Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  When I’m as clean as I’ll ever be he hops out to get me a towel. Folded safely inside the cotton material I return to the living room. I put his clothes back on and then wrap my wet hair in the towel. He comes out wearing a fresh pair of black jeans and a black shirt. His dark hair is in disarray and his dick is bulging in his crotch. I don’t think he knows I can see it. I only feel slightly bad for not giving him some release. I draw the line when it comes to double teaming girls with your loser friend. With Bach this is disappointingly part of the game. It’s not a part of mine, but then again, nothing he does is.

  “Did you really have a threesome with Jona and Brittney?” I run my fingers through my damp hair, using the curtain it creates to hide my disgusted expression. “What was going through your head?”

  “You.”

  “And after with just Brittney?”

  “Especially you.”

  “You should go get tested right now.” I throw my towel at him. “Or I’m never touching you again.”

  “Liar. You’d be begging me for it by tonight.” He grabs himself and humps the air. As per usual, Bach is always classy. “But I wouldn’t give it to you. I, unlike you, have an uncanny since of self-control.”

  I roll my eyes. “Can we at least go get something to eat? You interrupted me. Now my toast is too dry to eat and my coffee’s cold.”

  “Why don’t we order in? I don’t want to leave my house right now for anything. There are too many distractions out there.” He looks at the door and then back at me as if someone’s going to barge in and take me.

  Or I’ll wake up and suddenly have an epiphany about him and put my mini skirt back on. What Bach doesn’t understand is that I’ve been here from the beginning. If I can put up with all of that why would I run now? Why would I risk his storm and then run once the sun shines? Recalling last night makes me cringe a little. Okay, so maybe he has a slight reason to be nervous. New Harley can’t stop thinking of the rage, the emotion on Bach’s face. I proved her wrong and she hates me for it. Her stint was short-lived. He shed his lies last night right in front of me. Whatever I did from now on would revolve around keeping them away. Not because he would lie to me, but because Bach lied to himself.

  He tosses his phone to me. “Pick a place and I’ll order.”

  The app on his phone has every restaurant that delivers in Crystal Gulf. I peek at him as he starts to pick up the garbage on the kitchen floor. Then I close the app and open his contacts instead. The amount of female names unnerves me. I don’t even know that many people! They’re in alphabetical order. I scroll down, amazed as the list unbelievably continues all the way to the Z’s.

  “What kind of name is Zar Zar?” I can’t help myself. “Is that Jar Jar Bink’s cousin?”

  He pauses in the middle of pulling a crusty kitchen towel from under the fridge and smirks at me. “Are you snooping?”

  “Zar Zar,” I insist. “And Hand Job Hera? Oh, and Big Tits Bethany?”

  “Big Tits Bethany!” He laughs hard, rubbing a tear from his eye. “She used to be fun. She had big tits.”

  “Really? I never would have guessed that.” I close his contacts and move to his text messages. Fortunately for him the most recent one is to Dylan from almost a month ago. She knows, he texted. He warned Dylan that he told me first. I glance at him but he’s returned to the towel. “You’re not big on texting?”

  “Nah. Every word someone texts me sounds like an insult. Like ‘Hey’ makes me want to punch someone. And ‘What’s Up’, oh man, what kind of a dickhead do you have to be to say that to me?”

  I can’t tell if he’s kidding. Next are his pictures. He has four folders. Two from last year and two from this year. I don’t know why but I want the ones from last year first. The first picture makes my stomach drop. The second one makes my heart twitch. But it’s the third one that makes me perfectly not guilty to be with Bach right now. “Dylan is disgusting!”

  “Whoa, whoa, easy there, Square.” He stomps over and snatches his phone from me. But he’s grinning. “I told you. He used to make me look good.”

  “She had her tongue in—”

  “I know. That’s why I took a picture.”

  “Did you do that too?”

  He looks offended. “I’m filthy, baby, but even I’m not doing that shit. If it helps that weekend he was high as hell. He went hard for some reason. I took care of him. When Dylan gets like that I always have to. A couple months later he went to jail and all of a sudden he was a changed man. And I told you to look for food. Not go through my phone. Here.” He hands his phone back to me. “Food, Harley.”

  “Sorry. You can go through mine if you want.”

  He smiles condescendingly. “For what? Your cat pictures don’t interest me.”

  Ass. This time I obey the rules. I can only imagine what kinds of pictures he has of himself in his phone. Or who else. “What about barbecue? I’m in the mood for some southern cooking.”

  “What was wrong with him?” he asks quietly. He sweeps the garbage on the floor into a pile methodically. “He was running from something.”

  “Dylan? I don’t know. Maybe it was his other girlfriend. What was her name?”

  Before he can think about it he answers. “Whitney. Jona said they were hanging out a lot before he went to jail.”

  I close his app and go back to his contacts. But Whitney’s not in there. Whitney was Dylan’s. “Did you know her too?”

  “Not really. I didn’t even know they were hanging out until Jona told me.” He bends down with an old cereal box since he doesn’t have a dustpan and sweeps the garbage up and carries it to the trash can. “And before you go there Whitney made Justine look like a saint, so don’t start that comparing shit.”

  “I wasn’t going to go there,” I let him know. “What Dylan does no longer concerns me.”

  “Good.” He dusts his hands off and grins at me. “I could go for some good southern cooking. Dylan’s mom used to make the best cornbread. She only made it a couple times, when she wasn’t shitfaced, but I can still remember when she did.”

  “Did you live with him growing up?” Why didn’t he live with his parents?

  His smile falls a little but he tries not to let it show. “I went to live with him when I was seven.”

  He was only seven. What happened when he was seven? I know it’s why his hands shake, why his nightmares torture him, and why he numbs himself with drugs, women, and alcohol. “No wonder you guys are close.”

  He shrugs. “We’ll see how close we are when he finds out I took his girl.”

  “You didn’t take anything. He left me here. You got lucky. That’s all.” I wink at him. He rolls his beautiful sea green eyes and takes his phone back. “I want barbecue chicken, collard greens, macaroni and cheese, and a large sweet tea, please.”

  “Will you be joining a gym afterwards?”

  I reach over and touch him through his jeans, sliding my fingers down his shaft. “No. We’ll work it off later.”

  “In that case I’ll double your order.”

  While we wait for our food Bach continues cleaning. I watch him as he does from my position on the couch, both curious and really turned on. He’s different now that he’s admitted his feelings. He’s seems less closed off and more open, which in turn makes it easier to want him. He’s still capable of running, but knowing he ran this time because of me lessens the pain his absence caused. I can have him, and I want him even more because of it.

  He takes the trash out, puts all of the dishes in the sink to soak, and wipes down the kitchen counters. In the living room he picks up the empty alcohol bottles off the coffee table and entertainment center. He pulls out a vacuum and drags it over every inch of the beach house’s wooden floors. Just as the doorbell rings Bach closes the closet door and appraises his work.

  “Not bad,” he says, looking at me for approval.

  “You can’t even tell you live here,” I compliment.

  “I was going for that.”<
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  As I open the food Bach settles down on the floor in front of the coffee table with his fork ready. I do the same, sitting as close to him as I can without sitting on his lap. I know what I’ll want if I sit on his lap. What I want even not sitting on his lap. An ache begins between my legs, this quiet, desperate need that Bach knows exactly how to relieve. The memory of his tongue is not as distant as I’d like. His fingers sliding into me, knowing exactly how to move and tease me, is even fresher on my mind. I think I have major issues. And I’m perfectly okay with them.

  “Bach? Why did you really leave?”

  By the way his broad shoulders tense it’s as if he’s looking, but he doesn’t look at me. “I knew that no matter what I would never deserve you. I knew it all along. Every time I looked at you, I knew you were making the wrong choice. I wasn’t going to bring any good into your life. I mean, look at dinner? You should be with a guy whose answers were the complete opposite of mine. Not jail and drugs. And then your mom asked me to take over the grilling. I panicked. I had to do the only thing I could to get you away from me.”

  He is so wrong about himself it’s unbelievable. I had a feeling Bach did this to protect himself, not to hurt me. “She did? That’s my dad’s spot. He always does the grilling.” No wonder he ran away. Although I had to admit if it wasn’t the grilling it would have been something else that scared him. When you’re afraid of yourself it’s only a matter of time before you give in to your fears.

  “I think she knew how I felt. That’s why she asked me to do it. She knew I fell for you before I even admitted it to myself.”

  “She knew how I felt also. That’s why she kept asking me about you after she left. She felt guilty.” Now Mom’s cryptic message before I got in the taxi made sense.

  “Sometimes the ones that make us hurt make us hurt because we let them. Sometimes they make us hurt because we can’t stop them. And other times they make us hurt because we want them to.”

  “Harley?”

  We’re already looking each other in the eye. But I answer anyway. He wants one. “Yes, Bach?”

  “I love grilling.”

  I touch my hand to his face and smile sadly. “I haven’t missed my dad in days.” He raises his eyebrow in question. I explain why what I just said means there’s nothing in the world that can make me let him go now. Nothing. “My dad always said to end up with someone who doesn’t make me miss him. I don’t think he meant to leave me so early, but I’ve always remembered to look out for that one guy who gives me everything he’s ever given me. You’re that guy, Bach.”

  He closes his eyes and kisses my palm. “I don’t think I am.”

  “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you are.”

  He leans forward, his eyes still closed, and kisses me so damn hard I can’t breathe when he pulls away. “I look forward to it.” Then, as if he didn’t just promise me forever, he grabs his fork and resumes shoving macaroni and cheese into his mouth.

  Once I’m so full I can’t move, and my hangover finally starts to ebb, I crawl back on the couch and lay down. “Justine’s party is tonight.”

  He shrugs. “Good for her.”

  “Would you go if I weren’t here?”

  “If you weren’t here I’d be trying to forget you with every woman at the party.”

  “They’d let you.”

  “They always do.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay with just me after having your pick of any woman you want?”

  He looks at me harshly, still sitting on the floor, and yet I get the feeling he’s towering over me. “I don’t want them. I never did. Not one of them is worth losing you over. So yeah, I’m okay with just you. Just you is all I fucking want.”

  His anger makes me want to sit on his lap. “You told me that there are a million other girls out there who are far more better. What am I supposed to think?” I’m rubbing his lies in his face just to watch him defend himself. It’s sexier than foreplay. What can I say? Bach must be rubbing off on me. I almost want to reach down and touch myself when his eyes heat up.

  “I was trying to protect you!” he insists. “I’m sorry I had to hurt you to do it, but saying I’m going to leave and never come back because staying is all I want to do wasn’t going to work.”

  “It might have.” I shrug on the couch, goading him.

  “Give me a break, Harley.”

  “All I’m saying is what if I piss you off like I am right now? What if I make you so mad you storm out of here, get shitfaced, and go home with Pink Heels? I have to know that no matter what you’re committed to me now.”

  “Maybe you should put a lock and code on my dick.” He pushes to his feet, grumbling obscenities under his breath as he starts to gather the empty food cartons on the coffee table. “I can’t be what you want overnight. It’s going to take decades to be half, even a quarter, of the man you deserve.” He drops what’s in his hands and towers over me, his chest rising and falling and his breathing harsh. His eyes bore into me. “I want you to know one thing. I don’t fuck around. When I want something I go for it one hundred percent. Some drunk whore isn’t going to get in my way. A fight, which we do at least ten times a day, isn’t going to stop me, either.”

  “Are you as turned on as me?” I cross my arms behind my head and smile at him.

  “If I had condoms I’d show you how turned on I was.”

  “I want to feel you without one.”

  He sits on the edge of the couch, his eyes hungry again. He obviously didn’t eat enough. “I’ll go get tested first thing in the morning. After that your poor pussy’s going to be begging for a break. Enjoy the rest while you have it.”

  “I doubt it. Were you really that bad?”

  His gaze sobers. “I really was, babe. I can’t risk it.”

  “Risk it.” I slide my hand over my stomach up to my breasts. I rub myself through my shirt, feeling that sweet warmth moisten Bach’s shorts.

  “Harley,” he warns. “No. Stop.”

  I lift my shirt to reveal my breasts. I arch my back as I softly tug on my nipples. If he doesn’t I will. I slowly lift my shirt over my head, making sure he’s watching the entire time. “I haven’t touched myself in a long time.”

  “How long?” His voice is rough and his breathing heavy.

  “Too long. I always have a hard time finding myself sexy.” I don’t tonight, but that’s only because Bach’s eyes tell me I am. “I usually have to pretend they’re someone else’s hands touching my body. Right now they’re yours.”

  He watches me continue to rub my nipples. I’m so gone I can’t stop even if I had to. But I don’t think I do. Bach’s heavy breaths are louder than mine. He wants to watch me. I run my fingers down my stomach and teasingly tug on my shorts. Then I lift my ass in the air and slip them off. He reaches down and helps me tug them off the rest of the way. I keep my legs closed, squeezing my thighs together in a way that makes the ache between them desperate for attention.

  He hasn’t looked me in the eye since I took my shorts off. They’re on my knees, knowing right where to look. I slowly lift my leg on the back of the couch and let the other one fall to the floor. I’m completely exposed. My body begs for him. If I even move an inch I’ll orgasm. I can feel myself near the edge and I haven’t even touched myself.

  “Come here,” I order breathlessly. “I need your mouth.”

  He leans forward, his erection pressing into my shin as he does. I stick two fingers into his waiting mouth. I run them over his warm tongue, getting them good and wet. Then I make sure he’s watching as I take my moistened fingers and slip them inside of myself. Knowing it’s his saliva inside of me makes me even wetter. I can feel myself moistening my inner thighs and I can guarantee his couch is done for. I push my fingers deep inside of me, deeper, as deep as they will go. It isn’t deep enough.

  “You want to taste?”

  He nods mutely.

  “Say please.”

  “Give them to me now!
”

  Close enough. I remove my hand from between my legs and hold my fingers out. He obediently leans forward, sucking me off my fingers. His eyes close and he moans deep and gruff from his chest. When he opens his eyes I know I’m in the eye of the storm and I’ve never been happier.

  “Fuck it!” he growls.

  He pushes to his feet and takes his clothes off shockingly fast. His shirts, jeans, and boxers are gone in less than a second. In the next second he he’s lying on top of me, with his thick hard cock balancing between my legs in two. In three he grips his cock and rubs the head of it against my clit. In four he’s slowly, painstakingly slowly, pushing himself inside of me. I want to take the fifth second, the one where I realize that Bach is finally inside if me, and keep it there forever. Time no longer needs to surpass right now. Until he pulls out and then urges himself back in even deeper. Forget the fifth second. I want every second after it.

  “You’re so tight. I don’t want to hurt you.” He refuses to put his whole weight on me, refuses to fill me.

  “Hurt me.” I grab his shoulders and pull him down.

  His arms give way and his hips drop, causing us both to scream out. At first neither of us moves. My vagina stretches painfully, burning from the thickness of him. It’s the kind of burn you want more of. I need more of him. He shoves his face against my neck and burrows himself tighter against my body. Then he starts to move his hips. I wrap my arms around him. As he pulls out and slowly fills me once again I have to dig my nails into his back. The burn intensifies, searing uncomfortably and still pleasing me.

  “I told you,” he whispers, kissing my neck as he lifts out yet again. “You’re tight as hell. Relax. Let me do the work.”

  I release my nails from his flesh and find his mouth. He doesn’t get it. The pain is worth the pleasure. Bach is worth every second it took to get to this moment. I wrap my tongue around his as he picks up speed. The feeling of him, the smell of him, and the absolute everything of Bach intoxicates me. I’m intoxicated. He can’t get any closer, I can’t get any closer, and yet I want us to be. I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

  Eventually even he can’t take being gentle anymore. He lifts up and braces himself on his elbows, kisses my mouth deeply as if in apology, and then thrusts into me roughly. I wish I could tell him not to be sorry, but my lips can’t form words. They’re too busy moaning his name. He creates the perfect rhythm as he fills and takes me, knowing exactly how to move his hips, and that with each thrust he’s picking up the pieces. Bach fills me until I’m his, until nothing but him exists.