Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2) (25 page)

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.

“Harley?” Dylan spoke up when Bach parked next to a yellow Porsche.

“What?” She turned around in the seat.

I pressed my face to the glass and stared up in wonder at the flawless white paint and charm. We could be in the past right now. On a plantation in the summer with the moon shining down. It was beautiful.

“I take it your mom knows I’m a lying sack of shit?”

“Yes,” she said, point blank.

What had Dylan lied about? I peeked, finding he looked nervous. I’d never thought of him as a liar, but a man who hid behind his heart.

“She’s okay with me being here?”

“Yes,” she replied softly.

“Let’s go, Sweets.” Bach opened his door and got out. I scrambled to follow. He chuckled at my staring. “I know. It’s all overwhelming, isn’t it? We didn’t grow up like this.” He wrapped his arm around me. “Don’t gawk. It’s rude.”

I smiled uncomfortably and let him lead me up the stairs. “I wasn’t gawking. I was admiring it.”

“Bach, wait!” Harley’s voice sounded. “Help me?” She waved from the back of the truck, half in and half out as Dylan struggled.

“Wait here.” He released me and jogged over, leaving me on the long wooden porch.

There was a swinging chair overlooking the field. I could imagine drinking an ice cold glass of sweet tea and watching the sun shine down, swinging languidly as I fell into a peaceful rhythm. But instead of feeling calm, the image bugged me. If I sat on that bench, I wouldn’t be at peace. I would be unable to enjoy the calm. In the back of my mind my fear would rise, swallowing me as it had for weeks.

“What is your problem?” Dylan demanded, as Harley walked slowly in front of them. She was grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve got one leg, and I’m walking faster than you. I mean your ass looks amazing in those jeans, but you’re still pissing me off. Ouch,” he growled when Bach’s arm smacked his crutch.

Finally, they all joined me on the porch. Harley turned and smiled hugely at me and then at Dylan. He and I both frowned at her, at each other, and then at ourselves. What was her problem?

“Babe?” Bach was confused too. “You look like you’re up to something.”

“When am I not up to something?” She winked at my brother, and then she pushed the door open. “Follow me girls and boys.”

My jaw fell open when we entered into a large open room. There were stairs to the left through an opening with golden rails and a hall straight in front of us. All the lights were on, hallowing the room in warm light. The ceilings were rimmed in ornate crown molding. The dark wooden floors looked like they’d been cut individually and laid by hand. The sconces glowed against the wall, creating beautiful shadows against the rich, tea-stained colored paint. Everyone continued on through the foyer-like room while I stood stunned, so that when Harley pushed a door opened at the end of the hall and everyone screamed, “Surprise
!”
I had a few seconds to comprehend the depth of her influence.

I continued through the door to find we had entered into a kitchen bigger than my entire apartment. It was huge, stretching with dark cabinets and white counters. There were unfamiliar people everywhere. An older couple, a middle-aged woman, a couple closer to Harley’s age hugging in the center, Whitney, and seven kids running around. The youngest child looked familiar. She was older since I’d last seen her. She was walking effortlessly, laughing as the older girl chased her with a party hat.

And above all of that was a sign:
WELCOME HOME & HAPPY BIRTHDAY
D
YLAN AND
H
ILLARY!

I was confused watching everyone interact.

The middle-aged woman stepped away from the mayhem and hugged Harley. They had similar attributes, but they didn’t look exactly alike. They were both beautiful. I knew it was Harley’s mother. She spotted Dylan standing there, just as confused as me, and gave him a strange look. Half-pleased, half-displeased. I knew that look. The momma bear couldn’t decide whether to claw him or comfort him.

“Dylan,” she greeted, southern accent thick. She bent to kiss his cheek. “Welcome home.”

“Nena,” he responded, giving her a knowing smile. “Thank you.”

“We need to have a talk. Don’t think because my daughter’s happy that I won’t forget that you made her unhappy.” Her gaze sharpened. “Soon,” she threatened.

“Mom,” Bach said, grinning naturally and clearly rubbing it in to Dylan. He bent to kiss her cheek, and she soaked it up, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“Rubbing salt in wounds isn’t the way of a gentleman, son.”

“But I’m not a gentleman.”

“You’d better start.”

“Nena, this is Hillary.” Bach took my hand and pulled me over. “My sister,” he explained proudly.

Nena smiled sweetly at me. “I’ve heard so much about you, Hillary. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” I shook her hand softly, still confused.

She laughed at me. “Your birthday’s soon, if I’m not mistaken. Next week right?” She looked at Bach for confirmation who nodded once. “Harley wanted to make sure you celebrated it. I heard things have been tough.” Her expression softened, and I knew she knew.

I looked down at my sandals. “Thank you. That was very nice of you.”

“Cake?” a little boy asked, pulling on Nena’s pants.

“Soon.” She rubbed his hair. “Unless Dylan and Hillary don’t mind. Do you?” She looked at me, and I shook my head. “Dylan?” she asked, searching for him.

I searched for him too, suddenly wanting to hold on to him.

He was sitting in a chair holding his daughter. His crutches were leaning against the table. Aubrey was touching his face with her little hands, and Dylan was smiling at his daughter so widely, so honestly, with so much love and emotion, that my eyes dampened. He looked so happy talking to his daughter. She looked small and fragile in his large tattooed arms, but still somehow completely and utterly protected. I had never seen a more handsome man in my entire life. The love pouring off of him was this rich, warm light that touched something deep inside of me. His dark blue eyes were bright, alight with what he finally wanted. His daughter.

He might have been the most alluring man in the world at that moment. I was breathless watching him.

Completely and utterly out of breath.

My heart hammered. My pulse pounded.

No one had ever looked at
me
like that. Like I mattered, I was the reason they existed, and everything I embodied was everything they wanted.

And when he looked up and happened to catch my gaze, staring at me with the remnants of that look, I knew from somewhere in an untouched part of my soul that Dylan Meyer wasn’t just a safe zone anymore.

He was the
only
zone I wanted.

Chapter Eight

Dylan

“Again!”

“Again?” I asked, staring at Aubrey like she’d lost her mind. “We watched it twice. Aren’t you tired?” I checked the time on the Blu-ray player. It was almost two in the morning. “Mommy said your bedtime was supposed to be at ten. And it was only that late because of the party.”

She paused in the middle of eating her lollipop. “Mommy told me it’s ‘kay.”

Her lie was the cutest damn lie I’d ever heard, but it was a lie nonetheless, and I didn’t want her to end up like me, so I kept my amusement out of my voice. “She did?”

She shook her head ‘yes’ emphatically. She pulled her blanket tighter around her and snuggled against my side. “Again.”

I wondered briefly if anyone told my baby no. She acted like that word was foreign. She’d managed to get two pieces of cheesecake out of Nena. She got a later bedtime from Whitney. She got Bach to give her a ring lollipop, which he pulled out of a large box of them, as if he hid them just for her. She got Harley’s grandpa to give her a helicopter ride, even after he warned his back hurt. And now she had gotten me to watch Frozen, again, for the third time.

Growing up, I didn’t even bother asking for things. There was nothing to give me. If there were my folks weren’t going to waste it on me. My dad worked when he felt like it and mom made her money the way Bach’s did, by gambling, which meant some months we had enough and for the rest we did not. The house I grew up in was my grandparents, so rent was nonexistent. They were as bad as my parents, but they had their moments, in that they didn’t hit me for saying my stomach growled. They didn’t make me feel like an asshole for wanting clothes that fit, they just didn’t give a shit. There was a difference between not caring and not doing something. I learned that lesson at a young age. To know that Aubrey had everything she wanted comforted my soul. She was sitting in the theater room of a mansion watching Frozen on a ninety-inch flat screen.

It was too much, and I loved it even more because of it.

Half way into the movie she started to fade. Her head fell on my chest, and her breaths evened. I resigned myself to this position. I couldn’t walk and carry her. I couldn’t even shuffle, let alone carry a toddler up the steps to the second story. We’d have to stay here until someone else woke up. I turned the movie off and settled down, turning on
ESPN
. Truthfully, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I’d waited so long for this.