Damaged: The Dillon Sisters

by Layla Frost

  And we hadn’t even gotten to the sex yet.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Best

  Briar

  For all the toos

  SOMETHING IS WRONG.

  My eyes shot open and my heart rate flew through the roof. It reached hummingbird levels as I scanned the nearly pitch-black room that did not look like my own. It took my mind a moment to catch up and remember that the reason the room didn’t look like mine was because it wasn’t.

  I was at Alexander’s.

  After dinner, he’d waited until I was full of his delicious cooking and then full of his delicious something else before asking me to stay. Since I’d been exhausted and sated, I’d eventually said yes.

  And by yes, I meant I’d fallen asleep under him.

  It’d been a deep, restful sleep, which made it all the more jarring to wake up alone in a big bed in a dark room with no clue what time it was or where my bed buddy had gone. Since I’d been otherwise occupied when Alexander had carried me there, I didn’t even know what the room looked like.

  Climbing out of bed, I tried to feel around for my clothes, but all I had were my discarded panties and Alexander’s shirt. The rest of my stuff was still in a heap in his dining room.

  Shit.

  This isn’t going to be awkward at all.

  I’d finished getting dressed in what I had available when the door swung open. With the sunlight streaming in behind him, Alexander looked like a modern ideation of an angel. Instead of robes, he wore a pair of track pants slung low on his hips and a wicked smirk.

  I’m totally okay with just having a shirt if it means he never has one.

  His gaze traveled lazily up my body before Alexander closed the distance between us and cupped my face in his hands. Taking my mouth in a kiss that was far from holy, I thought he was going to take me back to bed.

  I hoped he would.

  Unfortunately, he pulled away and took my hand. “Let’s get you fed.”

  Since I was surprisingly hungry, I didn’t argue and walked with him, nosily checking out more of the house as we went. When we reached the kitchen, the smell of coffee and something else hit me.

  Herbal tea.

  My herbal tea.

  The only kind I liked.

  And since Alexander didn’t strike me as a tea guy, that meant he’d bought it and made it for me.

  Kinda presumptuous to assume I’d spend the night.

  But also not wrong, sooo…

  After parking my ass on the counter, he fixed me tea and himself a coffee before asking, “Toast or something more?”

  Since I’d overindulged in tacos the night before, I said, “Toast is fine.”

  Except instead of the whole grain, whole wheat, whole lotta tasteless nothing bread I used, he pulled out a loaf of thick, crusty bread. He popped a few slices into a toaster before turning back to me. “What do you want to do today?”

  I picked at nonexistent lint on my sleeve. “Since I’m guessing a bus doesn’t come out this way, I figured you’d drive me home.”

  “Do you have work today?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then no.” Arms crossed, his body was rigid and his expression firm, waiting for me to argue with him.

  Daring me to.

  I was tempted.

  Partially because this felt like too much, too soon.

  Partially because I liked how much he wanted me there. It didn’t make me a good person that I allowed it to feed my ego, but whatever. I’d had a lifetime of being unwanted, used, and neglected. I deserved a teensy, tiny boost.

  Mostly, though, I just liked messing with him. Our back and forth filled me with almost as much giddiness as his attention.

  But since it was too early to banter, and I was too tired and too happy to think about it being too much, I ignored all the toos and shrugged. “What do you usually do on Sundays?”

  “Work.” Before I could speak, he gripped my thighs and rushed on. “Don’t even think about it. I work because I have nothing better to do. Today I do.”

  The you went unspoken, but the firmness in his hold and the arousal between my thighs was proof we were both thinking it.

  Pop!

  I jolted when the toast sprang up, interrupting our moment and killing the mood. “Don’t say a word.”

  He held his hands up. “I didn’t.”

  “Your smile did.”

  He officially lost the fight against it, and his smirk grew into a grin. “My smile seems to talk to you a lot.”

  “Yeah, it says you’re an ass.” I reached for my mug but my progress was thwarted when Alexander gripped my wrist.

  All traces of amusement were gone from his expression. “Your hand is shaking.”

  “It does that sometimes.”

  “Why?”

  “A variety of reasons,” I evaded, feeling silly.

  “Why right now?”

  “I told you before, I don’t like being startled.”

  He brought my hand up and kissed my palm, but thankfully didn’t tell me I was an idiot.

  Though I was.

  Releasing my hand, he went to the fridge. “Grape jelly?”

  “Ew.”

  “Strawberry it is.” He pulled out jelly and butter before grabbing two plates and two knives.

  “I eat mine dry.”

  Slathering on so much butter, it might as well have been a tub of movie theater popcorn, he said, “Not today. You’ll need your energy.” Then he looked over his shoulder and winked.

  Badly.

  “That was so corny,” I said through my laughter.

  Yet still hot.

  He fixed his own with somehow even more butter before coming close. Rather than handing one to me, he set them both down and moved to stand between my legs with his arms on either side of me. Caging me in. It became obvious why when he spoke. “I’ve got an extra toothbrush, and I like you in my clothes. But do you need to run home for any meds?”

  The appetite I’d grown thanks to the buttery, crusty bread disappeared as my stomach dropped.

  It was stupid to be so self-conscious about my mental health. It wasn’t like he’d magically forgotten who I was, where we’d met, or that I was all sorts of messed up.

  The thing was, I forgot when I was with him. He didn’t treat me like I was a freak. Or, even worse, like I was a ticking time bomb. He didn’t watch what he said or brace after every word or use my issues to gaslight me and discount my feelings.

  My face burned as I shook my head.

  “I don’t mind. We can pick up milkshakes on the way back.”

  “I don’t take any meds.”

  He didn’t look shocked, nor did he try to tell me I needed them. He didn’t mansplain my illness. And he didn’t earn himself a swift kick in the junk by telling me it was good I was unmedicated and that I could fix all my problems by being positive, getting fresh air, or—worst of all—relaxing.

  Instead, he handed me my plate and asked, “What do you think about watching movies today?”

  “Sounds perfect.” Picking up my toast, I bit into the buttery, salty, crusty sweetness.

  Way better than the cardboard shit I buy.

  Practically inhaling the whole piece, I ignored my mother’s voice lecturing me about how many carbs and calories I’d just ingested. Then, for some insane reason, I shared without being forced. “Before my parents died, they’d ship me off to these,” I lifted my hands to do air quotes, “wellness spas. Because, you know, spa sounds so much better to rich clientele than mental health facility or rehab. And since their rich clientele’s bank accounts were more important than their wellbeing, they’d prescribe medication like it was Pez and call it a day.”

  “Fuck, flower.”

  I picked up my tea and blew on it. “I spent too long in a drugged stupor, I haven’t been able to bring myself to try meds again.”

  “I don’t blame you,” he said, and it was the exact right thing to say.

  “Can I ask you
a question?”

  “Anything.”

  “Were you asking because you think I need to be medicated?”

  “No, I was asking because I want to make sure you have everything you need.”

  “Do you think I need to be medicated?” I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. I also wasn’t putting on my waders and grabbing a pole to fish for compliments. I was just curious what he thought.

  “That’s not for me to say. I’m not your doc.” He tucked my hair behind my ear. “And I’m not you. You know what’s best for yourself.”

  God, something so simple was enough to make my eyes burn with unexpected and unfamiliar tears. I’d spent a fucking lifetime with everyone else telling me what I needed to do. What meds I needed to take. How I needed to dress, what thoughts I needed to have, and who I needed to be.

  You know what’s best for yourself.

  It was almost as good as you’re in control.

  “Can I ask you another question?” I asked.

  “Told you, anything.”

  “Can we still get milkshakes?”

  He grinned.

  I grinned right back.

  And it wasn’t even a little bit forced.

  _______________

  HE WAS KILLING me.

  Or maybe I was going to kill him.

  On my knees in front of him, I tipped my ass. When that didn’t work, I wiggled my hips.

  When that still didn’t work, I got bossy.

  “Faster,” I demanded.

  “No.”

  “Harder,” I tried.

  “No.”

  With his thick cock gliding in and out, slow and leisurely as if I wasn’t about to lose my mind, Alexander slowly fucked me.

  “Please, Alexander,” I moaned.

  He slammed in harder before returning to his easy pace—even though it seemed to take some effort. “Stay the night again.”

  Other than our trip for milkshakes, we’d spent all day hanging around his house, watching movies and having sex. He hadn’t seemed to care that I didn’t want to go out or do anything wild and exciting. In fact, he’d been as content as me to laze about.

  Especially thanks to aforementioned sex.

  His penchant for sexual manipulation may have been setting a dangerous precedent, but I didn’t care. I liked sleeping next to him, so it wasn’t a hardship.

  Not to mention, I would have agreed to snuggle with a cactus so long as Alexander made me come.

  “Yes, fine, definitely,” I agreed, rocking against him.

  “Fuuuuuck,” he groaned. “Take it, flower. Take what you want. What you need.”

  The raw, weighty way he said it, as if he needed me to need him, sent a surge of arousal and desperation through me. I rocked harder and faster, my thigh muscles burning with the effort.

  I was close. So fucking close. But each time it was within reach, my movements grew frustratingly uncoordinated and my orgasm was yanked away.

  Alexander read my body and took over. He didn’t talk to me like I was delicate, and he didn’t fuck me like it, either.

  He slammed into me.

  Roughly.

  Brutally.

  Knowing that I could take everything he gave and more. Knowing that I wanted it. Needed it.

  And needing me just as much. As if he was the crazed one.

  My thoughts splintered. My body splintered.

  My whole fucking soul splintered.

  I savored the quiet and peace in my head and the pleasure rioting through my body as I came. I was vaguely aware of Alexander’s low, rough groans, but I was too lost to savor those.

  Once we were done, my knees slid out from under me, and I collapsed in a content and graceless heap. Alexander followed me down and gave me his weight. His lips skimmed my spine as he slid his cock free, sending a shiver through me and goosebumps across my skin.

  Resting his cheek against my back, I was sure he could feel and hear the way he made my heart pound. “So damn alive, flower.”

  And so damn happy.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dam

  Briar

  For new nephews

  THE THING ABOUT happiness was… it was fleeting.

  And had I believed for even the briefest second that Alexander, his delicious cooking, and his magic dick were enough to cure me—which I hadn’t—the sharp slap of reality would’ve cleared that right up.

  Because as I held my cell to my ear, I listened to my sister.

  My debt-ridden sister.

  My new-puppy-mama sister.

  My sister who’d acted insane and illogical and… well, more like me.

  “You’re telling me you paid fifteen thousand dollars—dollars that you do not have—for a dog I could have gotten you for free since I work at the rescue? And now you don’t want to go on the date that comes with the dog? I thought I was the fucked-up one, Aria. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  Aria slipped into shrink-mode to give me a mini lecture about how I talked about myself, but I was too busy trying to keep my chill to care.

  A full body shudder wracked my body as I thought about Aria being the one to get all those red labeled past due notices. Only in her case, they likely wouldn’t be filled with credit card offers or car warranty junk. It wasn’t that money stressed me out no matter what. Okay, it wasn’t just that. It was that Aria was the best person I knew. She didn’t deserve hardship and hassle.

  She deserved easy for once in her life.

  She’s okay.

  She’s an adult.

  She can handle it.

  Steering our conversation back to the hot firefighter she could also handle, I gave her the pep talk she’d called me for.

  It was a little more deadpanned-greeting-card-platitudes and a little less pep, but it was the best I could offer. Which was why I told her it must suck for her that I’m who she was forced to call when she needs a hype man.

  “It doesn’t suck. Because I love you… even if you are a smartass.”

  She may have lightened her statement with humor, but it was still too much for me, and I quickly changed the subject. “Let me pick Muppet up in the morning. I can take him to work to play with the other dogs.”

  Impulse pet adoption may have been high on my list of pet peeves—pun intended—for anyone else, but Aria wasn’t just anyone. I knew she’d give the former puppy mill pup a great home. And, selfishly, I was looking forward to playing with whichever one she got.

  I’d be the cool pup-aunt—all the fun, none of the responsibility. I could spoil him good and then send him home.

  We talked about her free-but-not-really-free dinner before my stress forced its way past the awkwardness, making me blurt, “Seriously, though. Are you gonna be okay? Between loans and starting the practice... I can give you some money.”

  And by I, I meant Alexander because I was broke as a joke.

  “How do you have extra money to lend?” Her shock was clear as day.

  “I’m a hermit who hates shopping.”

  And there are advantages to… dating? Sleeping with? Putting the fun in dysfunctional with?

  Whatever. There are advantages to having an entanglement with a tech nerd rich dude.

  Aria swore she’d be fine before we hung up so she could go on her date with the hot firefighter. And, since I was trying to be an adult like her, I refrained from making a joke about her touching his hose.

  I just encouraged her to lose her panties on the way home.

  Baby steps toward adulthood.

  I tossed my phone down and pressed play to resume my Netflix binge, but the unease that sat heavy on my chest made it impossible to focus. I braided, unbraided, and rebraided my hair—something that usually grounded me. But it didn’t work.

  If I were with Alexander, he’d be able to distract me with his mouth. Either with his banter, his kiss, or his oral skills. Any or all would work. Unfortunately, he’d had to go to his Portland offices and wouldn’t be back until the next morning. It was
a good thing I’d resisted his sexual manipulation and hadn’t agreed to stay at his place, otherwise I’d have had to explain to Aria why I needed her to drop Muppet off at a secluded, mystery house.

  She may have bought that I could give her a loan because I was a hermit, but I doubt she’d believe I could afford that mansion thanks to my frugal spending.

  With no other diversion, I kept thinking about Aria and her three Ds—debt, dog, and date.

  She didn’t want my help with the debt. And there was no way I was helping with the date—we weren’t a Jerry Springer episode. But I could, and was excited to, help with the dog.

  Bringing up the discount pet supply website the rescue used, I started browsing items for Muppet. He’d need a bed, of course. Balls and chew toys, definitely. And if I wanted to be his favorite, I’d need to stock up on treats. The good meaty kind, not the cheap crap. I wasn’t above bribery.

  I added everything I wanted to the cart before texting Sue to ask if I could use the shelter’s code to knock the price down even more. Even though I was spending money I didn’t really have—apparently that was the new Dillon sister motto—it helped settle my anxiety.

  For a few minutes.

  Until a thought occurred to me, making it roar louder than before.

  If Alexander would’ve killed me like I wanted… Or if he hadn’t stopped me from taking a razor to my veins…

  I wouldn’t be here to help Aria. I wouldn’t be here to watch Muppet.

  The realization was like an itch. Brief. A blip. But once it happened, it grew. It spread. It buzzed and burned until it was all-consuming and impossible to ignore.

  Rather than going to the auction, my poor sister would’ve been dealing with the repercussions of my selfishness. She wouldn’t have rescued Muppet. She wouldn’t be getting ready for a date with a firefighter.

  She’d be too busy grieving and feeling guilty that she hadn’t been able to fix me.

  My heart thumped wildly in my chest, pounding so hard, it tripped over itself. Sweat beaded on my forehead and moistened my palms even as I shivered from the ice that slushed through my veins.

  Dealing with me was a burden to Aria.

  But me trying to rid Aria of that burden was selfish and cowardly.