Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2)

by Shana Vanterpool

  She kissed my bare chest. “My bad boy.”

  Anything that was hers couldn’t be bad.

  Unless of course it was.

  And she wanted it. She did get what she wanted too often from me. Because I thought maybe deep down, I wanted it too.

  But wanting this last year destroyed me. Left me here with my rot.

  But it also gave me the woman in my arms.

  The thought both terrified and comforted me.

  I wanted the woman in my arms.

  “We should get some sleep.” My hand gave her ass a smack, finding perverse pleasure when she yelped. “Up.”

  She rose from my chest and glared. “Did you just spank me again?”

  “My ass, my rules.” The more she glared, the higher my eyebrows rose. “Your pussy’s mine. Your ass must be too. In fact,” I said, reaching up to hold her face. “This is mine also. This is my hair. These are my lips.” I brought her close and met her half way, tasting her shocked mouth. “Those are my eyes, those sexy ass eyes, and these are my thoughts. And every one belongs to me. This beautiful, stunning woman is mine.” I released her and slid my hands back down to her ass, cupping it tightly, wanting to make love to her. “So yeah, I just spanked you. You want more?”

  Her breathing was heavy and warm, fanning across my face and chest. “Maybe. Uh-huh.”

  I squeezed her harder, loving the spark of lust in her eyes. I wanted to see her beneath me as I took her body, maybe even her heart. “Maybe?”

  “Yes,” she huffed. “Definitely.”

  “You want me to hurt you?” I couldn’t help myself. Her soft lips were parted and her cheeks blushed. She looked too damn good to not taste. I took her top lip between mine and sucked softly, inhaling her whimper.

  “No. I never want you to hurt me. Mmm, Dylan. You are such a good kisser.” She deepened our kiss, hands roaming over my chest. “The best kisser.”

  “You have something to compare me too?” Hot, unpredictable rage flew through me. I pulled back. I got the impression she only did this with me. The idea that she’d lost herself in another man, even for a moment, was earth-shatteringly upsetting.

  “Just you.” The emotion in her eyes reminded me of sparks. They crackled and flamed, burning me on accident, or on purpose—she was burning me. “You’re my first everything.”

  “I’m one hell of a first time.”

  Her smile and laugh were breathless and hesitant, soft, timid lifts of her lips and giggles that reached through my skin and bones and burrowed inside of me. I should’ve pulled away, pushed her off, saved myself from the impending damage.

  Instead, I brought her back down and held on as tightly as I could because I feared the day I had to let her go.

  ***

  Hillary

  My eyes fluttered open, confused by my surroundings.

  I expected my bedroom. My familiar, twin bed, my sheer curtains, and the sound of quiet because mom was snoring from her shift at the bar. Instead, I woke up to a bedroom covered in rich colors and expensive furniture. I was in the arms of a man. The room wasn’t quiet but disrupted by the distinct sound of whimpering.

  “Spits?” Dylan’s quiet, pained voice whispered. “I’m sorry, Spits.”

  I rose carefully so as not to wake him. Tears trailed from the corner of his sleeping eyes. Clear rivulets moistened his pillow. I leaned over and kissed them, tasting his pain.

  “Help,” he mumbled, but his left leg moved, as if in his dream he was just as immobile as he was now. “Down. Spits. Tex was wrong. Help!” His shout startled us both. His eyes snapped open.

  The bone-deep fear inside of him called to mine. It was a part of Dylan Meyer I understood more than any other. The crippling knowledge that this was happening, and that it hadn’t, but we’d gotten close enough to the darkness to be altered. I buried his head against my naked chest, cradling my bad boy from the pain that seeped from his eyes.

  “I just wanted to come home,” he sobbed, holding on to me. “I told Tex we weren’t alone. Spits’ son could be Aubrey. I just wanted to come home, Hillary.” He pulled back, his eyes gleaming with his tears. “I didn’t have a choice. Spits’ eyes won’t stop haunting me. Like he blames me. It’s my fault he’s gone, and I’m here.” And then he crushed me to him, holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe.

  I rubbed his back, wanting to free him from whatever hurt him. “Who is Spits?”

  “He was in my unit. He helped me. He helped me deal with …”

  “War?” I guessed softly.

  “War. But he’s gone. He didn’t make it when I did. He has a son. He taught me how to survive. I did bad things to do that.” He pulled back, his hurt so profound it made my heart constrict. “How could you want this? How could you feel safe around an evil bastard like me?”

  I knew Dylan was a soldier. I understood that these men were strong, brave men who sacrificed their well-being for people like me. But war and fighting were removed from my life. They were short clips on CNN. They were brief, painful stories I only heard. They weren’t real life truths. Until now. I was staring into the eyes of a man who had probably fallen so many times he couldn’t find his way up. A soldier who did what he had to do to come home. A man who had no choice but to protect himself, to protect his daughter. Killing was something we did not touch upon. It was unbearably dark. But in combat, it happened. That’s what war was. War was two people trying to win. Even if you won, I had a feeling deep down you lost something. You bled from your eyes, from your heart—because good men could be bad boys too.

  I was looking at one. I was looking at a man who was so strong he could withstand my weakness. His strength was in his tears, in his heart. He wasn’t evil. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t a monster. He was a father who fell. A man who protected me. And a human like the rest of us. To know that this is what he’s been hiding behind—these horrible dark lies—twisted painfully inside of me. Another piece of me, and what I wanted from him, fell into place.

  “Because of this.” I touched his chest over his heart. “This is the same heart that makes your eyes shine when you look at your daughter. It’s the same light that makes your face come alive when you laugh. It’s the same heart that pounds when we kiss. This heart is as beautiful as mine. It could never be evil. You can’t blame yourself for surviving, Dylan. That isn’t fair to your daughter. To yourself.”

  Is that why he wasn’t taking care of himself? Because he felt guilty for living? The realization dawned on me like a sharp painful light bulb in a dark room. It shone on all his secrets.

  That was why Dylan Meyer had given up.

  “Aubrey loves you. How can you think that way about yourself?” I blinked my tears away. “You’re the only person holding me together. The only man I think I’ve ever trusted.”

  He moved away from me like my words were knives thrown at him. He dodged them instead of waiting to find they weren’t sharp instruments meant to harm him. I watched in shock as he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He deflected everything I’d said for the lies inside of him? His tears still fell. He flinched occasionally as if his dreams were still taunting him. He might not have been running in real life, but I had a feeling Dylan had been running from himself for a long time.

  I crawled to him and wrapped my arms around him from behind, holding on to the only man I’ve ever wanted to let my guard down around, the only one I took a chance on. “My father never wanted me. When I learned he was a monster it was like I had to let him go all over again. I’ve never had a man in my life I could trust. They’ve all either hurt me or pushed me away. But you’re the first man I’ve ever wanted to bare myself to, to be like this, naked, and not just physically. Am I wrong? Again?”

  He pulled in a sharp breath. “I’m tired, baby.”

  I kissed his shoulder. “I think sometimes we have to be tired before we give up.”

  His hand snaked up and touched my hair, pressing his forehead to my temple. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”


  “What?”

  “You’re going to make me fall in fucking love with you, and then you’re going to make me regret it.”

  “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to make me fall completely in love with you, and then you’re going to show me how stupid I was. Again.”

  “We can stop that from happening.”

  “How?” I wouldn’t stop it. I pressed my tear-soaked face against his skin. I didn’t want to stop it.

  “You go home. I go home. We separate. I’m starting to need you too much as it is. You need me too, don’t you, baby?”

  “So much.”

  “If we break this we can stop the heartache. I feel like I’ve been dealing with heartache since I was a kid. I can’t even remember not running from it. But you might be—no, you will be—the last straw. I have to get better for my daughter. You deserve someone who can be there for you and only you. I can’t do that if I keep looking over my shoulder.”

  I shook my head. I was the one deflecting his words now. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

  “It’s the truth, Hillary.”

  I unwrapped from his body and jumped off the bed. My safe zone. He wasn’t leaving me. “Where are my damn clothes?”

  “Whitney can take you home today.”

  I couldn’t breathe. Dylan? Away? My tears were blocking my eyes. I was too naked, too exposed, and being pushed aside one more time.

  “Save me. Us. Stop this, and save yourself.”

  I slammed the bathroom door and braced myself against the counter. Dylan wasn’t going anywhere. If we had to shatter then so be it. We’d explode. Exploding was better than the fear I lived with. We’d assess the damage and learn to live with these cracks. Together. Because apart we were two separate people who were afraid. Together our fear was bulletproof.

  Dylan would not take that from me.

  I splashed some water on my face and dried it on the hand towel by the sink. After I’d gathered myself as much as possible, I wrenched the bedroom door open to find him staring at the door as if he’d been able to watch me fall apart.

  “You want your shirt?”

  “Haven’t you suffered enough?” His eyes pled with me.

  “No, Dylan. I haven’t. We’re going to suffer together. We’re not going anywhere.” My words were weak, trembling because of his desire to push me away after promising I could have him.

  Were all men like this? Did they revel in the satisfaction of making women change for them? Was opening up for them the same as inviting pain into our hearts? I thought I could have what I wanted? I want you!

  He nodded, but his eyes were terrified. “When you think about me in the future remember I asked you to stop this. I warned you, Hillary. I tried to prevent the damage. Give me my shirt.”

  I got dressed in the living room, recalling my bad boy—because he was mine—trying last night. His strength was heartbreaking and attractive, beautiful and intoxicating. I wanted his strength. I felt so weak, and he felt so sturdy, as if he could handle my pain better than I ever could. I wondered if it was correct to be this consumed by someone because they’d opened their selves up to me. Knowing he wanted to try with me made me positive my virginity was his. He could have it.

  Dylan could have me.

  When I returned to the bedroom, I held up his shirt. “Arms up.” He complied, eyes on me like he knew what I was feeling, knew it and wanted it. I ran my fingers through his messy hair and then held his face in my hands. My fingers looked so small on his strong jaw, but able, like his face belonged in my grip and no one else’s. “Kiss me.”

  “You kiss me.” His lips caressed my palm.

  “Take your lips and put them on mine.”

  “Not happening.” But he leaned closer. “How do you do this? I want you, know I shouldn’t have you, want to take your body and make it mine, want to protect it—I’m just trying to do the right thing, baby.”

  My breath left me in whoosh. I wanted him. And I wanted an orgasm to be the final product. “I’ve been doing the right thing my entire life, Dylan. I’m starting to learn that sometimes the wrong thing is the most important choice you could ever make.”

  His hands settled on my waist. We were sight and breath, too much of one and not enough of the other.

  “You’re blinded.”

  “By what?”

  Instead of answering he gave in with a deep moan. The moment his lips touched mine I felt this intense apprehension. I needed this. His hands, his taste, his mouth—these were the only things in my entire life that had ever made sense. Not my life, my straight A’s, the rules, nothing had ever felt this right before. If he left, if I let him get in the way of what I wanted, this would be gone. How would that work? Who would I be without the one right thing? I’d only ever be wrong.

  I’d be stupid forever.

  In Dylan’s arms, I was just a girl who made a mistake. I wasn’t someone who broke the rules and suffered. I was a girl who did what other girls did and fell into a monster’s trap. Maybe I shouldn’t blame myself for getting hurt. Maybe the only person in this entire situation who deserved blame was Zane.

  I had this sudden burning desire for him to suffer. I shouldn’t be here breaking. He should be.

  Zane Eastwood should be afraid.

  Not me.

  I’d been afraid enough.

  My lips became angry. I didn’t ask for that! I bit Dylan’s lip so hard he growled, kissing me back so roughly I wondered if he was angry about something too. I didn’t know there was something in my beer! I never had beer. I’d never drink it again. I went upstairs for Jona! If I’d known Zane wanted me up there to hurt me, I wouldn’t have gone. I wore a skirt to fit in with the wolves! Women should be able to show off their bodies without fearing pain. I went to that party to protect my friend. I didn’t want friends anymore, not if they were going to hurt me. I yanked on Dylan’s hair, settling on his lap. Anger burned in my blood. Friends weren’t worth it. Dads weren’t worth it. Mom’s lied. Men hurt. They kissed you and protected you and then pushed you away. Pain hurt.

  But when our lips separated and I stood on my own two feet I was propelled, forced to be myself, to endure the terror I’d faced.

  The separation between those two girls scared me. With Dylan, I saw it right. By myself, my perception was too altered to maintain a proper sense of truth. Fear made you think unclearly. What would I do when he managed to push me away, and he went on with his life? Which Hillary would win?

  The one who knew she’d made a mistake or the one who blamed her for the other’s pain?

  The realization that he may be right slammed into me.

  How could I ever get better when the only way I saw was to blame myself?

  But choosing Dylan felt so right. Having him settled the fear. It made it okay to be afraid. Was being okay feeling afraid right? Or was it better to be terrified and know who I was?

  I didn’t know what to do. Confusion interweaved until I couldn’t remember what I knew was right and what I wanted.

  A deep male voice sounded from somewhere inside of the house. Bach pushed the bedroom door open, staring at the both of us like we were doing something wrong. “What’s going on?” His accusation was thick in the air, making me think despite his refusal to tell me who to be with, he’d still tell me what to do. He was dressed for work in a black suit. His hair was combed and his spicy cologne traveled in after him. “D?”

  “Take her home.”

  The moment his words left his mouth I had my answer. It was a new choice altogether. I wanted to know who I was around this man. I wanted to feel safe inside of myself, because I felt safe around him first. The two went together. Being safe preceded my sadness.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I moved around Bach and sat on the bed, grabbing hold of Dylan’s arm. “Don’t listen to him, Bach. Go to work. We’re fine. Fine.”

  But we weren’t fine. I wasn’t, and I
feared Dylan hadn’t ever been. Nothing was fine.

  Dylan groaned. “You know what I’m going to do to her,” he insisted. “We both know how this will end.”

  I could barely breathe. “Whatever I wanted I thought. I want you.”

  “No, you don’t, baby. You just want to feel better.”

  “What do you want?”

  He looked away. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re not making me feel better right now. You’re breaking my heart.”

  “Bach.” Dylan tried to extract his arm, but my grip was too strong. For the first time in my life, I wanted something and did not care what anyone else thought about it. Dylan was my choice, and I would make it every single time. “Take her home.”

  “Let’s give him time to think. You’re Mom’s been calling my phone all morning. You should go home.”

  “Dylan and I will both go home.”

  “No!” he snapped. “I’m staying here with my daughter. You’re going home. To your life. To your good. Go, baby.” He pulled free and refused to look at me.

  Bach’s hand was around my wrist. He pulled gently. But I wasn’t in a gentle kind of mood. I yanked free and sat there, immobile, staring at the side of Dylan’s face. Something was different about him. What changed? I cast my mind. Dylan had been fine before his nightmare, before he revealed his ugly truths. Before my safe zone admitted that he felt so far from safe.

  I looked at my brother. “Go to work.” When he opened his mouth, I cut him off. “I’ll call you later.” I smiled reassuringly.

  But Bach had probably never been reassured either. He looked like he’d believe anyone but me. “You should go home. Maybe I’ll drop in for dinner tonight. I’m sure Patty would love that.”

  They were ganging up on me, forcing me yet again to do something someone else decided. All I wanted was for someone to let me do it just once. Stand by me no matter what I chose. I wondered if Dylan had ever had that. Maybe he didn’t know how to give it to me.

  “Bach.” I rose from my spot and shoved at his chest. “Go to work. Don’t worry about us.” Grabbing hold of his arm, I pulled with all my strength until he followed me out of the room. “Stop butting in.”