Damaged: The Dillon Sisters

by Layla Frost

Why me?

  What’s his angle?

  Is this a game? A challenge?

  What was I thinking?

  Sliding his hands into his pockets, he smiled down at me. But rather than the easy, charming curve of his lips, there was an edge to it. A wicked smirk. A glint in his too sharp gaze. “Is this your way of saying you want me to call you pet instead of flower?”

  Melody inhaled so hard, I was worried she’d hurt herself. She exhaled in a shaky wheeze, and if she could’ve swooned with a case of the vapors, I’m positive she would’ve. Since I was fresh out of smelling salts—and also because I had no clue what they were—I was glad she snapped out of the Alexander fog without incident. She tilted her head toward the door. “I’ll, uhh, go inventory the kittens.” She scowled and shook her head at the weird excuse before slowly backing away. Once she was out of his line of sight, she wildly pointed at him and mouthed, Soooo hot!

  She wasn’t wrong.

  I stood and attempted to brush the fur off my leggings. “What’re you doing here?”

  “We’re having dinner.”

  “In an hour.”

  Although we both knew he was there to make sure I didn’t ghost him, he said, “I like to be early.”

  “Then I hope you also like to wait.”

  “Patience is one of my many virtues.”

  I rolled my eyes. “As is humility.”

  “Clearly.”

  After gently patting the still nameless pup goodbye, I opened the door. The pup let out a small, stifled yelp before shaking so hard, it was a wonder he didn’t vibrate across the floor. Only once I closed the gate—with Alexander on the outside—did he relax again.

  “He okay?” Alexander asked, his voice quiet and calm.

  “He doesn’t like… anyone, really. But especially men.”

  “Abused?”

  “Badly.”

  His expression remained impassive as he nodded, but when he took my hand, his firm grip said he wasn’t as unaffected as he let on.

  Without thought—an increasingly common and frustrating theme when he was around—I returned the squeeze. “He’ll be fine with time.”

  Using his hold, he twisted me so my front was pressed to his. “And with the right person.” Before I could pull away—and I really fucking needed to pull away—he released me. “I figured it’d be busier in here.”

  “Most of the staff and dogs are at a fundraising auction.”

  “Were you supposed to go?” he asked, presenting me with the perfect excuse to get out of dinner.

  I didn’t take it. “Not my scene.”

  “Lucky for me.” He jerked his head to the side. “Give me a tour.”

  If showing pictures of my apartment at group had left me feeling exposed, showing Alexander around the shelter was akin to flaying open my soul. He’d already seen me at my worst. My most vulnerable. Ready to die and desperate for it.

  This would be the opposite. I’d be letting him into my best. Showing him what drove me. Sharing what tiny bit of joy I’d managed to find.

  After a long moment where I gave serious contemplation to locking myself back in the cage with the nameless pup, I let my shoulders relax and unclenched my jaw. “Follow me.”

  I had every intention of making the tour as brief as humanly possible, but between his genuine interest in all the animals, my genuine love of all the animals, and my coworkers’ genuine nosiness, it was taking for-freaking-ever.

  He’s fucking up my whole system.

  I was an intensely—and likely overdramatically—private person. I blamed years of being harshly judged, dissected, and analyzed. And I wasn’t just talking about on the pageant stages. I’d worked hard to perfect the balance between being friendly enough to not come across as a huge bitch while still maintaining my distance. It was a fine line, but I walked it as well as a beauty pageant runway.

  Or I had.

  Alexander showing up at my work had blurred the lines. Him being hot and outgoing and touching me so damn much had completely eviscerated them.

  An hour later, and only halfway through the tour, I stopped us. “I have to go clock out.” I tried not to stare as he stuck a finger in the cage to pet Waldorf—one of the older cats. Since the notoriously hostile shelter mainstay was tolerating the attention and hadn’t ripped Alexander’s finger off, it was clear I wasn’t the only one swayed by his charm.

  It was oddly comforting.

  “I’ll be here,” he said, gently squeezing my hip.

  Like all his little touches and grazes, it was innocuous and subtle, but it still made my nerve endings go haywire.

  “Right.” Dodging questioning looks and conversation attempts from coworkers, I hurried to the backroom to clock out and grab my stuff. When I returned, I asked, “Ready?”

  He tilted his head toward the hallway we hadn’t gotten to. “What about the rest of the place?”

  The buzzing under my skin started to grow, burning and itching. I was so far out of my comfort zone, the thought of spending an extra minute there made my palms sweat and my belly tighten.

  “I’ll show you the rest next time,” I said, already heading for the exit.

  Part of my rush was because I wanted to escape the prying eyes, sure. But that wasn’t all of it. I’d spent the day in a state of panicked anticipation. I wanted to see Alexander’s home. To eat dinner with him. And I was definitely looking forward to being eaten by him.

  Once we were outside and away from everyone else, the panic subsided, letting the anticipation part to take over. It grew when Alexander’s large hand spanned my lower back, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold air.

  This was a really good idea.

  Chapter Twenty

  Vulnerable

  Briar

  For answers

  THIS WAS AN awful idea.

  I’d known Alexander was loaded. I’d come to terms with it… for the most part. He wasn’t like my father or any of his friends. And his acceptance of my scars and flaws showed that he wasn’t expecting me to be a trophy wife like my mother.

  Logically, I knew that. But seeing his gorgeous secluded house surrounded by trees and nature and loveliness made my doubts come roaring back.

  It wasn’t ostentatious or gaudy—though it still made my apartment look like a shoebox. Not even an adult-sized one. It was the tiny box for infant shoes.

  His house was massive, yet still had character. Souped-up with tech and gadgets, yet not cold. It was comfortable and lived in and so beautiful.

  Peaceful.

  To make matters worse, something had changed in Alexander since we’d left the shelter. He’d grown quiet and his vibe was tense.

  I’d spent enough time on guard against mercurial mood swings to recognize one from a million miles away—which is exactly how far away he seemed to be as we walked silently through his house.

  Reaching the kitchen, I let out a muffled yelp when he grabbed my hips and lifted. He set me on the kitchen island before opening the fridge and handing me a root beer—my drink of choice during our last failed date.

  Was that disaster only a week ago?

  And now this one isn’t going much better.

  Alexander began pulling ingredients from the fridge. It didn’t take me long before I realized what he was going to make.

  Mexican.

  I wanted to tell him he didn’t need to fuss. We could’ve picked up Taco Bell or ordered pizza and it would’ve been a treat. Actually, just being with him was.

  Or it would be if he wasn’t tenser than me—which was saying something.

  My fight-or-flight instincts were revving up. Except in my case, they were just flight-or-flight instincts.

  Before I could make an excuse to leave, Alexander looked at me. “Do I embarrass you?”

  It was such an absurd idea, I couldn’t hold in a burst of laughter.

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m serious.”

  “That makes it funnier. Why would you even thin
k that?”

  “You wouldn’t show me the rest of the shelter.”

  “I said I’d show you next time.” I’d even meant it as a compromise, rather than my usual insincere evasiveness.

  He grabbed a knife from a magnetic strip on his wall. The sight of him holding the sharp steel sent a depraved shiver through my body, creating a surge of arousal. Oblivious to the effect he had on me, he began chopping an onion. “You were strung so tight at the shelter, it’s a wonder you didn’t splinter apart when I touched you. You couldn’t wait to get me the hell out of there.”

  And that was what did it.

  Not when I let him cut me.

  Not when I let him fuck me.

  Not when I let him finger fuck me on my kitchen table.

  That moment, beyond all the other insane and abnormal ones we’d shared, was when I made a decision.

  I was in.

  Because that show of doubt and vulnerability called to me almost as much as his darkness. I understood it.

  I felt it.

  I set my drink on the counter and hopped down. Alexander didn’t stop chopping, but his shoulders bunched as he waited to see what I was doing. Coming behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist, my fingers dancing down his shirt covered abs. I rested my cheek against his back and did something I rarely did. I shared. “I don’t like attention. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you tend to attract a lot since you’re so…”

  “Handsome?” he filled in, his words light when his tone was anything but. “Hot? A magnetic force of sexual energy that you’re addicted to?”

  Yes.

  All of that and so much more.

  “Maybe a tiny, little, itty-bit good looking,” I lied instead. “Between that and the fact I’ve never had anyone visit me at work, it made everyone nosy. Which put me on edge.” Inhaling, I closed my eyes before blurting, “Plus, I’ve been looking forward to being here all day.”

  The last word had barely left my mouth when Alexander turned suddenly, lifting me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him as he began walking, my lips trailing his jaw. When I bit down, he stopped just as quick.

  “Close enough.” He set me on my feet to shove my leggings and panties down. I kicked them and my shoes off as he tugged my shirt and bra over my head. Once I was naked, he lifted me onto a hard surface and dropped to his knees between my spread legs.

  There was no teasing or buildup. Like he’d been starved, he gripped my spread thighs and devoured me.

  Rough in his worship.

  Gentle in his ferventness.

  Gripping his hair, I tugged his head up where I wanted it. Where I needed it.

  And Alexander, the blessedly perceptive man, took my not-so-subtle hint and focused on my clit. Sucking. Nipping. Flicking his tongue so rapidly, my legs began to shake and my ass came off the table.

  If he’d thought I was strung tight before, it was nothing compared to right then. But that meant, when the tension finally broke, I didn’t just come apart. I didn’t splinter.

  I fucking shattered.

  Mind blank of anything but pure bliss, I held him to me as I came.

  As the aftershocks buzzed through my body, I dropped to my back, my head hitting the table with a thunk. I was too relaxed to care. Alexander lazily lapped until I was a boneless heap of satisfaction.

  The serotonin rush.

  The hazy thoughts.

  The loose muscles and content high.

  It was more effective than any of the copious amounts of meds I’d taken. More gratifying than therapy. And a lot more fun than yoga, meditation, or journaling.

  I could get used to this.

  I could become addicted.

  Standing, Alexander ran a hand down his mouth before licking his palm—as if he couldn’t let one single drop of me go to waste. His gaze traveled over me. “Never gonna be able to eat at this table without getting hard.”

  I sat up and stretched before glancing behind me at the large, and thankfully sturdy, table. “That’ll make dinner parties awkward.” I thought for a moment. “Or a lot of fun.”

  “Maybe we’ll throw one and find out.” Before I could respond, he asked, “Hungry?”

  Eyeing the impressive bulge in his jeans, I nodded.

  “For dinner,” he clarified, though his voice was thick and rough. He stepped back so I could get down.

  “What about taking care of you—”

  Closing the minimal distance he’d put between us, he took my mouth in a kiss that was as hard and frantic as the way he’d eaten me.

  I could taste him and mint and me.

  It was a heady combination.

  He ended the kiss but kept his face close. “Let’s feed you and then you can take care of me by letting me fuck you from behind.”

  “So you’re giving me two things I really want.”

  Smiling, he pulled his shirt off before tugging it over my head. I was swimming in it, but since it was so soft—and he was so shirtless—I wasn’t complaining.

  “Are all tech nerds as buff as you?” I asked as I pulled my underwear on.

  “Probably not.”

  “So it’s just your security software thingy you developed that burns calories, got it.”

  His smile shifted into a wicked smirk. “How’d you know about that?”

  Busted.

  Oh well.

  Stalker turnabout is stalker fair play.

  “Google,” I admitted.

  “Find anything good?”

  “Surprisingly, no.”

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” I opened my mouth to launch in, but then he added, “While I cook.”

  Returning to the kitchen, Alexander lifted me back onto the counter. I tried to shift down, but he held me in place.

  “I’m not wearing pants.” His shirt was long enough for me to sit on, but still.

  “Trust me, flower, I’m very fucking aware.”

  “It’s not sanitary.”

  “Neither is what we did on the table, but I’m damn sure gonna do it again. And more.”

  What other surfaces can we violate health and safety guidelines on?

  As if he read my thoughts, his gaze heated and he kissed me, hard and fast before pulling away to resume dinner prep. “Interrogate away.”

  “You said you started your company eleven years ago when you were twenty. So you’re thirty-one?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “I didn’t agree to an interrogation,” I pointed out.

  “Quid pro quo.” Abandoning the onion, he grabbed something from the fridge and something else from the counter. He held the paper bag of tortilla chips and Styrofoam container of salsa. “Or in this case, salsa pro quo.”

  “Diablo Loco?”

  He lifted his chin. “Inferno sauce in the fridge, too.” I reached for the treasures, but he lifted them up. And since, even with me on the counter, he was way taller than me, it was an effective move. “Answer.”

  I opened my mouth to ask if he already knew everything about me, but I decided I didn’t want to know.

  “Twenty-one,” I answered instead. “Are you from Redmond?”

  He shook his head. “Outside of Portland.”

  “Miami,” I said before he could ask.

  “Why’d you move here?”

  “Hey, it’s my turn.”

  He handed me the chips and salsa before repeating his question. “Why’d you move here?”

  It was the farthest I could get from that hellscape.

  “My sister’s a shrink at the center—Aria. She moved for work and brought me along for the ride.”

  “Any other family?”

  “No, my parents are dead. It’s just Aria and me.” I opened the salsa. “You owe me two answers now.”

  “You can’t throw a flash drive in Seattle, Portland, or Silicon Valley without hitting an internet startup, app developer, or software company. I like being farther out, but still close enough to work with the big tech.”


  “Why were you in Seattle yesterday?”

  “I have offices there.”

  “And?” I prompted, reading his expression and knowing there was more.

  “And Portland. And Silicon Valley.” He shrugged. “Gotta play the game a little.”

  “Family?”

  “Only child. Parents died when I was sixteen.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Long time ago. But thank you.”

  “Why techy whatnots?”

  “I like the puzzle. Slowly working through it, seeing what comes together and what can be created.”

  “And once you figure out the puzzle? Do you get bored and move on?”

  We both knew what I was asking.

  Am I your newest puzzle to solve and discard?

  “Never. I become obsessed with learning everything about them.” With that reassurance, he moved between my legs to open a drawer and pull out… I had no clue. A shiny medieval looking something or another.

  “What is that?”

  “Garlic press.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Take it you don’t cook?”

  “Not unless I can peel back a plastic film and nuke it in the microwave for three minutes.”

  “Good thing I love to do it then.”

  The inference that we’d be having future dinners together pressed on my chest but my stomach fluttered and flipped with giddiness. I could deal with the bad—I’d been doing it a long time—so long as it was accompanied by that good feeling.

  Home-cooked food, his talented tongue, and just Alexander period didn’t hurt, either.

  I shifted my legs to the side as he opened another drawer. “Wouldn’t this be easier if I was sitting on a stool and out of the way?”

  He squeezed my thigh. “I like you close.”

  Our Q&A continued as he cooked the most amazing carnita tacos I’d ever had—made even better with inferno hot sauce. I learned about his business, even if I didn’t understand most of it. That he didn’t have a favorite color, like some sort of weirdo. That his favorite movie was anything with no inaccurate and simplified hacking. That, like a lot of people in the area, he still had a soft spot for grunge music, even if he couldn’t pull off the flannel.

  Most importantly, I learned I liked Alexander. We had a lot in common aside from our dysfunction.

  It was the best date, night, and dinner I’d ever had, all rolled into one.