Dear Reader,
Broken, battered, not defeated. This is not a pretty story wrapped in a nice package. This is a real story—parts are my very own experience. Defeated by the hands and words of a man, I am no more. This is a story of how easily signs can be overlooked.
Outsiders often say, “How do women stay in abusive relationships?” They don’t understand. It begins in little ways, a slow build up. By the time a victim is aware, it can be too late.
When I released the Love and Repair Series (originally published as the Daddy’s Girls Series), I wanted to write stories that focused on the ability of one to love, be restored, forgive, start over, change, and last a lifetime. Restore My Heart was the first book to be released. Many readers asked for more backstory on Dina and Ryder. Well, here is the back story—I never promised it would be soft.
The rest of the series is written in both points of view. However, I did not write Crash and Burn with alternating points of view because I cannot grasp what would go through a man’s mind to hurt someone he claims to love. Therefore, this book is only written in Dina’s point of view, the first scene will be the only scene to be in Ryder’s point of view.
Thank you for your support, and I hope you go through the journey of love and repair, beginning with this book and continuing on with the entire series.
Much love and appreciation,
Chelsea Camaron
Prologue
Ryder
Damn, what will the night bring? Brayden and I are heading out to a party. Typically, we start at one party, maybe make our way to another; but by the end of every night, it usually ends up following us to our place. College life and freedoms are our comforts.
Running my fingers through my hair to spike it up, I smile at my reflection in the mirror. Yes, I am one panty-melting bastard with a simple smile.
“Brayden, you ready?” I ask, walking into our living room.
“Yeah, man.” He gives me a smartass smirk. “Heads-up, Suzanne from last weekend is going to meet me tonight at Carly’s.” He pats his chest like the cocky shithead he is. “She’s coming back with me. Just so, you know, you don’t have any surprises.” He winks, and I can only manage to shake my head.
“Why, oh, why do you give them seconds? Suzanne is cute and all, but fresh pussy, man …” I continue shaking my head, giving him a half-smile. “While we’re young and free, sample the flavors of life, my man. Enjoy the buffet of women before we end up with the same meal night after fuckin’ night.”
Turning his back to me to head out, he continues, “I have plenty of samples. You’re the man-whore. I’m happy to indulge in seconds or thirds if the ass is good, and Suzanne’s ass is good.” Looking over his shoulder at me, he says, “There’s this whole innocent appeal to her. Get her alone and started, my man, she’s a hellcat in bed.” He ends on a sigh.
“A hellcat is good, but are you ready to give her more? Round two and three can lead to expectation. Think on that before she sinks her claws too deep and you get tied down,” I tell him as we walk out the front door.
“Suzanne knows the deal. She’s not looking for more than a good time for as long as she can get it. I’m not a man to get tied down, married—all that shit. She knows it,” he says, climbing into my car.
It isn’t long before we pull up to Carly’s house, outside of Concord, North Carolina. She has a small house on a hill. Rumor is, her parents bought the place for her and her man until they graduate from college. Thing is, Carly and her man are on the outs and, well, she likes to keep her house occupied.
I guess it’s true what they say: some people can’t handle being alone. Her loss is our gain.
This has been the party spot for the last few weeks. Logistically, this is the place. It’s just far enough out of the way that the cops don’t bother to come out, and the closest neighbor is down the road a good bit. Plenty of parking, and no one too close by to complain.
Walking into the small house, I see the party is already in full swing. At six-foot-two inches, I can easily see over the crowd. My immediate reaction is to scope the place for my piece of ass.
I see eight women I have recently hooked up with; two of whom are already en route to their approach. My reputation is that of a one-night-stand kind of man. Why they are even bothering to come over here is beyond me.
Damn, I make it clear in the morning: don’t call me because I won’t be calling you. Nothing personal. I just have my entire life ahead of me.
One day, I will find someone and settle down. For now, I want to enjoy myself and sow my wild oats without planting my seed. Safe sex, I laugh to myself, always wrap it up.
Brayden immediately takes off to Suzanne. Within minutes he’s already in a corner with Suzanne, his hand up her shirt while he swallows her face. They won’t make it back to our place. He will tap that ass in the bathroom in less than thirty minutes. She does have that sweet, innocent look to her when she comes up for air, though. Poor girl, Brayden will corrupt her and break her heart into a million pieces. Oh well, she’s a consenting adult.
These women and their misconception of changing a man make me laugh.
“Hey, Ryder,” a chick purrs up against me. How she knows my name, I don’t know. She is cute with shoulder-length, dark hair. She has this exotic thing going on with olive skin tones and deep chocolate eyes. Her shape is a little on the skinny side for my tastes, and her boobs are a tad small, but I can work with them. The green corset top, skinny jeans, and fuck-me heels scream she’s game to get down.
Yes, she will do for tonight. I can take her to a room and fuck her senseless with nothing on but those damn shoes.
“Good evenin’, sexy,” I croon, dropping my voice to a deep baritone.
I should ask her name; that would be the nice thing to do. Honestly, her name makes not one bit of difference to me, though. My name will be the one coming out of her plump lips in less than an hour and, well, to my dick, that’s what matters.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her to me, tickling my hand up her back, testing the laces of the corset.
She automatically begins pushing up against me, her breasts swelling from her top with every breath she takes.
Putty in my fucking hands.
Leaning down to breathe hot against her ear, I whisper, “Beautiful, how ’bout I take you down the hall and we start this party right?” I’m close enough for her to sense my lips on her skin without actually touching them to her; ghost flutters of what I will give her if she goes with me.
Reaching under her hair, I give the back of her neck a small squeeze. Tilting my head just enough, I then brush my lips against the spot behind her ear, inhaling the scent of vanilla on her skin.
“Do you smell this good everywhere?” I tease my temptress. “I’m ready to find out if you taste as sweet as you smell.”
Here is how I see it. Women, the softer sex, the most beautiful creatures ever created … from the stick skinny to the plush curves, the blondes, brunettes, redheads, and even the bottled hair color of many shades, they are all a work of art. A woman’s body is a sculpture, a masterpiece that I want to freely roam my hands over every delectable inch of.
Women smell better, look better, walk better, and the sounds they make are pure seduction, especially when they don’t realize they are even doing it. I’m an equal opportunity fucker; I want to experience them all.
Led by the hand, I follow my companion down the hall to a free bedroom. Shutting and locking the door behind us, I pull her to me and kiss her, not holding back. I part her lips with my tongue and invade her mouth while lacing my hands together behind her head, massaging her scalp with my fingertips as I devour every centimeter of her hot mouth.
She rocks her hips into me, wanting this. Then again, I have never been one to be rejected.
When she tugs at my shirt, I break away to remove it. She immediately teases my torso as she traces the lines of my abdominal muscles. I work out. I stay fit. I have nothing to be ashamed o
f where my body, or my bedroom skills, are concerned.
Trepidation suddenly radiates off her.
I pause, looking down at her, watching her face as she bites her bottom lip. Pulling back, I smile, waiting for a sign of her intentions as I continue to softly massage her scalp.
“You wanna stop, this stops,” I reassure her. I like pussy. I treasure it as the gift it is, and it’s one to be given, not taken.
When she moves to my belt buckle, I drop my hands from her head to her hips. Leaning in, I kiss her again as I work on the clasps on the back of her corset under the lacing. Feeling each one give as they slowly free her breasts is like slowly scratching off the winning numbers to a lottery ticket. My prize is coming soon.
Dropping my head to her exposed nipples, I lick a circle, following the line of her areola before I ever so gently blow on the sensitive skin. She shudders. Yep, putty in my hands.
“Ryder, you’re sexier than I imagined,” she moans as I back her to the bed with a laugh.
Laying her down, I remove those sexy as sin shoes while she unbuttons her pants. Then I stand back and watch in sheer satisfaction, blended with anticipation, as she slides them off, along with her panties. With her bare before me, I drink her in as I slide the heels back on her feet.
Kissing my way up her legs, I smile against her strip of hair. “The carpet matches the curtains. Hmm …” I let the vibrations of my voice tease her as I flick my tongue out to barely touch her outer pussy lips.
As I cup her ass, she spreads her legs wide for me, opening to me as her pussy glistens with her arousal. Yes, she wants me, and I plan to let her have me.
For tonight, that is.
Scooping her ass, I push her pussy to my face, licking between her lips and flicking my tongue against her clit. Her taste is sweet, and her body trembles at the first touch. So responsive; the shit men like me get off on time and time again.
I lick and suck her clit before moving my right hand to slide a finger inside. She instantly begins to rock against me, seeking her release. I can feel it building as I add another finger, her inner walls clenching tightly around me. Then I moan, the vibrations easily pushing her over the edge.
Riding her through the aftershocks, I slow my pace as she whispers my name.
Not a single sound is more erotic to my ears.
I pull away to remove my pants and roll on a condom. Then I position myself over her, kissing her neck while teasing her entrance with the head of my rock-hard cock before entering her slowly.
She gasps, and I immediately still. She’s tight, even for having an orgasm less than five minutes ago.
Knowing I have girth and length, I allow her a moment to adjust to my size as I feel her insides grip and release around me. Inflicting pain on my partner is not something I get off on.
Finally, after what feels like agonizing moments, but is merely seconds, she moves, taking me deeper. She lets me know she’s ready as she grips my ass, pushing me hard into her. That’s when I begin moving in and out, maintaining a steady rhythm.
I hold off my own orgasm as her body builds up again. It doesn’t take long before she is on the verge, tightening around my cock as her breath hitches. I quicken the pace, allowing myself to work toward my own release.
Vaguely, I hear her say, “Ryder, my name. Say my name.”
I pump faster, feeling the tingle up my spine.
Sucking her nipple hard, I send her over the edge just as my climax hits, filling the condom.
As we lie there, trying to get our breathing under control and I begin to pull out, I hear her again, “Say my name.”
Well, if this isn’t awkward …
Regardless, the chick needs to know the truth.
“I don’t know your name and really don’t need to. You got yours, honey. Twice. And I got mine. It was a good night.”
She immediately jumps up, scrambling to get dressed, tears on her face.
Rather than deal with the drama, I go to the adjoining bathroom to dispose of the condom and clean up.
If she wanted me to know her name so badly, maybe she should have clarified it before I put my dick in her. If she didn’t care to make sure I knew, I’m certainly not going to care to ask.
I know I’m an asshole. I’m young and free. One day, though, I know a woman will come along and tame me. One day, a woman will come crashing into my life and change every thought I have about women.
Until then, I’m going to enjoy every second and every curve I have along the way.
Chapter One
Left Behind
Dina
Whew, it’s over! The semester from hell is now behind me. My grades aren’t what they should be, yet I passed. Do final scores really matter anymore? No one is left to care.
My parents are gone. Seven months ago, a car accident took them from me.
Taking pity on me, my professors allowed me to take my exams late and from home while I was taking in all that happened. Last semester, my grades were enough to get me by during the blur of events. The pain and loss from last term carried into this one, though, and I am simply thankful to have the time behind me.
Getting by, it’s all I have managed to do in everything.
After the joint memorial service, I squared away what I could at the coast and came back to Charlotte for school. It is all overwhelming—having an apartment here that my parents picked out with the Lawson’s and suddenly having to deal with our family home in Emerald Isle, North Carolina, yet not living there.
The Lawson’s are my best friend, Maggie’s, family. Maggie has been my best friend since we met in high school. And her parents were also some of my parents’ closest friends on the coast. They were part of the Hellions Motorcycle Club - my dad was an original founding member. When the Lawson’s moved down the street and I became so close with Maggie, they ended up joining the club to. Now they are the closest thing to family I have left.
Then there was the need to sell the business because, let’s face it, as much as my dad was a great mechanic, I’m not. I get by compared to most girls, but the shop isn’t my goal in life. Roundman, Blaine Reklinger and my dad shared the shop so he easily bought out my dad’s half with a healthy settlement for me. The process has been emotionally so taxing that I am thankful to Roundman and the Hellions for making the sale as easy as possible. Then there have been the meetings … All the meetings with my attorney to settle the case. All of this while trying to adjust to life alone. It’s been too much for me to handle most days.
I had the kind of life most people would envy. My parents were so in love and so supportive of anything I wanted to do. As an only child, losing both my parents simultaneously breaks me to the very soul of who I am. Having no one to share the pain, understand the fears, and to face the loss with me all ends with this empty, helpless feeling inside that I can’t find a way to conquer. Clinging to what once was only spirals my depression further.
I want time to stop. No, that’s a lie. I want time to rewind. I want to stop my parents from ever going to the last car show. The one where another trophy was won, doing what they loved, before two lives were lost and three destroyed. The third being mine. If they would have skipped this one, they would still be with me.
It’s not their fault. No, the truck driver was drunk when he hopped behind the wheel of his beverage distribution rig. He got in the driver’s seat, and I got left behind in the wake of his actions.
For days, weeks, really, I called my mom’s phone just to listen to her voicemail message. I slept in my dad’s T-shirts for the longest time because, at first, they kept the nightmares at bay.
Not anymore.
Day by day, the pain from my loss becomes greater. There is no light coming through the window. Darkness engulfs me. I’m drowning in a sea of my own emotions, and I can’t come up for air. The loss is too deep to see my way out.
The thing is, I don’t need the pain to go away. I need my parents.
This isn’t how things are supposed
to be. My parents had that once in a lifetime kind of love. My dad was the bad boy who lived next door to my “follow the rules” mother. He was her first and only love. He worked hard to lay the world at her feet.
How can something so good end so tragically? How could they leave me when I still need them?
Sure, I’m an adult by legal standards, but at nineteen, I still need and want their guidance.
In all the mess that has ensued, I have managed to make it through my freshman year of college. The year began with me having not a single care in the world, outside of school, and ended with me having zero direction and no one to help me tunnel through the challenges of adulthood.
Well, I guess, to an outsider, I have people. I just don’t have the people I want to have with me. The two people who came together in love to make me and raise me. The two people who worked hard to give me a good life. The two people who loved me more than anyone in the world. My parents are gone, and it’s a loss I still can’t seem to face.
My grandparents died when I was younger, and my aunts and uncles were never close with my parents. Maggie and the entire Lawson family have been amazing in helping me navigate the many facets of estate inheritance. I don’t know what I would do without them. On the other hand, they are a painful reminder of my own parents. Even the Hellions MC, while their intentions are good to be supportive of me, have been a constant reminder of what I won’t have again.
In the end, there is no way I could have done any of this without their support. I wouldn’t have returned to Charlotte and gone back to school if it wasn’t for their encouragement.
In all of this, I have enough money for a lifetime. If I budget and don’t spend frivolously, I don’t need to work or even have this education. The settlement from the drunk driver’s company took care of that, thanks to the shark of an attorney the Lawson’s helped me find and hire.
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