Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) (23 page)

“I just wanted you to know. Dylan has no bearing on the choices I make after him. Keep that in mind. It’s just sex. We don’t have to get married.” But that feels like a lie too. We don’t have to get married, of course not, but Bach’s not acting like someone who’s aware of right now. He’s too busy trying to prove himself right.

“I heard you,” he responds, his voice low as his speed comes back down. “And it isn’t just sex. Not with you. I want you to know that I’m trying, Harley. I’m trying,” he repeats desperately. “I can’t be good enough for dinner, breakfast, and be who you deserve overnight. I might never be.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt and start crawling over the center console.

“What’re you doing?” he demands.

“I want to sit with you.” I try to slip under his arms to straddle him in the front seat, but the interior of his car is tinier than I anticipated. His arms continue to grip the steering wheel, struggling to keep us on the road.

“There’s no room. Go sit down. We can talk about this later.”

I remain in my awkward position, straddling the center console. I fear Bach wouldn’t stick around for later. “Pull over, Bachmen.”

“Harley.”

“Please? I have to say this to you. And in order to get my point across I want on your lap. Don’t act like you don’t like me there.” I rest my hand on his thigh, trailing my fingers on the inner trail of the seam on his jeans.

He groans low in his throat, eyes flashing to meet mine hesitantly while still keeping the car on the road. “I want you there,” he breathes in defeat.

He slows the car, looks over his shoulder, and then pulls over onto the side of the highway. Dust surrounds the car, almost protecting it from the rest of the world. When he puts the car in park and looks at me I take it as an invitation. He opens his arms and I settle down on his lap, straddling him.

I wrap my arms around his waist and hold his gaze. “The fact that you want to be good enough is all I need, Bach.”

“No it isn’t. You don’t deserve a guy like me or Dylan. You deserve someone like you.”

“What am I like?”

“You’re so good. You’re so damn beautiful it kills me. You hold my hand, even when it’s covered in my puke. You take my clothes off when I can’t stand. You throw my bullshit right back at me. You let me in when I’ve fucked up over and over again. You’ve seen me at my worse and can’t wait to see me at my best. You think there is a best. That’s what you’re like. At least that’s what I like about you. You expect so much from people. I don’t. How can that be good enough for you?”

I want to kiss him. I want to take his mouth right here and just let whatever follows happen. But if I do that then he’ll stop talking. I kiss his neck instead, grasping his face. “If you asked right now I would say yes.”

He sighs so heavily I feel his warm breath go down my back. “I won’t ask. I can’t.”

“If you asked me right now I would call Dylan and tell him.”

His hand settles on my lower back. He rubs me from my spine to my shoulders and then back down. He dips under my shirt, burning my skin with his touch. “Tell him what?”

“That he never should have left me here with you.” I find his mouth and cover it with mine. He growls low in his throat, this deeply satisfied, desirous moan. I feel it in every part of my body. I imagine the sounds he’ll make when he’s inside of me, his body weight on mine, and his hot breath steaming my neck as he loses himself. It makes me clench in anticipation. I want him so badly I don’t even care that he’s leading this destruction. “Please, Bach.”

He groans again, except this one sounds like he’s in pain. “If you don’t get off me right now and go sit back down you won’t have to beg anymore. And I won’t even rip them. I don’t have time for that. I’m going to slide your panties to the side and feel your pussy stretch as I sink inside of you. If I do that it’s ruined, Harley. Can’t you see that? I don’t want to ruin this for you. For myself. You’re not about release.”

I sag in defeat against him. How can I argue with that? “I see it.”

“We can still do other things.” He tries to kiss me but I quickly duck under his arm and return to my seat. “Or not.”

“Just drive, Bach. I’m sorry. I’m usually not this … ”

“Horny?” he supplies, chuckling as he starts the car and makes sure it’s safe before returning to the road. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I understand the walking talking orgasm that I am. It’s a wonder you’re able to control yourself at all.”

“It’s a wonder all right.” Too bad my panties couldn’t be as dry as my tone. “I’ll stop. I’ll think about other things when I look at you. Unsexy things. Like sinus infections and period panties.”

He makes a face. “Period panties?”

“All girls have them.”

He shifts in his seat, straightening his bulging erection with one hand on the steering wheel. “I usually skip that week.”

“Dylan loved it.”

“What?” He laughs loudly. “No.”

“Mhm.” I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

He laughs so hard I can’t help joining in. “I knew Dylan was a freak, but damn … ”

“What kind of freak?”

“You ever give your pussy a rest?” He peeks at me, holding it in. I can tell. “And your mouth?”

It takes me a moment to get it. I run my body parts through my head. That left … “No way! He tried to get me to do it a couple times, but I thought he was just kidding. Have you ever done it?”

He gives me a dark look. “Have you ever not been a Square? No thanks, babe. I draw the line in the sand when it comes to anal. Why, you want to?”

I shrug and he raises his eyebrow. “I think I’d try anything with you.” I wink. I can’t tell if I’m kidding. Part of me knows I am, but the other part squirms at the idea of Bach doing whatever he wanted to my body.

He runs a hand down his face to dispel his smile. “Poor thing. You really are horny.”

It’s easy for him when he’s had nothing but release since he discovered his penis. Ever since him I crave it. “You know, it’s weird. Sex with Dylan was so tame. He’s turning out to be this completely other person.”

“No. You’re just realizing the person he said he was didn’t exist.”

“It must have a little bit. I’m not an idiot. I would have picked up on something if it was there.”

“Maybe he was who he wanted to be around you? Like those married men who pay women to live out their dark sexual fantasies. They don’t really want to be those people. They only want to be them sometimes.”

“Great. I’m even boring in his fantasies.”

“You’re not in mine.”

I reach over and touch his thigh, sliding my hand between his legs. I can’t help myself anymore. “Tell me one of your fantasies.”

“Are you going to tell me one of yours?” He grabs my hand and shows me his penis is on the other side. “Right there. Will you?”

“I’ll show them to you. How about that?”

He considers it, and then considers it some more. “What if it’s lame and I have to pretend to like it? You’d better tell me.”

“Yours first.”

He stares straight ahead. “I want you to leave more than a scratch under my eye and a cut on my lip.”

I dig my nails into his inner thigh. His intake of breath does it again. He keeps doing it. Keeps lighting this fire inside of me I didn’t even know wanted to burn. I’m starting to lose focus on a situation I don’t think contains an ounce of proper insight to begin with. I can’t remember why I’m here with Bach, other than the fact that I am. I am here with Bach and he’s sucking me in.

“Rope and whips?”

He shakes his head. “Tell me yours.”

“Oh shucks. This is our exit.” I give him a pouty face and fold my hands on my lap. “Bummer.”

He nods slowly. “I’ll remember that, Square.”

As we approach the long dirt road that leads to Mom’s house, I start to get nervous. Dylan left me here with his promises. Why do I have to break them for him? He’s a lying, cheating bastard. He took the man next to me and made him who he really was. I probably should’ve given Bach a try a long time ago, but I’d listened to Dylan’s lies and my own judgmental perceptions. I feel guilty for that now. I was starting to learn there’s nothing wrong with a person who is who he is, but everything wrong with someone who pretends to be who they aren’t.

Bach whistles. “You didn’t tell me your mom lived in a mansion.”

I stare up at the huge white “family home.” That’s what Mom called it when she bought it. It hadn’t always been like this. It used to be an old condemned plantation house on fifteen acres of land. After showing my mother fifty other houses, the realtor thought she’d show her this. Mom fell in love with it instantly, said it had potential. Dad could never say no to Mom anyway. He also thought it would keep her busy while he was deployed. It took her five years to finish renovating it. Now it was a ten bedroom fifteen thousand square feet sparkling white “family home.”

“It is pretty isn’t it? Too bad Dad didn’t get to see it done. He would have been proud of her. Mom took pictures of every room for him. She hung them in his office.”

Bach grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Tell me the truth? Would he cut my balls off and hang them over the mantel?”

“We don’t have a mantel. We have a fireplace. Four actually. Does that count?” I laugh, looking out the window toward the sky. “Tell him, Daddy. He’s not so bad. He’s actually kind of nice, if you can get past the manwhore-ish behavior.”

“Manwhore,” he scoffs. “Don’t tell him that.” He leans over me and looks out my window, too, staring at the sky with me. “You think he can see us together?”

I look down at our hands. “I think all he really sees is this.”

“I hope so, Harley.” He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. I’m so startled I don’t even react. “Because if I was him I’d be doing everything in my power to keep you away from me.”

I turn my face just in time to brush my lips against his. “Maybe he brought us together?”

“If he did it wasn’t for you. And since I don’t deserve such graciousness that can’t be true.” Sadness enters his eyes. “I don’t think I should be here. I’ll come back and get you.”

“Come on, Bach. It’ll be fine. I promise.” I kiss the tip of his nose. “Let’s go give my grams a hot flash.”

He grumbles something under his breath that sounds like
pussy
before getting out of his Corvette. Together we walk up the stone driveway, past the parked cars and brightly colored flowers that defy the summer sun. Bach takes it all in with wide eyes and a turned down mouth.

“Why are there so many cars?” he wonders, eyeing Froy’s Mercedes SUV and Mom’s cute little yellow Porsche 911 appreciatively.

“My cousin Carolyn’s here with her six kids and husband. Grams and Grandpa live here, too.”

“Big family,” he notes, sweating. He wipes his brow off, staring down at his wrinkled clothes. “I look like shit, Harley.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“No I’m not.” He’s getting ready to run. He looks over his shoulder at his Corvette pleadingly. “I can’t meet them like this.”

“Like what?” I grab his hand and pull him up the stairs after me. Our feet pound against the wooden porch. “It’s all in your head. Plus they’re not even like that. They don’t care what you wear, how you look, or that you’re a man slut.” I wink at him. They probably care more about his lifestyle, but that doesn’t have to be broached here. “I’m the judgmental one.”

“You’re not judgmental. You’re smart.”

“Relax.”

“You relax,” he grumbles.

I open the door and step into what Mom calls the gentlemen callers room. She says back in the day this is where a gentleman would wait for his date. They’d take a stroll through the fields and whisper promises to the moon. My mom’s a huge romantic. I kick off my sandals near the front door and lead Bach through the front room, past the sitting room, the living room, and the piano room. His hand shakes slightly. I don’t understand what he’s so afraid of. They don’t know anything. They don’t know that I can’t keep my hands off my ex-boyfriend’s best friend, or that he can’t keep his hands off of me. I can hear them all in the kitchen.

Before I push through the door, Bach pulls me back. He looks green. “Did Dylan really do this?”

“Dylan was lying when he came here. You’re not. So no. He didn’t. He looked at the people I love most in this world and lied right to their faces. You’re not going to do that. Just be yourself, Bach. You’ll do great.”

He takes a deep breath and holds it for a second. Then he lets it go, shaking out his shoulders. “If you say so.”

I push the swinging kitchen doors open and enter into the best room in the house other than Dad’s office. White custom quartz countertops gleam throughout the space. The dark cherry wooden floors, hand lain and hand cut, are an uninterrupted sea of rich mahogany. The overhead lights gleam, casting a golden glow over the entire space and making the rustic brown cabinets hug the entire kitchen. The appliances are stainless steel and offset by the depression themed décor. Colored glass, antique knickknacks, and refurbished sugar bowls. My family hovers around the island and bar as Mom’s cook Betty fries pork chops.

Beside me, Bach’s hand is squeezing mine so hard I’m losing feeling in it. No one sees me at first. I’m already smiling. The first person to notice me is Grams. She’s entertaining Carolyn’s one and only daughter, Stacey, with a game of Marco Polo. She pauses mid, “Marco,” and puts her hand over her mouth. She doesn’t look frail to me. In fact, she looks damn good for eighty.

“Harley!” she shouts, causing the entire room to look at me. She runs over and I let Bach go to wrap my arms around her. “Oh my,” she says, squeezing me with her supposed frail arms. “You’re here. I missed you, baby.”

“I missed you too, Grams.” She smells like she always does. Like honey and lavender. Grandpa’s been buying her the same perfume for sixty years.

“Finally,” Mom gripes, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “I was just about to call you.”

They sandwich me for a long time. By the time I pull away I smell like lavender and I’m six again. I have skinned knees and Popsicle stains around my lips. Dad’s working in his garage while Mom takes time to play piano.

“Who’s this?” Gram’s asks, her light brown eyes sliding appreciatively over Bach. “Hmm?”