Tyler (19 page)

A fucking dream, entangled with memories. My visit to the basement liberated them, so they rose like ghosts, seeking revenge.

I stumble out of bed, my stomach roiling, and knock into the wall before I manage to find the bathroom. I bend over the toilet, but nothing comes out. I’m light-headed, and I slide down the wall as everything spins.

I lean my head back, desperately trying to catch my breath. How did Erin do it? Breathe in, hold it, count to five, exhale.

Can’t. My lungs feel constricted. My head drops forward. Pressure is building in my chest, pain radiating down my ribcage. My breathing rattles.

I need to hear her voice. Through the open bathroom door, I see my phone on the table. I could call her. She said to call her if I needed her—but I can’t move.

Dammit, Tyler. Get off your ass and call her.

Grabbing the sink, I make it to my feet and stagger like a drunk to the table. I scroll down my few contacts and press dial before my courage deserts me—and before I black out. Cell phone clutched tightly in one hand, I stumble to the bed and sink on the creaking mattress.

There’s a ringing in my head. Could be from the phone or from the blood rushing in my ears. I grip the cell like a lifeline even as I try again to count—to breathe in and hold the air. I fail and try again and again.

“Hello?” a tinny voice says in my ear, and I struggle to focus on it. “Tyler?”

Erin.
I don’t have enough air to speak. My fingers clench the cell like claws and the plastic casing creaks.

“Tyler. Are you okay? What happened?”

Goddammit.
I fight to unclench my fingers before I break the phone.

“You’ll be okay,” she says, her voice gentling. “Breathe in, slowly now. Everything will be fine.”

I close my eyes and picture her, her dark eyes, her soft lips. I let her voice soothe me, calm me down as I fight to suck in more air. My lungs stop seizing, and I can draw deeper breaths. Sweet oxygen fills my starved lungs, and my vision begins to clear.

“Tyler? Still with me?”

“Yeah.” My voice sounds like rusty nails.

“I’m coming over.”

“I’m okay.”

“Oh, shut up,” she mutters, and that makes me smile even as I still pant for breath. “Be there in ten, okay?”

“Okay,” I say and finally let the phone slip from my hand onto the bed.

Erin

I get dressed in seconds and jump into my car. Driving like a madwoman, I weave through the streets, trying to think of the fastest way to Tyler’s apartment.

Fear crushes my chest. The sound of his gasping breaths over the phone terrified me, although I googled the hell out of panic attacks and benzo withdrawal in the past few days. I know that he was damn lucky not to die when he cut the pills so suddenly, and I also know panic attacks won’t kill him.

But I can’t stand knowing he suffers and I’m so damn glad he called me now that he needs help.

I park outside his building and hop out, lock the car and run up the stairs. It can’t be more than ten minutes since we talked, but it feels like a year has passed by the time I ring his bell.

Nothing happens for a long moment, and I realize I never considered that he may not be in a condition to get up and open for me.

Crap.

Then I hear steps and the lock clicks. The door swings open, and he’s standing there, looking pale, distressed and gorgeous as ever. His arm is braced on the doorjamb, and I can’t help but take in his muscled upper body, clearly outlined in his soaked T-shirt.

His breathing is still ragged and shallow. Sweat glimmers on his face, and he has dark shadows under his eyes. He’s staring at me as if adjusting the lenses, trying to focus my image.

“Erin,” he whispers and his voice is so scratchy it hurts. I’m so mad at him. And I love him.

I reach up and cup his unshaven cheek, rubbing my fingertips on the rough stubble. “Feeling better?”

His dark eyes widen, making his face look even paler. His breath smells of peppermint as if he’s just brushed his teeth.

Without a reply or a warning, he slides his hands around the small of my back, hauling me closer, until I’m pressed against the length of his muscled body and his nose is buried in my hair. He’s not aroused, and there’s nothing sexual about it, but it feels good to hear his heartbeat, steady if a little too fast.

“Did something happen?” I murmur against his shoulder, inhaling his smell of clean male sweat. “Did you meet with your brother again?”

He growls softly as he releases me and steps back. “I did. But he didn’t punch me this time, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I shake my head. These boys confuse the hell out of me. “I wasn’t.” I touch his arm. “You’re drenched in sweat. And it’s freaking cold in here.” I frown when I notice the open windows. I gesture at them. “Are you nuts? It must be below zero out there.”

He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “I needed air.”

“Mind if I close them?” I shiver, even though I’m still wrapped in my jacket. “You’ll get sick.”

Call me paranoid; call me a mother hen. After having Jax, worrying about such things has become second nature.

I hurry to the window and close it. “You should see a doctor.”

His mouth flattens and his shoulders tense. “Don’t need no doctor.”

I blow a strand of hair out of my face as I move to close the second window. “What if you do? It’s a miracle you didn’t die from stopping those pills. You need to get yourself checked out. Besides, maybe a doctor can help with the panic attacks.”

“Prescribe me something?” There’s a sneer in Tyler’s raspy voice, and his words stop me cold. I glance at him over my shoulder. I didn’t think of it that way.

He closes and locks the apartment door, his back to me, his messy dark hair more tangled than usual. He stands for a long moment there, then he pushes off and turns toward me.

For a fleeting second, his gaze is vulnerable, full of regrets. It’s too much.

He crosses the room as I latch the window, his bare feet whispering on the tiles. God, isn’t he freezing?

“You still haven’t told me what happened today,” I remind him.

“Went by my d— Jake Devlin’s house.” He stops right behind me and puts a hand on the window frame by my head, trapping me. His chest presses against my back. “Had to revisit some memories.”

“What memories? Wait a minute...” I turn around and look up to meet his gaze. Boy has almost a head on me. “Did you go back where...?” I can’t even say it—that basement where he was hurt so badly. Whenever I remember the story Rafe recounted, my blood runs cold.

He nods, a vein pulsing in his jaw. “I had to face it. I thought I wouldn’t dream of it again if I went back and forced my brain to accept I’m not there anymore.”

Oh God.
He’s breaking my heart all over again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going? I’d have come with you.”

“I don’t want you to see that. None of that.” He frowns. “I had Ash with me. It helped.”

No matter how happy I am his relationship with Asher seems to be on the mend, I wish I was the one there for him. I wish things weren’t that complicated between us. But he has to get this, at least:

“No matter what it is, good or bad.” I poke a finger into the solid muscles of his chest. “No matter if I’m mad at you for whatever reason, I’ll help you in any way I can. Remember that.”

He inhales deeply. His breathing has settled into a slower rhythm. “I will. Erin...” He brushes a strand of hair off my face. “I’ve never lied to you. What I wrote to you is true.”

“So Marlene is not your girlfriend?”

“No.”

The word is sharp and clear; it rings in the silence. I study him. His dark eyes are on my face, and I see no lie in them.

“She sent you a naked picture of her.”

“She’s crazy.”

He always had that effect on the female population. “But do you have a girlfriend somewhere waiting for you?”

“No. I swear to you, I don’t.”

Relief washes through me. “Good.”

“Good? I like that.” A corner of his mouth tips up in a half-smile, and my throat goes dry.

“Enough talking.” I poke him in the chest and enter mission mode again. “T-shirt off.”

“Can’t wait to get me naked?”

I snort. “Off. Now.”

He grabs the neckline and drags it off without another word.

Now the room feels unbearably hot, and I resist an urge to fan myself as those lickable abs and that ink-covered chest come into view, inch by torturous inch. His taut flesh glimmers wet in the yellow light of the bulb hanging overhead, and when he bunches up his shirt and looks at me, his eyes look black like the night.

“What now?” he whispers and reaches down to adjust his drawstring pants, drawing my eyes to the growing bulge in the front.

This is a bad idea. I’m still mad at him. I only came by to make sure he’s okay, not for sex.

But my body disagrees with me and is very interested in the way a thin dark treasure trail dips under his gray pants, how those divots at his hips look so damn sexy, how his six pack stands out in full definition.

I’m a girl, and he’s a damn hot boy. There’s not getting over that, I guess.

“Tyler, I...” My voice is thick. “I wanted...”

“What did you want?” He takes a step closer, and I take a step back, until my back is pressed against the closed window. “You asked me what I came back for, but what about you? What do you want from me?”

This time when he molds his muscled frame to my curves, there’s no mistaking how excited he is. His cock is thick and long pressed against my belly. He dips his head and runs his mouth over my cheek, and I can’t remember his question.

Helplessly, I tilt my head to the side, giving him access, and he dives in for the kill, sucking on my neck. I swear I feel teeth. I squirm and whine as pain mingles with burning pleasure, and I’m dimly aware I’m going to have a hell of a hickey there tomorrow.

“Wait...” I try to force my brain to function. “You just had an attack. You should rest, I don’t think—”

“Distract me,” he mutters and unzips my jacket. “Make me forget. I want to forget.”

How can I say no to that?

When he pushes my jacket off my shoulders, I wiggle out of it without a second thought. His hands slip under my long sweater, pushing it up.

I grab the hem and draw it over my head, remaining in my black pants and red bra. My breath catches when his hot gaze glides down and lingers. His hands follow the same path from my neck to my breasts, covering them and making me moan with need.

Then he reaches behind my back, expertly finds the clasp and unhooks it. In one swift motion, he pulls my bra off, freeing my breasts.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

His mouth moves lower, finding the aching tips of my breasts one by one and circling them, suckling on them, driving me wild with need.

“I want you.” He cups my breasts and pushes them up, rains kisses all over them. “Need you, Erin.”

I’m dying to feel him inside me. “Please, Tyler...” I can’t take this much longer.

He straightens. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

“You have me,” he whispers, and the words flutter in the air for a moment as my overloaded brain tries to make sense of them.

He doesn’t give me the time. He unbuttons my black pants and pushes them down my legs. Before I even gasp, he hooks his fingers in my panties and drags them down my legs, leaving me only in my tall boots.

This boy seems to like having me dressed only in boots. He also likes having his mouth on my breasts and his hands between my legs.

Oh my God.
I tremble as two of his rough fingers rub along my seam. His mouth is back on my neck, only marginally distracting me when he parts me and slips his fingers inside my folds, rubbing and driving me crazy with desire. My pulse is beating madly where he touches me and when he presses deeper, I’m not sure how much longer my legs will hold me.

Just when the pressure becomes impossible and pleasure begins to crest, he withdraws his fingers, leaving me panting and whispering his name in protest.

“Shh.” He runs his wet fingers over his mouth, then licks his lips, and the image almost sends me over the edge. “I’ll take care of you.”

Again I try to grasp what he’s really talking about—the strong undercurrent that seems to run in everything he says tonight—but then he grabs my hips and swings me up.

I squeal in surprise and wrap my legs around him, digging my heels into his firm ass cheeks and my arms around his neck. He hefts me up and grins widely, looking pleased with himself, no trace of the night horrors that woke him up. His eyes are laughing at me, crinkling at the corners, and I’m drawn to his beautiful mouth, hypnotized.

Then he swings me around and walks toward the bed. I can feel his every movement against my sensitive parts, bare and rubbing against the top of his cotton-clad erection. A moan is building in my throat. God, and he’s still wearing pants and underwear!

He reaches the bed, bends his knees and lowers me slowly until I’m on my back on the mattress. But he doesn’t stop, only moves over me, grinding himself against me until I writhe and scratch my short nails down his back.

“What do you want?” he asks again, his eyes half-closed, thick black lashes hiding his gaze.

“You.” I pant and lift my hips, trying to get him to take action. “Inside me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” He’s torturing me. I’m ready.

When he bends over my breasts again, it’s all I can do not to scream with frustration. He has a plan, though, one that becomes apparent as soon as his mouth closes over my nipple—because at the same time those devilish fingers find their way inside me again, stroking and rubbing and slicking me.

I arch on the bed, so close, so freaking close to losing it. He seems to sense it because his strokes slow down, and he lifts his head.

“Are you sure you want me?” he asks again.

I beat his bare chest with my fists. “Yes. I want you, Tyler, damn you. I can’t even get one day of being pissed with you, because I want you so much.”

He grins again, although some pain bleeds into his eyes, and I don’t like it. “Then you’ll have me, body and soul.”