Tyler (20 page)

More undercurrents, more meanings lurking between the words, but this time he sits back and finally—finally!—sheds his pants and briefs, letting them drop to the floor.

Oh. My. God.
He looks better every time I look at him. Boy’s in a hot league all on his own, and when he braces himself on his hands and presses inside of me...

Incoherent noises are leaving my throat. My body bows under him. I grip his hips and try to draw him closer, become one with him. His hips buck; he pulls out and thrusts again. My body tightens around him, pulling him deeper, and he grimaces and rolls his hips faster.

“Fuck, Erin...” He bends his head, his eyes fluttering closed as he picks up speed, pounding into me so hard I’m pushed across the mattress.

And I want more, more of him. I don’t want to ever let go. I cup his face and he looks up at me, his eyes dazed. Then he crushes our mouths together and his tongue pushes between my lips. He fucks me with his mouth in time with the thrusting of his cock in my core, and I’m coming apart so fast it’s scary.

He groans in my mouth, and his movements grow frantic. His hips snap faster and faster, and one of his hands finds its way between us, pressing on my clit.

Clamping around him, I cry out as I break into a million shards, the ripples of pleasure rising to my breasts and then to the crown of my head until I feel like I’m flying in blinding light.

He hunches over me, moaning my name, as his body shakes with his own release. Heat pulses deep inside of me, where I’m still sensitive and throbbing, triggering small eruptions of pleasure that have me gasping. Every tiny shift of his body or mine causes my breath to catch and my body to tighten again.

Tyler kisses me again, softly this time, not pulling out of me yet, leaving us connected.

“Okay?” he whispers, and I tangle my fingers in his wild hair. I don’t want to move, or speak.

I want to stay like this with him forever.

But now I know that such moments are like glass baubles: you can’t hold on to them too hard, or they’ll break.

Tyler

I wake up to a curvy, soft body pressed to my morning wood. Drawing in the scent of cotton candy that wafts from her gorgeous hair, I realize I could get used to waking up like this every morning of my life. Easily. No trouble at all. Feeling this comfortable in my skin, in my bed, feeling good and hopeful and all this shit I never thought I’d get a chance of feeling ever again... Sure, a man can get used to that.

Even when it’s probably gonna end soon.

I gaze at the girl in my arms, golden and dark, sugar and cream, and try to convince myself she’ll stick with me through this mess until I pull myself together and be the man she needs.

And I fucking will be. Visiting that basement almost broke me all over again—but I survived. I stopped the pills. I came back. I confronted Ash and figured out what I want from my life.

Now I need a plan, a way to convince Erin she can trust me and depend on me. What’s on her mind? How does she feel about me? She left when she saw Marlene’s message, didn’t reply to my texting, but dropped everything and came running when I asked for help. That has to mean something, right? That she feels something for me still.

How to show her she’s not like the other girls I’ve been with? Not like Marlene? I’ve never had to do this before. Girls came to ask me out in high school, and then I met Erin, and that was it for me. After I left, I never went looking for anything more than a quick fuck.

Who can I ask? Zane is still out of town. Ash is out of the question—we may be talking to each other now, and not with our fists, but I don’t think it’s time yet for me to go asking for dating advice.

Dating.
I want to date Erin.

I grin in the morning light and brush my knuckles over her cheek. It’s like going back into time, where we left off. We’re not that old. I’m twenty-two. She’s nineteen. This could work.

I’m getting light-headed with hope; it’s like inhaling helium, like I’m going to float to the ceiling. We can still do this. Go for ice cream. Go to the movies. Have picnics in the park.

If she wants.

I slam back down to earth. I snare a shiny dark lock, twine it around my forefinger. She never did answer what she wants from me. Okay, sure, I had her in a compromising position by then... And damn if the memory doesn’t make me hard again.

With all the blood flowing to my dick every time I see her, it’s a wonder I manage to string more than two words together every time we talk.

I pull the blanket up to her shoulder and run my fingertips over her delicate jaw to her cute little chin and then stroke my thumb over her plump lower lip. Her eyes move behind her lids, and she sighs, her warm breath caressing my skin.

Try not to think that she’s naked underneath the covers.

Fuck, she doesn’t know what she does to me, lying in my arms so soft and sweet. I intend to kiss her, and touch her, and arouse her until she moans my name like she did last night, until she loses control and thrashes on the bed, and then I’m gonna thrust inside her and make her come so hard she will pass out.

Then I may finally get up and go grab us some breakfast. And then...

“Tyler?” Those copper and gold eyes open and look right at me. Her lips tilt in a sleepy smile. “Hey...”

“Hey.” I stare at her, transfixed, as she rolls onto her back and stretches, the blanket slipping, baring her awesome breasts. Fuck, I could look at them and touch them and kiss them for hours. So sue me.

I prop myself up on my elbow and reach out for her—but she rolls away and hops off the bed.

Wait. That’s not part of my plan.
“Erin...” The covers drag on my hard dick, and I struggle to focus. “Come back here.”

She scrunches up her cute little nose and rubs it. “I should go.”

That makes me frown. “It’s still early.” I sit up and glance at the gray dawn light outside the windows.

“I have to take a shower and get ready for classes and...” She sighs, and I can’t shake the feeling there’s something important she’s not telling me.

I throw the blankets off me and swing my legs off the bed. “Erin...”

She picks up her clothes from the floor and starts pulling them on. The windows are fogged over. She tugs on her pants and long sweater and sits on the bed next to me to wear her boots.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I whisper.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

I sit there and rub my hand over my face. I guess my optimism was premature. Erin doesn’t look happy with me. Why would she be? I’m a hot mess, alternating between fucking her into the wall and having panic attacks. Who would want someone like that in their lives?

“I... need some time,” she says.

I nod, the splinter of pain back in my chest. “Yeah. No problem.”

“I mean, you just came back.” She waves her hands; I’ve never seen her so nervous before. “And... we had lots of sex.”

“Lots of
hot
sex,” I correct, and I see color rise to her cheeks.

“Whatever.”

Yeah, well.
I’ve had enough bad sex over the past few years to know when it’s great. When it’s special.

That she’s special to me.

“We didn’t manage to talk much, though.” She wipes her palms on her pants. “Didn’t tell each other everything.”

Is that what’s still bothering her? “We can talk—”

“I really have to go.” She shoots up from the bed, and I watch her with my mouth hanging open as she grabs her jacket and purse and heads toward the door. “God, Tyler... I can’t, I... Sorry. I just need some time to think, okay?”

Before I even get my dumbfounded thoughts to regroup and formulate an answer, she’s gone, the door closing behind her.

Shit.
She’s gone again.

I slam my fist into the mattress. Jumping to my feet, I slap my hand on the table, kick away the chair. I swipe my books off the shelf, so they scatter on the floor.

Fucked up again. Didn’t tell her everything she needs to know to trust me.

I stop, panting. But I still can. If she’ll listen. She heard the worst already and didn’t run away screaming. Saw the scars, touched them. She knows. What is left is details, minor facts.

Or maybe she’s concerned that I’m fucked up in the head? Can’t blame her, not after seeing me in such a state not once but twice. She said I should see a doctor.

It doesn’t matter what Uncle Jerry thought of doctors. He was wrong on so many levels. If a doctor can help me sort myself, why not?

I’ll let her inside all the fucking way. Drop the last defenses. If she wants to rip my heart out, then I stand no chance in the world—and I don’t care.

***

Deciding I need to make changes is good. Making the changes is a pain in the ass. Then again, what else is new?

I refuse to look too closely at the aching void in my chest where hope burned this morning. Since the moment Erin walked out of my apartment, my thoughts turned dark and bruised, and I have to force myself to get up, shower, dress and leave.

She just needs some time to think. She didn’t say she doesn’t want to see you again.

I scratch at the stubble on my cheeks. I need to shave. I need a haircut. I need to get my life in order. Not just my books and socks and sheets. I need to delve deeper, fix the writhing mess that’s underneath it all.

Can it be fixed? Can I be put back together again?

Hell, even curing some of the goddamn symptoms would be a start. Not dreading going to bed. Being able to sleep at night. Not puking my guts out after a nightmare. Living like a normal person.

Being with Erin.

Fucking maybe. But unless I try, how am I ever gonna convince her to give me another chance?
Suck it up, Tyler Grayson, and get to work.

At Damage, I bend my head and do my work, receiving customers, taking payments and making appointments with the tattoo artists, hoping to see Rafe. He’s the only one I can think of—
from my hundreds of trusted friends, yeah, very funny, Tyler
—who might guide me. He sounded like he has experience with withdrawal symptoms, and maybe he can recommend me a doctor or at least a direction to follow.

During my break, I get a visit from Asher. I let him come to me, keep my hands to my sides. Despite his welcome presence when I visited Dad’s house, he’s still tense around me, and I don’t want him to give up on me yet.

“So what about going for those beers?” he says, shoving his hands into his jeans’ pockets. He glances around nervously, as if he’s shoplifting or something. “I know a bar not far from where you live.”

“Sure. Is Audrey coming, too?”

A dark scowl twists his brows. “Got a problem with that?”

Damn.
I lift my hands. “No problem. Honest. Sounds great.” She really means a lot to him. When his face relaxes a fraction, I lower my hands and study his expression as I say, “I think you’re very lucky to have her. She’s real nice.”

Ash freezes. His blue eyes widen and his mouth flaps, as if he fully expected me to insult her. He really thinks I’m an asshole. “Yeah,” he finally says, “she is.”

“I’m happy for you, little bro.”

Ash’s expression shifts again, and again—like a camera lens adjusting, focusing, click, click, and then he grins widely, all anger and confusion leaving his gaze. “Thanks.” And then he turns the tables around when he says, “You getting back with Erin then, are you?”

I swallow hard and push some papers on the desk. “It’s complicated.” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “She says she’s been mean to you.”

“Not mean.” Ash leans on the desk, propping his elbows on the fume glass. “I can understand her, I guess. Somewhat.” He grimaces.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Ash—”

He punches me in the shoulder, his grin returning. “Yeah, so you’ve said. Enough of that. Just come have a drink with me tonight, okay?”

I nod as he straightens and turns to go. “Count on it.”

***

Rafe finally shows up right before I close shop. He looks like hell and he has a nice dark bruise on his jaw.

“What the hell happened?” I round the desk and stop at the coldness in his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just came to pick up some stuff from the office. You need something?”

I eye him, notice he’s standing kinda stiffly. Bruised ribs, probably. This has all the signs of a fight.

“Nah. Looks like tonight isn’t a good time.”

“Just ask.” He glances at the office door, then back at me. “Shoot.”

“Okay. Just one question. I’ve been thinking...”
Out with it, dammit.
“Wondering if I should go see a doctor for the withdrawal symptoms. Maybe he can help me...”

I stop because Rafe’s laughing. Quietly, almost soundlessly, and that makes it even more disturbing.

My hands clench at my sides. “You think this is funny?”

“No, man.” He wipes his hand over his mouth. “It’s just that a doctor can’t help you now. You’ve been through the worst of it. Keep going.” He sobers. “Honestly, Tyler. If it’s been a month, now you just have to keep going. Exercise, eat, meet with friends. Let them help you. Talk to them. Talk to others who’ve been there.”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

His sharp intake of breath echoes in the empty shop. “Got me there, buddy. Been there all right.”

Damn.
I rub the back of my neck, not knowing what to say.

Rafe sighs and claps me on the shoulder. “Just don’t you fucking stop, right? Don’t give up. It’ll get better over time.”

I nod. “How long?”

“Long.” His gaze is now hard. “What were you on, Xanax? Valium?”

“Both.” And other stuff I can’t even remember.

“How long?”

I inhale. “Years. But I lowered the dose in the months before I stopped.”

“Yeah, okay. No matter. First six weeks should be hell. After that, it all depends on how your body reacts. You may have symptoms for years, though not as bad as now.”

“Fuck.”

“You wanted to know.” He rubs his eyes with his thumb. They’re red. “You can live through this. It’ll get better. Remember that.”

Not reassured, I nod again and go to grab my jacket. When I pull it on and turn to Rafe, I find his gaze has gone kinda vacant.