Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (young adult books to read TXT) 📗

his finger from between my slit and lifted it to his mouth, the sound of him licking it clean obscenely hot. I inhaled sharply as his cock jerked, as desperate for me as I was for it.

Disappointment overpowered my need when he released me and stepped away. “You need to get ready for work.”

I didn’t bother to ask how he knew my schedule—it was more predictable than a cheesy sitcom.

Wrapped in my turmoil, I hadn’t thought about work. My eyes darted to the time, and the tension that’d rapidly infused me drained right back out when I saw my internal clock had woken me with plenty of time to spare.

Except, for the first time since I’d started at the rescue, I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay and get fucked—in the good way, for once. It was also entirely possible I would completely fall apart when my shame spiraled, inevitably sucking me up like a twister.

Either way, my response was the same. “I’m not going today.”

“Why?”

Because I want to spend all day in bed with you.

Or spend all day in bed, numb and in a sink hole of depression.

Because I deserve a day of fun.

Because I don’t deserve the comfort of animals.

Not having the desire or mental equipment to wade through my circular thoughts, I left it as, “Just decided to take the day off.”

He turned me to face him, and not for the first time, I was breathless at the way he looked at me. Like I was desirable and sexy and not damaged goods. “As much as I’d kill to keep you naked and in bed all day, skipping work will fester until you’re miserable.”

At his presumptuous statement, I raised my chin. “Who said you’re invited to stay?”

My attempt at not feeding his ego was rendered moot when he ran a bent finger down my breast, and I immediately leaned into his touch.

Luckily, he didn’t gloat verbally—though his smirk was cocky enough to do it for him. “Okay, then if you stay home alone, you’ll retie those knots we just loosened. Either way, the end results are the same.”

He had a point. Being alone without a distraction guaranteed I’d feel guilty about flaking on work, which would allow my brain to do what it did best.

Fuck shit up.

He knew he had me and ordered, “Go shower.”

I could’ve argued. I should’ve argued. But I was still calm and there was a lightness inside me I rarely experienced, so I took the rare opportunity to enjoy it.

Once I was showered and dressed, I returned to the living room to find him waiting with toast and—based on the familiar herbal smell—tea.

My wild and exciting breakfast of choice.

It should’ve freaked me the hell out that he knew that, but my brain still wasn’t operating correctly. Well, correctly in its usual incorrectness. Instead, I was just confused. “I’m out of tea.”

“You were. I ran to the store this morning.”

That’s crazy and weird and so fucking thoughtful.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, making quick work of the toast. After glancing at the time, I transferred the tea into a travel mug. “I’ve got to catch the bus.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t argue or insist on giving me a ride. It was like he knew I needed my routine and some space. He waited while I gathered my things before walking me to my stop just as the bus was approaching.

After giving me a quick kiss, he stepped away. “See you later, Briar.”

His words held more weight than a typical farewell. They were a promise.

Or maybe a threat.

_______________

IT’S HIM.

I’d just locked myself in my apartment after work and hadn’t even taken off my shoes when someone knocked. Since there was only one person who said—or threatened—he’d see me soon, my mind jumped to Alexander.

And not for the first or second—or fiftieth—time since we’d said goodbye at the bus stop that morning.

Ignoring the not unpleasant buzz of giddiness that zipped through me like a live wire, I reminded myself of my earlier decision.

I wouldn’t let him in.

I wouldn’t let him touch me in any way, shape, or pleasurable form.

Other than throwing his cameras at him and telling him where he could shove them, I wouldn’t even talk to him.

I can do this.

All my hype up was for nothing because when I opened the door, it wasn’t Alexander. It was some random guy.

“Delivery for Miss Dillon.” He handed me a small bag and an envelope before holding out a massive vase.

Matte black—same as the others, though much larger.

When I didn’t take it, the guy offered an apologetic smile. “I don’t know what happened to the flowers, they were like this when I got them. I’m sure there’s a number you can call to complain.”

I wasn’t sure they could even be called flowers at that point. There were only a few deep red petals on each thorny stem.

Flower.

His nickname for me drifted through my head.

All the flowers have been from him. He’s been taunting me with the sparse flowers. Insulting me?

If that’d been his intention, he’d failed because as ruined as the bouquet seemed, there was something oddly beautiful about it.

“Miss?” he prompted, wiggling the vase. “I can just throw them out if you’d like.”

I hurried to snatch them from his hold. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

Before I could grab my purse to tip him, he turned and started walking away. “Have a good day.”

Closing the door, I set the vase and bag on the island before tearing open the envelope that had my name on the front in bold, masculine handwriting. There were two pieces of paper, one large and one small. I unfolded the larger of the two and scanned it quickly before reading it more thoroughly when I realized what it was.

If the results were real and not just a load of bullshit he’d printed himself, then Alexander Thornton was free from STDs. I’d still keep the appointment I’d set earlier to be safe, but seeing his clean bill of health was a massive relief. Since I had an