Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2)

by Shana Vanterpool

  In the front of the house, there was a noise. I listened intently, waiting for him to come and get me. My stomach turned, and I whimpered, too tired to move. I couldn’t fight him this time.

  “Hillary?”

  My panic left in a whoosh. I waited for Bach to find me. When he did, I didn’t acknowledge him. He’d been coming over almost every night to sleep on the couch. I liked him on the couch. I felt safer with him here. I needed some form of protection with Zane still out there.

  He sat on the end of my bed and removed the hair from my face, and then he cupped my face gently. “I called.”

  My phone was on silent under the bed.

  I. Didn’t. Want. To. Talk.

  Summer and Ginny had given up. Piper texted me once to inform me I was overreacting. And Bach and Mom were always here. I didn’t realize how little I had in my circle until that circle had started shrinking around me. All my friends, all those fake smiles and fun memories, had dismantled the moment I did.

  He sighed and released me, talking to the wall. “Harley’s got it in her head that we’re all going out tonight. You. Me. Her. And Dylan. I tried to get out of it, but she knows damn well she can get anything she wants from me. She’s coming in here,” he whispered, when the front door closed. “Play along.”

  I closed my eyes. They whispered quietly and then the bed moved again. “Hill?” Harley implored. Hands in my hair, on my face. “I’m going to turn the shower on. You’re going to get in and wash up. Comb your hair. Put on something cute. We’re going to eat. Mexican food. You like Mexican food, Hill?”

  I yearned for sleep. A peaceful night absent of mistakes and someone else’s evil.

  “Dylan’s here.”

  …

  “Don’t you want to see him?”

  …

  “You wanted to a couple weeks ago. What changed?”

  Justine, I thought bitterly, still just as shocked by my reaction now as I had been when I’d felt it. That reaction was too strong, too potent. It was dark and new, and I refused to have it again. It passed fire through me in ways I’d never burned. She was sitting on his lap. Where I’d cried, fallen apart, and felt safe. And he’d just given my safe place to her like it was nothing. It showed me that Dylan didn’t care about me after all. I was just a kid pulling on his pant leg for his attention. I didn’t need his attention. I didn’t need it from anyone for anything ever again. I had to accept that I had no safe place any longer.

  It was unsafe.

  I wasn’t safe.

  “Hillary. Don’t make me do it. I’ll do it.” She waited a beat before she yanked my covers back. She grabbed my arms and pulled. “Get your ass out of your bed. Please. Hillary. Let’s go out. Don’t you want to look at something other than these walls? I know what you’re feeling. I’ve been there before. But if you stay in this bedroom you’ll just lose sight of everything you had. Please,” she begged, voice breaking.

  I rolled over and hid my face beneath my pillow.

  “Bach’s excited.”

  Liar.

  “I’m sure he’d love to go to dinner with his little sister. He doesn’t have any family other than you. His mom abandoned him and his father … well, you know about your dad. You’re all he has.”

  Guilt? How low.

  “Can I talk to her?” a familiar voice interrupted her ploy just in time.

  Bach was the only person I could stand to be around these days. There was something inside of him, a part I think my father destroyed, that called to the damaged part of me. He got it, the way I had thought Dylan understood my fear. But I was wrong. Dylan was simply putting up with his best friend’s damaged little sister. The thought shouldn’t hurt as bad as it did. I blinked my tears, but more followed. I wondered if I’d been crying for hours or minutes, and whether it had to do with my brother’s best-friend.

  “Can he?” Harley asked.

  In answer, I pulled my blanket over my body.

  There was shuffling and then grunting as Dylan lowered onto my bed. For a while, he didn’t speak. I could feel him beside me. I wanted him to crawl beneath the blankets and chase away my fear. It had been devouring me, squeezing every ounce of breath and life I possessed out through my anxiety.

  “Your room is exactly how I pictured it. Cheer trophies. Pictures of you in a bikini doing duck faces at the camera. Pink. White. Although.” He paused. “These panties are kind of hot. I do have a thing for boy shorts.”

  Oh no.

  “Are you wearing some now?”

  Fire raced across my skin. What was hot about boy shorts? I preferred them because they covered my bottom while still being comfortable.

  “What color? Let me guess. Pink? White?”

  I burrowed deeper in my sheets.

  He must have moved because the bed shifted and then my nightstand drawer opened. “An old cell phone. Boring. Old notebooks. Even more boring. Hairbrushes?” He sighed. “Where’s the goodies? Every girl has goodies in her nightstand.”

  Goodies?

  “Vibrators,” he explained, as if he could read my thoughts. “Dildos. Lady porn. Unless that’s what your Instagram feed is for.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  My drawer closed. “I’m teasing. I know you don’t have any of that shit. You look more of a do it yourself kind of girl. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

  Jerk.

  “Me?” My bed shifted further and then there was a hand on my hip, and his body heat penetrated my blankets. “Move over, please? My leg won’t fit.”

  I thought about it before I gave in. I slid over in my twin bed and let him have more of the space, recalling the way his wound had been red like paint. I wondered how badly he was in pain. It was the first coherent thought I’d had in so long I clung to it.

  “You need a bigger bed.”

  Silence settled, deafening again. For what felt like at least an hour, we said nothing to one another. It was as if he knew I was mad and was breaking my walls down with a hammer one brick at a time. But that couldn’t have been. For one? I wasn’t mad. I was just trying to accept that the one man who understood my fear would have rather understood someone else. For two? Dylan had no desire to break down my walls. I had a feeling he had his own and was far too busy worrying about its height to conquer mine.

  Finally, I slid out from under my pillow and rolled over, examining him. He shaved. His strong jaw looked smooth and hairless. He looked younger too, as if eighteen and twenty-two weren’t an insurmountable difference. Not that I wanted to make it possible.

  I reached over and touched him, sliding my fingers along his jaw bone, tracing the smooth, warm path. He bathed. I could smell that same soap coming off his skin. His shirt was plain and white, and his dark green cargo shorts went past his knees. His sneaker-clad feet hung off my bed. His large body could barely fit.

  He turned, meeting my eyes for the first time in weeks. I tucked my hand under my chin.

  “What did I do?”

  I blinked my tears away. “Nothing.”

  “I did something. One day you were making a deal to come see me and then you never came back, storming out of my house pissed off. Now you’re trying not to cry while you look at me. Tell me what I did.”

  The blankets were in my way. I kicked them off, ignored the fact that I was in my pajama shorts, and folded myself across his hard protective chest. This time, his arms encircled me much quicker. The moment they came around me, my fears subsided. Which only made me cry harder, because there was nothing about this I could keep. He’d leave, and I’d be left here with my nightmares. I should have pulled away, told him to get out. Instead, I nuzzled his chest, inhaling the smell of his cologne. It was the same one I picked out for him the day I helped him bathe.

  “Did you spray cologne on your abs too?” I didn’t know why I asked. I slid my hand down his chest and touched his torso, dragging my fingers over the hard tempting grooves through his shirt.

  “Yes,” he replied gruffly. “
What did I do?”

  “Can I smell you?” I tugged on his shirt, bringing it up enough to see a flash of his skin.

  “Hillary.”

  “Please?” My voice trembled. I wanted to do something that took my mind off of my mind. And so far the only thing that had done that was Dylan.

  Without waiting for his permission, I pushed his shirt up more, revealing his abs. I leaned over and inhaled his clean skin, dragging my nose over him. He smelled so good my mouth watered, and my brain fogged, focused only on the scent of his flesh and the heat coming off his muscles.

  “The door is opened,” he reminded me.

  I didn’t care. All I wanted was to curl up against his abs and breathe him in forever. Before I knew it, my lips were on him. His body heat was fire on my lips. His abs were hard like rocks but smooth like my skin. Beneath my lips his stomach muscles contracted and his breathing deepened. I was being guided by a part of me that craved to forget. I just wanted to forget.

  So I kissed him harder, pressing my lips to each distinct ridge until I got to the indentations in his pelvis. His pubic hair brushed my lower lip, sending a flash of flames across my skin. Even that smelled good. Like musk and clean skin. I continued lower, wanting more of him. It was just Dylan and me right now, and everything else had faded the moment I met his eyes.

  His hands were on me the moment I reached for his zipper. He grabbed my fingers and moved my hand aside, and then gave me a gentle shove with the other. “Don’t.” He could hardly breathe.

  I hadn’t realized my own breathing was ragged until I heard his. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel the beat in my ears. My belly was burning and for the first time in my life, there was a new strange achy feeling between my legs. One thing I knew for certain? I hadn’t wanted to stop. I would have kept going, kissing lower, lower, wanting what he had because it made what I didn’t less painful.

  “Sit up.” He pulled his shirt down.

  “No.” I curled up against him, using his stomach as a pillow. “I won’t touch you again.”

  He laughed suddenly, a breathless disbelieving sound. “That’s a lie, and you know it.”

  Reluctantly, I released him. He was right. I’d keep going, and we had both established he didn’t want me to, and I knew I shouldn’t. I couldn’t believe I’d done that in the first place. But he was a balm almost to my fear. He understood it. Being left alone with it had been torture. I sat up and looked down at him, resenting him at the same time I wanted to taste his skin once more. The foreignness of my thoughts was the only thing keeping me grounded. I didn’t react to men this way.

  Running a hand down his face, he wiped his smile away. “What did I do?”

  His question brought back my anger, my sadness, my everything. I wanted under my pillows again. To fade away on my nightmares.

  “Don’t,” he pleaded when I began to lie down. “Can I be honest with you? Harley’s holding Aubrey over my head. I can go see her if you and I go on a double date with them.” He cringed and made a face, as if the idea of dating me revolted him. “Do this for me and I’ll owe you. Whatever you want, you can have it. I have to see my daughter.” The revulsion in his eyes shifted to pure want.

  How could I deny a father who wanted to see their daughter? Even if I wanted to. I didn’t need a pity date from this man. I didn’t want to leave this bed, let alone for dinner. But his yearning was real.

  “I’ll go. But this isn’t a date. I would never date you, Dylan Meyer.”

  And then I left him on my bed. I went over to my closet and began searching through my options.

  “You wouldn’t?” He sounded amused. “But you would kiss down my abs like they were the best damn tasting things around?”

  I ignored him and my blush, picking a pair of baggy jeans and a loose pale pink sweater shirt with my old cheer logo on the back.

  “Your ass looks so sexy in those shorts.”

  His comment increased the heat burning its way across my skin. “My ass is huge.”

  “Your ass is not huge. It’s round and full. The kind you want to grab onto and spank.”

  I stilled on my way to my dresser. “Dylan.”

  “Sorry. You did it. Shouldn’t have attacked me if you didn’t want to turn me on.”

  I turned him on? “I don’t want to be spanked.”

  “How do you know? Come here.”

  “Absolutely not.” I turned around, clutching my clothes to my chest. I was suddenly severely underdressed. My shorts came to the tops of my thighs, and my tank top showed off my arms and cleavage. I smelled like I’d been in bed for days. I hadn’t brushed my teeth or washed my hair. And he laid there on my twin bed, long, tall, eyes on me, and making me uncomfortable.

  And hot. He was so hot.

  “You attacked me. It’s my turn. Come. Here.” He pointed to the floor beside my bed.

  I shook my head.

  “Hillary …” He stretched my name out with his deep voice. Then he struggled to sit up. I watched in a daze as he got his leg off the bed and then looked into my eyes. “Go close your door.”

  Another shake.

  He thought about it and then lifted his shirt over his head, revealing his mouthwatering body. “Close it.”

  Who knew I was this liable for manipulation by a six pack and a hard body? My feet moved over to my door as my brain screamed at me. What are you doing? Forgetting, I answered, locking my bedroom door. When I turned back around he crooked his finger at me. I walked slowly, terrified, breathing hard, on fire, and confused.

  When I got close to him, he took my clothes out of my hands and dropped them on the floor. Then he grabbed my hips and turned me around so my bottom was his. I gasped when his hands settled on each cheek. My legs felt hollow, and my brain fogged further. His large hands gently squeezed me, palming handfuls of my round and full ass. I couldn’t breathe. That achy feeling was back, and this time it was harder to ignore.

  Suddenly I felt something wet and soft on my skin and then his warm breath fanned across me. “Don’t ever call this ass anything short of perfect again. You hear me?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Good girl, Hillary. Bend over.”

  I squeaked. “Dylan.”

  “It’s simple, baby. You kissed my body. Let me kiss yours.”

  He was leaving it up to me? Nothing had ever been left up to me. My choices were hardly my own. But the second my body was consumed by flames, and there was a wanting need between my legs, I wanted nothing more than to make my own choice. Even if it was bad. Even if it was the last thing I should do. I bent over slowly, grabbing onto my knees for support. I needed some freaking support.

  His fingers pushed my shorts up until they were nestled between my cheeks, leaving my ass bare to him.

  “I need a shower,” I moaned, shocked by the breathy tone of my voice. “Don’t.”

  In answer I felt his lips on me once more and then a low deep groan I felt all over my body rumbled from his chest. “No,” he said, “you don’t.”

  He placed kisses around one cheek, making it so hard to breathe I wasn’t sure I should even bother any longer. His lips left wet heated marks on my skin as he kissed between the dip in my thighs and then started in on my other cheek, turning me into a confused moaning mess. What was I doing?

  And then I felt something hot like fire and wet on me. “You taste so good. Grab your ankles. I want more of you.”

  Without arguing, I complied. When I wrapped my fingers around my ankles I felt even more exposed in front of him. And I liked it. I liked making the choice.

  “Mmm,” he moaned. Without warning his finger trailed over my core though my shorts, making me buck. “You want me to lick here?”

  No. I didn’t know. Yes. Please? Lick there. I chose not to answer. My breathing was so loud it was embarrassing.

  “Or here?”

  His tongue moved to the direct middle of me, licking my hole through my shorts. All semblance of control fell away. My knees
buckled, and my chest expanded painfully from my breaths. That had felt so bad, so naughty … so freeing. The wrongness made the pleasure more intense, as if it weren’t allowed but I couldn’t help what I felt.

  “I want to lick here. Can I?” There was an honest question in his tone. But there was so much deepness in it too. He was just as unhinged as I was. “Say yes.”

  “Yes,” I whispered again, giving me the power to make yet another choice I wanted.

  The mood in the room shifted. If it was terrifying before, it just got worse. He grabbed my wadded shorts and tugged them roughly to the side, exposing my hole and core to him. I was so far gone I couldn’t even think straight. I couldn’t even remember why I should say no. The air hit me, and then a second later his tongue was on me, straining against my hole.

  “So fucking good,” he groaned, sounding like an animal. “Cover your mouth with your hand.”

  It was then I realized I was moaning. Loud. Too loud.

  I slapped my hand over my mouth and mewed into it, coating my palm with my spit. I didn’t think I could take much more. My need was painful. His tongue was damaging me. My core throbbed in a way I hadn’t known it to. And to make matters worse, I was the highest I had ever been. I felt something building. It was as if he knew it and wanted it as much as I did. His fingers suddenly moved between my thighs and found my vagina. There was an alarming amount of moisture back there. His fingers slipped around until he parted me, finding the most perfect, amazing, stunning spot in the entire world. He rubbed my clitoris in earnest circles as his tongue urged into my hole. A pressure exploded from deep within me. I cried out and let go as a burst of intense, overwhelming need crashed into me. I had never felt anything like it in my entire life. It was the kind of feeling that changed you. Too good, too much, taking me too high and dropping me from above. I craved the impact.