When I Say Yes (Necklace Trilogy 3)

“Exactly,” he replies. “He blamed you for foiling his plan to use you. That’s on him, not you. When there’s a snake coming at you, you cut off his head. That’s what you did.”

“No,” I correct. “That’s what you’re doing.”

“You had no reason to believe an ending wasn’t an ending with him. On the other hand, you do with your father. You don’t feel right about how you ended your relationship with him. Does he deserve another chance to make things right with you? If you truly don’t know the entire story about what happened between him and Brandon, then maybe. I don’t know. And neither do you right now. You want to know and that’s what matters.”

“Are you comfortable with how things ended with your father, Dash?”

His fingers flex where they rest on my leg. “You know he blames me for my brother’s death. There’s really no coming back or together from that for either of us.”

I remembered the look on his father’s face when he looked at Dash and it was nothing short of contempt. So many words come to my tongue, only to be swallowed before spoken. I settle on, “I want to ask questions. You know I want to ask questions.”

His chin lifts, his gaze reaching for the sky right through the ceiling before he meets my stare, and he lets me see the pain in his eyes as he says, “Like my father, my brother had a drinking problem that escalated when he joined me at college. I was young. I thought it was just the whole college party thing, but it grew tiresome. I babysat him all the damn time. That night we were at the same party. I’m the older brother. He got behind the wheel. And the only person who hates me more than I hate myself for letting that happen is my father.”

And therefore, he punishes himself, in a fight club and with someone else’s fist, and of course, that need for pain is driven by his admitted self-hate. As for his father, he could have helped Dash move forward from the loss, he could have loved the son he has left on this earth, and held him close. Instead, he shoved a blade into his heart and that blade cuts him over and over again.

I climb onto Dash’s lap, straddling his hips, and press my hands to his handsome face. “You are not to blame and I will tell you that over and over if that’s what it takes to make you forgive yourself.”

He rolls me to my back and settles on top of me, his breath warm, his body hard. “For how many days, Allie?”

“What does that mean, Dash?” I whisper.

“For a month? For a year? For three years? For the rest of your life? Because this is not going away. Ever, Allie. It’s not going away.”

But he thinks I will. That’s what he’s telling me. And I’m not sure anything but full disclosure about what created his father’s accusations and his guilt, which he hasn’t yet given me, will convince him otherwise.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Because this is not going away.

With Dash still on top of me, his mouth a breath from mine, those words radiate between us. “This” I am certain is not just the death of his brother, but his own self-hate, his guilt.

I barely have time to digest the darkness in those words before he’s kissing me, ravenous, hungry, tormented. I kiss him back, trying to answer a question it feels like he’s asking, without ever asking it. Will I stay? Will I still love him if I know everything about that night his brother died because I don’t yet? My fingers dive into his hair, my body arches against his. A rush of heat and need overcomes us, consuming us. His emotions are a current tugging me under, and I drown in them, live in them, feel them in every way possible. I am lost in Dash and I barely know how we end up naked. He touches me all over, his hand settling on my breast, fingers on my nipple, his cock thick and hard between my legs, pressing into the slick, wet heat of my sex.

I gasp with the feel of him entering me, and gasp again as he drives hard and deep, and sensations rocket through me. What follows is nothing that I have ever known with Dash or any other man. It’s fucking. It’s lovemaking.

We move together, we sway together, we grind and pant and demand from each other. Every touch is fire. Every move is wicked. Every sensation greater than the one before it. I crave the moment I shatter. I dread the moment this is over. And yet it must end and before I can delay that inevitable, I shatter, the low groan of Dash’s pleasure melding with my own. Time stands still until my body relaxes into the cushion, and he shifts slightly to rest his weight on his side, but stays on top of me.