into the wall. I can’t stop as his fingers pull my hair from the ponytail holder and grip my messy strands. And I can’t stop rubbing my hands across the strained and flexed muscles of his back as he kisses and licks and nips at the sensitive skin of my neck.

I want this. I want everything he can give me. I want him to take everything I can give until I don’t have anything left. I’m willing to walk away from this broke, bankrupt, and incapable of loving anything or anyone else again.

“Why, Brooke?” he whispers against my skin. “Why did you do this? Why are you doing this to me? To us?”

A shuddering breath escapes me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He moves us to the bed. My back presses into the mattress as he settles himself between my thighs. My hands are held above my head in his vice-like grip. And he doesn’t stop kissing my body, moving across my chest and between my breasts. I can feel every emotion vibrating through him.

His love. His anger. His want. His need.

I can feel all of it.

Abruptly, he pulls away, letting my hands go and kneeling on the bed between my spread legs. “Fuck!” he shouts, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Goddamnit!” He gets off the bed, walking away from me. Bare feet pace the floor.

I sit on the edge of the mattress, watching him with wary eyes.

He moves back towards me, eyes sad, lips set in a hard line. The muscles in his back stretch and flex as he kneels in front of me, situating his body between my thighs and burying his face into my stomach. Strong arms wrap around my waist.
“Why? Why? Why?”
He just keeps repeating it. Over and over. Each word becoming more mumbled, more slurred.

Green eyes stare into mine, bloodshot and tired. As I assess his gorgeous face, I finally realize how
not
sober Dylan is. He’s beyond drunk, and this is so bad, so very, very bad. I feel horrible for a thousand different reasons. Shame clenches my gut for doing this to him. I was too selfish to realize the kind of shape he was in, too damn desperate to touch him, to lose myself in a way only he can give. I need to fix this.
Now.

“Lie down with me,” I whisper, grabbing his hand and sliding back onto the bed.

“This is the worst part. This is always the worst part,” he mumbles, following my lead. “I hate waking up. I hate waking up, knowing you won’t be there.”

God, I’ve destroyed him. I’ve never felt smaller than I do right now.

We hold onto each other. His breaths begin to even out, eyelids flutter closed. I stay inside his embrace, inhaling the scent of whiskey on his breath and the undertone of his cologne. And since I know he’s passed out, and the odds of him remembering any of this are slim to none, I selfishly steal a few more moments of just being with him. Just
feeling
him.

Eventually, I find the strength to slip off the bed and pull the blankets over his sleeping form. “I love you, Dylan. I’m so sorry, for everything.” I kiss his forehead and leave the bedroom.

I hold onto that strength, until I’ve left their house, get inside my car, and make the short drive back to Millie’s house. And that strength stays with me until I’m sitting in my grandmother’s favorite chair underneath her favorite tree.

That’s when I lose it, falling to pieces.

That’s when the realization of what I’ve done, what I’m doing, and what I still have to do really hits me.

Careless Cockups are already embracing the golden LA Lifestyle

RockYourFace.com

Wallace & Wright released the name of their newly signed band, Careless Cockups, just twenty-four hours ago via a press conference held at The Beverly Hills Hotel. Alistair Wallace went on to tell reporters that this band is his top priority at the moment. “I haven’t been this excited about a band since the seventies. Mark my words, by this time next year, fans won’t be able to get enough of their music.” He went on to reveal that their first album would be released sometime in February. Considering it’s already September, we’re skeptical that a label, even one as big as Wallace & Wright, can pull off a fast-tracked album released like this.

London, England's Careless Cockups began when teenage brothers, Dylan and Jesse Bissette, received guitars as a Christmas gift from their parents when they were teenagers. The brothers went on to form their own little acoustic band, playing open mic nights throughout London and Paris. When they went to uni, they met up with Zach Turner and Alex O’Malley, and Careless Cockups was born. Jesse turned in his guitar for drums, Dylan became their official front man, Alex became their guitarist and Zach finished off the talented foursome as the band’s bassist. They began playing locally, and as they developed their sound, they gained quite the fan base within the London music scene. British fans were especially impressed with Bissette’s thickly accented vocals and keen lyrical style.

And now, before the ink has even dried on their newly signed contract, a source tells us that the boys are already enjoying the L.A. lifestyle. A party was held at their house last night, and word on the street is that it wasn’t lacking in beautiful women, drugs, or alcohol. Let’s hope these boys can find time to actually produce an album between their busy party schedules.

Dylan

I slide aviators over my eyes, and pull my ballcap as far down as it will go. The California sun is a sodding wanker. And I’m sure the bottle of Jack I used to drown my rage isn’t helping matters. On my way back from the gym last night, I stopped at a seedy gas station and purchased a pack of gummy bears and bottle of booze.