Because I Can (Necklace Trilogy 2)

Until I leave.

Just the idea guts me, it really does, and it hits me that I quit my job here. I made sure that staying isn’t a financial option. But me in the middle of Tyler and Dash seems a problem as well. It’s a problem I’ll have to face and soon. Just not tonight.

Tonight is all about me and Dash crashing into each other.

And about me praying that crash doesn’t come with a burn. At least not an immediate burn.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dash joins me inside the apartment and lifts his chin toward the bedroom.

We head in that direction, but I’m not thinking about seduction. I’m thinking about how much he needs ice on that eye, and how much my gut tells me not to bring attention to it right now.

Once we’re at the bedroom door, Dash flips on the light and then the fireplace. “I need to wash this night off of me,” he says. “I’ll put your bags in the closet.”

He’s already walking away, leaving me to decide what I do next. It doesn’t feel like he’s telling me he needs to be alone. Not at all, but it does feel like another question, though I don’t really understand the context. But he needs me and I came here to be with him. And truly, maybe, I’m reading too much into everything. Maybe, just maybe, he assumed I’d follow him. If so, he’s right.

That’s exactly what I do. I follow him.

I’m in the hallway when the shower turns on. I arrive in the bathroom doorway as Dash tugs his shirt over his head, and does so with a grunt. I cringe at the sight of the dark bruises down his right side. His body is strong but I know now that so is his self-hate. Dash hates himself and that’s a brutal reality that cannot be denied. Not by me and not by him.

I want to know why, but I’m all too aware of the fact that I won’t find that answer in a simple spoken word. That’s exactly why I don’t ask questions, and I don’t cross to him and offer lame comfort that will do nothing but drive him away. I’m all about washing the dirt of this night off and doing so with him, not without him, which is almost where this night had me landing. God, how I wish we could just wash it all away and leave us with nothing but my version of sunshine: lemon drops, dancing with Dash, hot sex, and the waffles his sister and my mother makes for us.

But it’s not that simple. It was never going to be simple at all.

I reach for the zipper of my skirt. He reaches for his jeans. And together, we undress, watching each other as we do so, the absence of words, offering the freedom for us to live in the moment and each other. When the layers of clothing are gone, only our secrets between us, he catches my hand and walks me to him, the thickness of his erection at my hip. The heat of his hard body aligned with mine. The intensity of his stare, sheltered by hooded eyes. He doesn’t break the sanctuary of our silence. He doesn’t kiss me. He simply leads me into the shower where the steam has gathered and offered us a safe haven.

Dash and I stand under the warm water, and just as he said, we let the water wash away the dirt of a dirty night. I grab the soap and drizzle it on his chest, but when I run my hand over the area, he flinches. My breath catches with his reaction, with the certainty that he is more badly beaten than I’d realized, and I’d already known he was not in good condition.

Before I can stop myself, I break the silence. “Dash—”

That’s all it takes. He captures my head and damp hair in his hand, an erotic pull that ensures I won’t ask a question, I won’t demand answers. But he demands, oh how he demands. His mouth crashes down over mine and he doesn’t just kiss me. He consumes me, breathes me in, owns me. I’m panting when he presses me against the wall. I’m gasping as he lifts my leg and presses the hard length of his cock against me. I’m clinging to him as he presses inside me and drives deep. For a few beats, we’re just there, our bodies joined, our breaths heavy, a mix of passion and emotion between us.

One of his hands scoops my backside, arching my hips, and dragging him deeper. The other hand finds my breast, his fingers dragging over my nipple before he’s tugging on it with a pinching pain that clenches my sex. And then he’s thrusting into me, pumping hard and fast, his gaze raking over my bouncing breasts, a wild frenzy erupting between us. I hold onto him anywhere I can manage to touch him, as if I will never touch him again. And he touches me with just as much desperation. As if he feared he’d never touch me again.