Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (good story books to read .txt) 📕

it open and made a fresh slice—deeper than the others, but nowhere near what she thought I was going to do.

What I’d planned to do.

What I wouldn’t do.

Briar bit back a muffled cry even as a fresh surge of wetness soaked my hand and her pussy tightened.

Tossing the closed razor to the side, it clattered on the floor.

Startled, she turned her head toward the sound. “I thought—” I circled my thumb around her clit, and she fought to speak as her eyes went hooded. “I thought you were going to…”

Never.

I’ll never let you go.

“I changed my mind.” Sliding my finger free, I replaced it with the head of my cock. I forced myself to freeze, both so I didn’t come and so she had time to stop me.

But my flower didn’t.

Wild hair.

Wild eyes.

Wildly alive.

She wiggled her hips, urging me on. Easing me in. Offering herself.

And I fucking took.

Slamming in, my groan mixed with her sharp moan as she squeezed me like a damn vise. I pulled almost all the way out and did it again, shifting her up the mattress.

I kept the brutal force as I fucked her faster, needing to be deeper. To be closer. Needing to bury myself in my obsession.

Like our kiss, she took everything I gave and returned it. She fucked herself on my length, her movements becoming jerkier and more frantic the closer she got.

As badly as I wanted to feel her come, I was dangerously close to exploding. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out. She needed a push. I just fucking hoped it worked on her because it sure as hell would work on me.

Going up on my knees, I gripped her thighs and spread them wider. It was enough to tunnel my vision. The view of my cock sinking into her seared itself into my memory.

As permanent as one of her scars.

Positioning my thumb on her newest cut, I squeezed.

Eyes wide, she moaned in pleasure even as she cried out in pain.

And then she came so hard, it cut off her moans. Her perfect pussy strangled my dick until I was barely able to stop myself from coming, too.

The second her body loosened, I pulled free and stroked my cock. Aiming, my come shot out over the cuts I’d made on her thigh. Marking them. Marking her.

My flower.

My obsession.

All fucking mine.

Collapsing, I gave her enough weight to keep her in place while I braced for whatever was about to happen.

Screams.

Threats.

Panic.

Or even her shutting down.

I’d happily take it all and deal with it because there was no alternative. I wasn’t going to let her go.

I’d thought I’d been prepared for anything, but I hadn’t. Because after a couple minutes, she shocked the shit out of me. Again.

She fell asleep.

Her soft breaths were even, her body loose and relaxed.

I stayed where I was until I was sure she was fully asleep. Moving slow, I stood and went to the bathroom, tucking my still semi-hard cock away at a painful angle. I grabbed a damp, soapy washcloth and some antibacterial cream, and returned to wipe her down. I hesitated before pulling my cell from my pocket to take a picture of my come on her pretty cuts and scars.

Another stupid, uncalculated risk.

Another worth taking.

After cleaning her, I put the cloth with her torn panties on the floor. Then I climbed back in and covered her body with half of mine, holding her close as I waited.

I’d only been watching her for a few weeks, but I knew what was coming.

Nightmares.

Waking up for hours at a time.

Tossing and turning.

Between whatever caused the sadness in her eyes and her lack of sleep, it was no wonder she moved through life exhausted and barely alive.

But she didn’t wake up. There were no nightmares. No choked back screams. And no frustrated kicking as she flipped around.

Positioned under me, Briar slept deeply.

Peacefully.

Chapter Sixteen

Fighting

Briar

For tea

LOST IN THAT hazy space between awake and sleep, I rolled and stretched. And then I felt it.

The stinging on my thighs.

The ache between them.

I was catapulted into full consciousness as the night before flashed through my head like a hellish slideshow.

A different nightmare of my own making.

Alexander.

I’d let him stay. I’d let him cut me. Touch me.

Then I’d practically begged him to fuck me.

And he had. It’d been incredible and hot and sick and insane and… the most amazing thing I’d ever experienced.

I jumped out of bed, and my trembling legs nearly gave out as I ran for the bathroom. My knees slammed to the hard tile in front of the toilet, but I barely registered the radiating pain as I threw up everything I had in my stomach. Since I’d barely eaten, there wasn’t much more than acrid stomach acid that burned as it was forced up, but I couldn’t stop heaving.

I’d been so stupid. So selfish. If he would’ve actually killed me, Aria would’ve found my body. How was her seeing my accidental death better than her finding me with a stomach full of pills or with my head in the oven? It would be just as traumatizing for her.

But it would’ve been easy for me, and that was all I’d cared about. That I wouldn’t be the one to have to do it. I’d greedily wanted the guiltfree escape Alexander had offered.

Alexander.

An angel of mercy.

In the cancer ward, there’d been whispers about a doctor who would help end terminal patients’ suffering. Then there’d been rumors about a couple of the counselors and aides at the last spa I’d involuntarily visited who would leave contraband in guests’ rooms—although they did it in exchange for cash and not out of mercy.

None of them had offered to help me. Alexander was the only one, and he hadn’t even followed through with it. He’d given me pain and pleasure until I couldn’t tell one from the other, and then he’d left.

Because you don’t deserve mercy or compassion or peace. You only deserve pain.

My retching stomach reminded me that, for all I knew, he