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

Before his questions could send me into a meltdown, he kept talking. Sharing. “I was the same way. I did what I thought I was supposed to do.”

It might’ve made me cold or bitchy, but I hated listening to other people’s stories. They were riddled with toxic positivity, claiming they made things better with a smile and a can-do attitude.

But, like everything else, it was different with Alexander. I wanted to know more about him.

Which was why I prompted, “And?”

“And I got nothing in return. Nothing good, at least. So I started doing what I want.”

“Which includes breaking and entering,” I muttered, though there wasn’t any anger in my voice.

If I’d expected an apology or justification, I wasn’t getting it. “Exactly.” He pulled me even closer than our already close. “It took me too long to learn I didn’t have to live by someone else’s rules or their idea of normal. Neither do you. You’re in control.”

You’re in control.

That continued to echo through my head. Not just the words themselves, but the firm and confident way he said them. As if they were fact.

As if it were true.

With his body mostly blanketing mine, his words playing on repeat, and his gentle fingertips skimming my naked skin, I began to relax.

And then, surprisingly, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Eighteen

Okay

Briar

For an amazing smelling body… er, body wash

“WE’RE GOING OUT to dinner tonight.”

I glanced at the man standing across from me. The one I’d spent the night under. The one I’d been spending the morning trying to ignore.

The one who was making that attempt incredibly difficult—and not just because he kept talking, his deep voice effortlessly filling the space left by my awkward silence.

It was because he was just so damn distracting.

His hair was damp from taking a shower. In my shower. Naked! He even smelled like my body wash, though the scent had mixed with some manly something or another in his skin to magically leave him smelling like woodsy, spiced vanilla rather than just a cupcake.

Although he’d redressed in his dark slacks and soft sweater from the night before, the image of him exiting my bathroom in just a towel was seared into my eyelids forever. All abs and muscles and lucky droplets of water that got to cling to said abs and muscles.

“I can’t,” I lied quickly and easily before I’d even made the conscious decision to do so.

“Liar.”

“I have work.”

“Your shift ends at five.”

“And then I have therapy.”

“Not on Saturdays.”

Narrowing my eyes, I was about to say my sessions were rearranged when I remembered that it wouldn’t be a lie. According to Derrick, he and Dr. Linda thought I needed to add another weekly session.

Because I was failing.

As per the usual.

Angry at… everyone, I snapped, “Fine. I don’t want to go out. Happy?”

The crazy—or crazier—thing was, as he came around the island, he did look happy. “With you? Fuck yes. But don’t lie to me. I’ll always know.”

“No, you won’t. No one does.” My smooth lying was a carefully honed skill. I’d probably make a fortune at the poker tables in Vegas if it weren’t for the fact I hated bright lights.

And noise.

And people.

And I have no money to gamble.

Other than that, though, I was golden.

“I do.” Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, he trailed a fingertip lightly along my jaw. “Because I actually see you, Briar.” His featherlight touch changed as he tightly grasped my chin and tilted it up. “That’s how I know you’ve spent the morning convincing yourself we’re just fucking.”

He was right, and the way he could easily read me was both anger inducing and disconcerting.

After a lot of thinking—and overthinking—I’d decided it would be okay to keep seeing him so long as it was casual. No strings attached. No dates. No labels. Definitely no more stalking.

Nothing beyond sex.

I mean, okay, even though he’d balked with me, I was pretty sure he was still a killer—honorable motives aside. At the very least, he’d contemplated it even if he hadn’t followed through. There was no doubt he and his cameras were definite stalkers. Not to mention, unless he’d gone on a huge donation rampage, he was still rich.

And if that weren’t enough—which it was by a long, insane mile—there was the simple fact I wasn’t in a place to get involved with anyone. I also had no desire to. Ever. Not Joe Normal, and certainly not someone with issues. I had my own brand of crazy to deal with, I couldn’t handle anyone else’s.

But none of that changed the fact he made me… happy? Happy-ish? Happy adjacent?

Maybe not that far, but he did settle my soul. If we kept it lowkey, that calm could last for a little while.

Probably.

Maybe.

Meeting his gaze, I said, “I just think—”

“Way too fucking much. It’s no wonder you’re exhausted.”

“I’m not—”

“Briar, we’re going out.”

“It’s not a good idea to—”

“You’re right, it’s a great fucking idea.”

Frustrated at being constantly interrupted, I tore my chin from his grip and glared at him. “I told you, I don’t want to go out with you. Fuck, take the hint I’m banging you over the head with. I’m letting you dodge a bullet, be grateful and get out while you can.”

Alexander moved suddenly, grabbing my hips and lifting me onto the small kitchen table before positioning himself between my spread legs. With one hand encircling my upper thigh and the other gripping my chin again, he held me in place. “I don’t want out, and neither do you. You want this just as badly as I do.” He slid his hand down to cuff my throat, squeezing just enough to send a thrill of adrenaline down my spine and a surge of moisture between my legs. “And not just for me to fuck you and cut you. Though I’ll do the first every damn chance I get.” He tightened his hold on my thigh, making my wounds burn. “And the other any time you really need it.”

The sting of pain.

The firmness in