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

like not knowing the layout of her apartment or that there were places I couldn’t see her.

Avoiding the piles of garbage, I sidestepped to the next window, keeping out of view in case it wasn’t hers. The cheap blinds were uneven, allowing me to see the generic bedroom.

Fuck.

All thoughts of caution flew from my damn mind as she came in and began stripping.

It wasn’t graceful.

It wasn’t seductive.

Like all her movements, the simple act of undressing seemed an exhausting necessity.

But that didn’t stop my dick from growing painfully hard, angling down my thigh as I studied her body with more than the detached interest I usually viewed people with. My gaze moved slowly as I tried to memorize every curve she hid beneath shapeless clothes. Every dip. Every flare.

And every pretty little scar that marred her pretty little body.

Unable to stop myself—not that I tried—I freed my cock and fisted it, gliding my hand up and down the length. I tightened my hold past the point of pain as she bent to grab something from the dresser. My gut clenched with a sick anticipation as she walked toward the window, but she only sat on the bed to scroll through her phone.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so fucking turned on. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d jerked off due to want and not the simple biological function of release.

Even right then, it wasn’t want that fueled me.

It was need.

Need for a beautifully damaged girl.

I had places to be. A strict schedule to keep. I shouldn’t be standing in an alley with my dick in my hand—something I’d never be able to explain if I were caught.

But I didn’t leave. I didn’t tuck myself away.

I sure as fuck didn’t stop.

Not until my come shot out, painting the brick in front of me.

Catching my breath, I put my still semi-hard cock back in my pants as she pulled on pajamas before leaving the room. I followed, returning to the other window as she entered the living room and collapsed on the couch. I stayed longer than I should’ve, greedily watching her do nothing.

When I’d pushed it to the last minute, I grudgingly left.

But I’d be back.

Chapter Four

Normal

Briar

For salsa

MY SISTER AND I were about as different as two people could be. She was everything I wasn’t. Mature. Successful. Functioning.

Normal.

But despite all that, she was the person I loved most in the world. Actually, she was the only person I loved. She never judged me. Never pushed me too far. Never faulted me for not coping productively like she had.

As I sat across the booth from her, us each working through our own bowls of salsa, I was reminded why I loved her so much. She didn’t go all shrink on me with carefully phrased questions. She didn’t study me like I was an animal in the zoo. She didn’t pry. Doing most of the talking, she kept the conversation light and superficial as she told me about the small improvements she’d made to her private practice’s office.

It was perfect.

I need to do this more often. For her.

And maybe a bit for me, too.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was happy, but in that moment, I could almost pretend I was. That was good enough.

Which was why I impulsively blurted, “We should do these Friday night dinners once a month.”

Why did I say that?

Why, why, why?

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but I struggled with plans. They should’ve made me feel in control. After all, I was the one who’d suggested more dinners. Instead, an immense sense of pressure landed on my shoulders. Because if I had to back out, I would let her down.

I could never let people down.

I saw the pleasure she tried to hide. “Sure, that’d be fun.” Likely sensing the panic that’d blossomed in my chest, she left it at that and changed subjects. “Tell me about the rescue. Any new animal besties?”

Growing up as we had, pets were not a possibility. Since I’d always loved animals far more than people, it’d been just another sucky thing about my childhood. When I’d first moved in with Aria, I’d spent all my time volunteering at the local no-kill rescue until they were basically forced to offer me a paying job. It was mostly walking, grooming, and litter duty, but it was still preferable to any other job out there.

“We just got in a litter of kittens,” I shared, my excitement taking over. “They’re calico, so their coloring is gorgeous and they’ve got a lot of attitude. I think they’ll be gone soon, but until then, I’m enjoying them.”

“Why don’t you adopt one?” she asked before regret coated her features. Her eyes widened and she braced, likely awaiting my abrupt exit or complete shutdown.

Adopting an animal was not in the cards for me. Pets were a lot of responsibility and a long commitment. I barely kept myself alive, so caring for another living creature was too much for me.

And I couldn’t guarantee I had years to offer.

Keeping my shit together for her, I offered a reassuring smile. “I just got settled into the apartment, so it’s not the right time. I actually don’t even know if they allow pets.”

She relaxed, and I was proud of myself for handling it more like… well, more like her. “Your way is probably more fun than cleaning up hairballs and dealing with the three AM sprints across your face.”

“That’s true. You know I’m cranky when I get woken up.”

Because I rarely sleep.

Bringing out my phone, I opened up my pictures to show her our latest rescue.

She glanced down at the picture before raising her brows. “Are those…”

“Two pigeons? Yup. Can you believe that? Someone had them as pets, then moved into an apartment that doesn’t allow birds, so now we have to rehome them. Who looks at a rat with wings and thinks, yup, I’m gonna domesticate the hell out of that thing?”

“I didn’t even realize they