Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2)

by Shana Vanterpool

  I was lost inside of it. Unaware of what was going on around me. I fell forward and reached out to catch myself, shivering and blind.

  “Still don’t want to date me?” His put my panties back in place and then covered my ass. “Stand up.” It took me two tries, but I finally managed to follow his order. “Pick your clothes up and go shower. Go,” he urged, planting a parting kiss to the back of my thigh.

  I didn’t look back at him as I left my room. I was so fogged over I moved without thinking. I crawled into my shower and washed my entire body, feeling tender between my legs. I washed my hair, shaved my legs, and did it all with my head in the clouds. I didn’t come down until I returned to my bedroom and found it empty. Regret and need clashed, creating a reprimanding, intoxicating mixture to torture me. I combed through my hair after I dressed, recalling flashes of myself, unhinged, wild, letting Dylan Meyer damage my body.

  How could I have let him do that?

  With shaking hands, I settled on my bed. I had lost all of my sense. And deep down I had done so willingly. I tossed it away because I wanted this feeling right now. This confident heady feeling making my limbs weak and my fear muted. Within this feeling I was someone I didn’t know, and someone who could not be hurt. I wasn’t a girl who drank a foul tasting beer and asked for it. I was a woman who made her choices and enjoyed them. However, the longer I thought about it, the more my confidence faded, because for the first time I picked a part of me. In its place was confusion.

  I was so damn confused.

  I didn’t let boys close enough to touch me, let alone defile me. And I damn sure didn’t like it when they did.

  An hour ago Dylan was a thing of the past, and I wasn’t sure that had changed, but if it did I had this piercing feeling I wouldn’t handle it well. My thoughts were off balance.

  My legs were rubber as I put my hair into a bun and grabbed my purse. I wasn’t thinking straight here. Part of me was aghast, horrified by my actions. And the other half of me was bent over in front of a man, and he was licking me to unimaginable heights. As I left my room, the horror began to win out.

  I braced myself in the hall and breathed in and out. Was I still a virgin? I hadn’t even considered what I’d wanted. I’d just wanted to forget. How I got there was a small issue. I hadn’t stopped once to contemplate what that meant for my morals. And it hadn’t been a tame thing. In that room nothing had been tame. He licked my … I couldn’t even think it now. He touched my vagina, rubbing my tender wanting clitoris like he knew what he was doing, knew he was owning me. No one had ever touched me before and they most certainly hadn’t owned me. This was my body and no man would ever own it again.

  But Dylan wasn’t like everyone else. He hadn’t done it to control me. He’d done it to give the control back to me.

  “Sweets!” Bach roared. “Hurry your little ass up.”

  My ass. Dylan licked my ass. An insane giggle burst through my lips. I quickly squelched it. “Coming!” I called weakly.

  The pleasure that radiated from his tongue was hard to ignore within my bubbling panic.

  Harley and Bach were on the couch, and Dylan was in Mom’s recliner. He was the only one who didn’t look up when I came in. Bach looked irritated, but his eyes called to the pain inside of me. Harley looked bored.

  “Ready?” she asked, turning the television off.

  I nodded mutely.

  Bach frowned at me.

  “What?” I squeaked.

  His eyes narrowed further, and he stared at me, titling his face to the side. But Harley stood and grabbed his hand, pulling him up and freeing me from his penetrating eyes. I silently thanked her. The last person I wanted to talk about sex with was him. I cringed at the thought and found my sandals by the door.

  “You need help?”

  “Don’t touch me,” Dylan growled.

  “Suit yourself, dickhead.” Bach wrenched the front door open and left, mumbling something under his breath. Harley followed him out.

  I watched Dylan struggle to his feet. When he got to me he looked outside and then nodded his head for me to move out of the way of the door.

  If I waited, I’d lose my nerve. So I ducked behind the door and waved him over.

  “What?” He raised his eyebrow, almost blandly.

  “What?” I gawked at him. “All you have to say is what?”

  His expression shifted into humor. It lit his dark blue eyes and made his lips quirk up. They were such smooth looking lips. I imagined them caressing my backside; my knees weakened at the memory.

  “Yum?”

  “Dylan.” Red spread across me. Yum?

  “Kiss me?” he tried again, eyes shooting to my mouth. “We both know you want to kiss me.”

  “We both don’t know anything.”

  “I want to kiss you.”

  “I—”

  Without waiting for me to finish, he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. It shamed me how easy it was to forget my train of thought, how simply I gave into the warm softness of his lips. One moment I was embarrassed and the next I was moaning into his mouth.

  He moved his lips against me softly, not as sure as he had been in my bedroom. This was my second real kiss, but it felt more like my first. I shivered at the taste of him and reached up to hold his face gently, stunned by the feeling. His lips were full and velvety, melting against me. I rose on my tiptoe and stepped closer until my chest met his stomach. A feeling began to burn inside of me. It blistered, roaming over me, turning me into the girl I was in my bedroom. When his tongue entered my mouth, I accepted it greedily. The taste of him met the taste of me and we exploded.

  I gripped his shirt and did my best to keep up. A deep, body-shivering moan rumbled from his chest. It sounded wild, as if I were trapped in my house making out with a feral animal. I felt it all over my body. But mostly, I felt it where his fingers had touched. I was having a hard time remaining upright.

  I wanted more, but he pulled away, eyes closed and chest rising.

  “I should have kissed you first. You deserve to be kissed first,” he murmured, and then moved for the door.

  I touched my lips in a daze. Come back, I thought, trying to regain my breath. That wasn’t the first time Dylan left me wanting things I hadn’t even known I wanted.

  I locked the apartment and caught up to him as he struggled to traverse the stone pathway that led to the parking lot in his crutches. When we got to the parking lot, Bach was waiting in his truck. I stepped forward to open the back door for Dylan.

  He sighed so heavily it made my heart hurt. “You can do it.” I touched his arm until he looked at me. The moment our eyes connected I was back in the room, his fear was screaming and mine was locking together, our tongues were meeting and I wanted to kiss lower down his abs. Memories bombarded me like shrapnel from an explosion. Separate pieces that made up an unfamiliar whole. “You can,” I promised him, leaning forward when he did.

  Someone cleared their throat.

  Dylan blinked and looked away. “Help me?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course.” I took his crutches and set them in the back before moving around to his right side. As he eased his bottom on the seat, he pulled up with the hand bar, using that to ease up and inside. Once he was sitting back, I gently moved his leg in and then closed his door, running around to get in behind Bach.

  “So where are we going?” he asked.

  Harley looked far too chipper in the passenger seat. “I’m in the mood for tacos.”

  “What are you so happy about?”

  “I love you; that’s why.”

  “Hmm. Don’t buy it, Square.” But he smiled anyway, leaning across the seat asking for a kiss.

  She pressed her lips to his. I looked away to find Dylan watching me. He made a grossed out face and stuck his tongue out, making me giggle for the first time in forever. I took it as an invitation and scooted to the middle seat, attaching the seatbelt around my waist. “Can I?” I touched the hem on his shorts,
meeting his eyes briefly, as Bach and Harley continued to banter.

  He grabbed my hand instead and held on to it, staring down at my small fingers in his large ones. His hand was cold. I wanted to bring them to me and warm them, but I didn’t think he’d like that. I shouldn’t like that. None of this was right. I was only here because Dylan wanted to see his daughter, Harley had a weird fixation with double-dating, and Bach would do anything she asked. My regret was back, but I also knew my fear was waiting for me as well, and dealing with being unwanted was far less a pain than dealing with the fear that slithered down my spine when I was alone.

  I tried to free my hand. Dylan tightened his hold on my fingers, cradling me in his lap.

  Why hadn’t he let me see his wounds? I could only imagine how bad they’d gotten. And worse, they were probably that way because I left him by himself. At the time it felt like the right option, leaving a man when he’d given my safe spot away. Just the reminder had me livid. Justine heard me screaming, she saved me, but she’d been the one to lie to me as well, and if it hadn’t been for her manipulation I never would have stayed at that party. A flashback to the look in Zane’s eyes as I walked up the stairs struck me. Okay, so blaming Justine wasn’t completely justifiable. I had been the stupid one.

  And my stupidity paved the way for pain.

  “Think about right now.” Dylan’s lips were on my ear, his deep voice whispering to my fear. “You’re safe in the car with me. I’d never you hurt you, would I, Hillary?” He squeezed my hand. I shook my head, eyes blurry. “You’re safe, baby. I promise you are.” His forehead rested against my temple. “If right now doesn’t work, think about earlier. No one’s ever touched you like that, have they?”

  “Of course not,” I whispered.

  “Are you upset?”

  I knew what he meant. Did I regret the things he did to me? “I should be.”

  “You didn’t sound upset.”

  Heat colored my cheeks. “I wasn’t.”

  “I shouldn’t have been so … myself. But you’ll learn, sweet Hillary, not to walk around in short shorts in front of me with that ass of yours. The next time it probably won’t be my tongue.” And then he sat back, leaving me breathless and in the present.

  When I looked away, I felt eyes on me. The first pair was Harley, and her expression was smug. The second pair was Bach, and his expression was disgruntled. I ignored them both, choosing to focus on the things Dylan had said. Dylan liked asses? If I had known, I would have worn sweats to bed. Rolling my eyes, I looked out the window. There wouldn’t be a next time. There couldn’t be. I wasn’t going to be a girl he just hooked up with like he had with Whitney. I suspected that’s what he wanted. A girl to have sex with until someone better suited to him came along. That truth settled over me.

  Most of my life I banked on my intelligence. It would get me great grades and help with college. It would get me where mom wanted me to go. But lately, I just felt completely and utterly stupid. Falling for things I had never fallen for was skinning my knees and breaking my bones. I feared the next fall. The next broken bone might not heal.

  When we got to the restaurant the world was lit up. White lights were strung from the bungalow in the back and people filled the space, dancing and laughing. Music infiltrated the interior of the truck, loud and lively when I felt anything but. I had no desire for most things lately. Mom badgered me about school, but I shut down all talk. Zane and Piper went to school, not to mention the people who were blaming me for my own attack. I couldn’t face them—refused to face them. I could hardly stare my nightmares in the eye. How was I supposed to face the people who blamed me for their presence?

  I crawled out of the back of the truck and waited awkwardly beside Dylan while Harley and Bach walked ahead of us. There was so much inside of me. Anger, sadness, fear, resentment—these emotions were draining me.

  It took Dylan a bit to get up the steps, but once inside of the restaurant he blended in. The sheer amount of people and the loud noises were shrill. Yelling from the bar, giggles from the tables, beers clinking, the smell of salsa and chips and the loud samba music filling the area, created a cacophonous whirlwind. I was used to the quiet of my bedroom and the loudness of my thoughts. I wasn’t sure which one I preferred, and it bothered me. I shouldn’t crave the deafening quiet, but it had been much easier to handle. Somehow the ignorance surrounding me wasn’t as easily acceptable.

  Maybe because I used to be them.

  “How many?” the hostess asked, face flushed as she dealt with the craziness around her.

  “Four,” Harley supplied. “Could we have a table?”

  “Of course. Right this way.” She grabbed four menus and led us through the crowded restaurant to a table. “Your waitress’s name is Brittney. She’ll be with ya’ll shortly.” She scurried away like a hummingbird.

  “Son of a bitch,” Bach hissed, eyes downcast at his menu.

  “What?” Harley touched his back, rubbing his spine.

  Beside me, Dylan struggled to get comfortable. He set his crutches on the floor and moved them out of the way.

  “Damn it.” Bach cringed.

  I watched him curiously. When Harley’s eyes hardened at something over my shoulder, I started to get nervous. Our waitress came over at that precise second. She was stunning, with red hair and a long, tall, curvaceous body. She wore the same outfit as all the other waitress. Red shorts and a white shirt with the name Live Spicy across her breasts, but she somehow wore it better.

  “Welcome to Live Spicy …” Her voice faded when she spotted Bach and Harley. “Well. This is awkward.”

  “Red head,” Harley mumbled.

  She winked. “There goes my tip. How you doing, Bach?”

  He could barely meet her eyes. “Didn’t know you worked here.”

  “Yeah, well, gotta pay the bills. Can we be adults here?”

  “Please.” He looked relieved.

  “What can I start you guys off to drink?”

  “Seven Up,” Bach mumbled.

  “A margarita.” Harley’s gaze was dark.

  Brittney looked at me. “Ice water’s fine.”

  “Me too,” Dylan spoke up, amused.

  “Are you in the mood for appetizers?” Brittney looked at Dylan for some reason.

  My spine straightened. Her eyes roamed over him in a way that did not please me whatsoever. No wonder Harley was pissed.

  “Chips and guacamole sound good,” he responded. “The lobster nachos too. Oh, and give me a side of steak tostadas. After all, Bach’s paying.” His grin was wide.

  Brittney laughed, writing the order down. “What’s your name, good looking?”

  “Good looking works fine for me.” He looked at the nametag over her boobs. “Brittney.”

  “Hmm. I’ve never been picky.”

  Harley snorted.

  My foot fell away and hit her shin.

  On accident.

  “Ouch!” She jumped back, rubbing herself painfully.

  I met her eyes boldly. “Sorry. My foot slipped.”

  She rolled her eyes and walked away, but not before shooting a look at Dylan’s direction. When I looked at the table he was frowning at me, and Harley was trying not to laugh. Bach, well, Bach had that suspicious look again.

  “I love going out to dinner.” Harley’s eyes were mirthful.

  Dylan touched my knee under the table. I met his eyes hesitantly, guilty in the span of seconds. “I need to use the bathroom. Help me?”

  “Sure.”

  After a minor struggle, we were able to head away from the table for the restrooms. When we got close to them, however, Dylan shook his head and nodded for the patio. I frowned but followed him anyway. The music got louder, and couples danced so close together I couldn’t look at them without blushing. Dylan settled against the railing overlooking the beach. Waves rolled in slowly, dark against the bright moon. The smell of spices and saltwater filled my nose. The air was cool coming off the water; I wrapped m
y arms around myself.

  “I’m going to ask you this, and you have two answers. Yes, or no. Got it?” His eyes were intense. “I don’t want to hear anything else.”

  I nodded warily.

  “Were you jealous in there?”

  His question slammed into me unexpectedly. The word ‘jealousy’ had never occurred to me. It made sense, but it hadn’t been a word my brain conjured. All I could feel was anger and betrayal, which admittedly felt a lot like jealousy in retrospect.

  “I—”

  “Yes or no?”

  “It’s not—”

  “Yes or no!” he snapped.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and met his eyes, feeling an unfamiliar flash of anger. I wasn’t an angry person, but around this man, I felt it in one form or another. “No.”

  He held my gaze, probing me for a lie. “Are you positive? You can tell me.” His voice softened, caressing me.

  I wasn’t going to fall for his persuasive tone. It was deep and low, covering me in its affect like fog. I shook my reaction off. “Not only am I positive, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

  He nodded slowly and looked down. When he looked back up, he had the same unhinged appearance in his eyes as he did in my bedroom. “You think because my leg is injured that I can’t fuck the truth out of you?”

  My mouth fell open. But I knew if I didn’t play along I’d never learn this game, and deep down I wanted to play with someone and not lose for the first time in my life. I touched his stomach and held on to his shirt, looking up into his eyes. They were so deep in the night. Cobalt mixing with the light of the moon; his eyes were glimmering. “Did you want me to be jealous?”

  “What I wanted was the truth. Were you or were you not jealous? It would explain why you stormed out of my house when Justine sat on my lap. Why you looked like you wanted to strangle Brittney. And the look in your eyes right now as I remind you of those things. I don’t appreciate being lied to. I’m trying not to do it anymore, sweet Hillary, so tell me the truth.”

  “I’ve never been jealous before.” Kiss me. I wanted it suddenly. Caught in this toxic game of nightmare and memories has left me yearning to forget.