Ashton

I surprise myself when I push against his chest with everything I have in me, my irritation from him growing by the second. He keeps pushing me away, but I can tell he’s reaching out. Begging. Pleading. Desperate for help but too prideful to ask for it.

“You can close your eyes to hide the things you don’t want to see, but you can’t close your heart to the things you don’t want to feel. Open your eyes! Look at me!”

The rain comes down harder as I grip his shirt, ready to shake him out of whatever dimension his mind is trapped in.

“You pretend like you don’t feel anything … like your heart isn’t capable of it. What is this? What are we doing, Dylan? Would you just fucking say something!”

Just as I place my palms against his chest to shove him backward, he catches my wrists. Squeezing them tightly, he yanks me to him so my chest presses firmly against his. The cold rain makes my nipples pebble from what little cover my thin dress offers.

He holds me like that, his grip tightening until it stings, and we stand there staring at each other as the storm rages around us.

“You’re hurting me,” I whisper, breaking eye contact and looking at the way he’s holding me. There’s nothing tender about the touch. It’s not an embrace. It’s a war stance.

He lets out a hard breath that sounds like a husky laugh. “Good,” he breathes, a dark look passing his clouded eyes. “Because being near you every day does more than just hurts. It practically kills me.”

My eyes widen at the statement, rain getting into them that I have to blink away.

His voice rasps, “How can you not see that every time you give me the smallest touch, you’re destroying everything? I made myself this way for a reason. I don’t let anybody in. So why have you gotten under my fucking skin?”

Why have you gotten under my skin?

My heart swells at his admission. He peers down at where he’s holding me, his grip loosening. His palms trail down my arms, sliding over my wet skin. It leaves a fire in its path, heating every inch he grazes like the cold rain never touched it. He stops at my elbows for a short moment, his eyes traveling as his hands linger up my biceps, over my shoulders, feathering over my neck like he can’t get enough.

I angle my head to the side, giving him more access. Goosebumps cover my arms, but from his light touch rather than the cold wind nipping at our skin. His thumb presses against my pulse, like he’s feeling for evidence that I’m alive. That this is real between us.

I let out a shaky breath as one of his hands trails down my side, gripping my waist. He balls up the material of my cotton dress that’s clinging to my body as if he wants to tear it off in the middle of the sidewalk.

My palms go to his chest, trailing down his sculpted chest, seeing the outline of his black tattoo under his wet T-shirt. My eyes travel along the curves and twists of it, and I want nothing more than to take his shirt off and get a better look at what he thought was the perfect representation of him to brand on his body forever.

Who are you, Dylan?

As the rain comes down harder around us, he backs us into the brick wall of the building next to us, his body pressing into mine. I snake my arms around his neck as he grinds his erection into me, his lips dipping into the crook of my neck at the same time. They graze down my neck, peppering kisses against my skin to warm them up. I squeeze my thighs together, feeling the warmth gather between my legs.

His hands go back to my arms, raising them above my head and pinning them against the scratchy bricks.

“I want to touch you,” I rasp, arching my hips so they press against his when he stops moving.

“No,” he growls, his lips nipping down on my neck.

“Dylan—”

He moves back, keeping my arms pinned against the brick. “You want me to open my eyes? To look at you? Well I am, princess. I’m right here in this moment with you. If you want me, all of me, then you’re going to have to do things my way. Because I don’t like people touching me anymore than they have to. I don’t like storms. I don’t like being trapped in the rain at night. But you?” His voice catches. “You break me, Ashton. You break through the steel barriers that close in the memory I just want to fucking forget. What made me who I am will always be branded in the back of my mind, but at least I can pretend like it doesn’t exist.”

“H-how?” I doubt, shaking my head, my hair sticking to my face. “By drinking? Doing drugs? Going to parties and sleeping with meaningless girls? Those distractions aren’t permanent, Dylan. You’re always going to wake up remembering whatever it is that’s messing with you. What is it? What happened to you?”

His eyes shadow over with something darker than lust, but it’s still there like he’s about to devour me as an escape. Trying to get through to him is impossible when he’s dead set on not remembering whatever plagued him.

He leans in slowly, causing my breath to catch in my throat. His moves are calculated, predatory, wanting. My body shakes from the combination of the chill settling over me and desire building in the pit of my stomach. My hands shake above me, twitching to touch him. To help him. To save him.

Some people can’t be saved.

Not if they don’t want to be.

“Let me help you,” I plead, voice barely a whisper. It’s drowned out by the rain showering down on us, our barriers melting into puddles with no armor protecting us from each other.

“Help me,” he repeats in a low tone, like it’s an impossible task. “I know how you can help me, baby.”

He elaborates by pressing his lips against mine, dominating them with a force that should hurt. Instead, it makes me understand what kind of love he’s capable of. Powerful. Hungry. Consuming.

He coaxes my lips open with his, giving me a taste of him, mint flooding my taste buds as his tongue tangles with mine. It flicks against the roof of my mouth, against my teeth, and when he draws back, his teeth pull my bottom lip, tugging it gently.

My breath is ragged when he draws far enough back to look at me, our eyes connecting, chests rising and falling heavily.

“Dylan, please.”

His forehead presses against mine. “What do you want, Ashton? How do you want to help me?”

I manage to get my arms free, wrapping them around his neck, careful not to touch him. His body tenses under me but only for a small second. When I pull our bodies close together, he seems to know exactly what it is that I want to do to help.

I’m going to regret this, but in the moment, I’m taken over by the yearning to help him in any way I can. And maybe it’ll help me too. Help me get Rhys out of my mind, get Dylan out of my system.

Or maybe it’ll destroy me.

“Let me be a distraction,” I find myself saying, knowing that only one taste won’t be enough. “We can be each other’s distractions for the night.”

That’s all it takes for him to take the lead, his arms wrapping around my waist. His palms grip my hips, picking me up. Without a second thought, my legs wrap around him, pressing my center against his erection and spreading the sensation through my body.

Walking us between the two buildings so we’re masked by shadows, he presses my back against the wall. Keeping an arm around my waist, he uses his free hand to graze his hot palm down my chest, between my breasts, and landing where my skin is open from the cutout of my dress.

His palm goes under the cutout, rising and stretching the material until it hovers over the lace cups of my bra, warming my body with his greedy touch. When he cups me through my bra, my back arches, pressing myself farther into his palm.

Carefully, my hands go to the button of his jeans, popping it open and sliding the zipper down. I only manage to get it half way before he helps me, slipping his hand away from my breast and taking himself out of his jeans. I help him bunch the skirt of my dress up so he has the access he needs, and my heart propels so fast in my chest that it actually hurts.

Hurts with anticipation.

Hurts with need.

Hurts knowing I shouldn’t be doing this.

You’re hurting me, Dylan.

Hurting me in a way I could prevent if I listened to myself—fought against the temptation that the infamous playboy was showering me with.

The cold air nips at my naked thighs in reminder of what’s about to happen, reminding me that I should stop it. End it. Find some way to distract one another that doesn’t involve trading my body for an escape.

But my body is too far gone to listen to reason. I arch my body toward him, letting him know that I want this just as much as him.

“Eager I see,” he chuckles in a husky voice, his lips locking onto my breast from over my top. His hand goes back to my body, trailing up my thigh as his tongue flicks over my nipple. I suck in a breath as his finger finds the seam of my panties, teasing my center by brushing his fingertip over me. I can feel the dampness pooling against the lace, anticipation causing me to moan and him to chuckle.

“You want a distraction?” he asks in a sultry tone, his mouth moving to my other breast.

“Yes. Yes, Dylan. Please. We both need this.” I should be ashamed at how needy I sound, but I’m too turned on to care.

His mouth stops its attack on my nipple, drawing back so he looks me in the eye. I can tell he’s at the same state of mind I am, pre-bliss and ready for the world to shift with every touch.

“If you insist,” he finally says, his finger pulling away my panties and entering me hungrily.

I moan as he inserts a second finger, taunting me, teasing me, prepping me.

I rock my body against his hand, trying to get more from the touch he’s giving me, taking what I want. What he won’t give me.

“More,” I tell him, eyes glazing over as he hooks his finger.

“Fuck,” he curses, his mouth crashing back onto mine, tongue and teeth dominating my mouth. He pulls his fingers out of me and I miss the touch, but I know that what’s coming now will be so much better. I can hear the crinkle and tear of the condom wrapper he takes from his back pocket, and the anticipation sends my heart into overdrive.

Without another word, without giving me a chance to back out, he enters me, burying himself in one hard thrust.

I make a strangled noise, my body tensing around him and against the wall. My hands grip his shoulders to balance myself, even though I know he won’t let me fall.

“Fuck, Ash. How long has it been?”

My body flushes at the question, knowing I must be tight for him to ask something so personal. Although personal didn’t seem to matter with his cock buried in me.

The truth is, I don’t remember the last time I had sex. It’d been that long. A year maybe. Eight months at the least.

On fire, I find myself admitting, “About eight months. Maybe more.”

Rhys had been distancing himself from me in more ways than one. At first it was like he couldn’t talk to me about things anymore. His bad moods were never explained, and no matter how I tried to help, he wouldn’t let me. The lack of physical touches came later, but soon enough he would barely kiss me without looking like it pained him. The signs were all there, I just didn’t want to see them.

He tips my chin down so we’re eye to eye. “Don’t,” he demands, voice hard. “Don’t think about him when I’m balls deep in you. He doesn’t matter anymore. He can’t please you like me, make you squirm. Fill you.” He starts moving inside of me once I adjust to his size, his movements slow and building.

My eyelids flutter closed as his thrusts get quicker, harder, more demanding.

“Dylan,” I breathe, meeting his movements, pressing into him.

“That’s right,” he whispers, hand gathering a fistful of my hair. He yanks gently, his lips meeting mine. This time it’s softer, but the hunger is still there.

He’s showing me two different sides of him, and I have no idea which one I like better in the moment.

I taste his lips, not able to get enough. My hands move from his shoulders to his hair, tangling in the strands. He adjusts us so he’s pushing into me at a new angle, sliding into me farther and causing me to suck in a breath.

I moan his name and yank on his hair like he’s doing to mine. Our kisses become more frantic and so do the thrusts. I can feel my orgasm building in me as his hips drive into me faster. My back scrapes against the wall, causing discomfort but not enough to stop him.

My fingernails dig into his shoulders as his movements get faster, our heavy breathing mixed with guttural groans and moans echoing in the alleyway we’re inhabiting.

“I’m close,” I whimper, nails digging in deeper, threatening to draw blood.

I can tell he is, too, and he brings his hand down between us, his thumb rubbing my clit as he slams into me.

The pressure becomes too much between the two actions and my body starts to shake, knees tightening against either side of him.

My moans turn into mangled noises that I should be embarrassed to make, but they seem to only turn him on more.

“I’m going to come, Ash,” he groans, thrusting into me once, twice, a third time before his body stiffens and he stills as he buries himself into me, causing my own orgasm to blast through my body.

I cry out his name, feeling my limbs go numb as he empties himself inside of me. The back of my head resting against the wall as he pulls out of me, peeling off the condom, and tucking himself into his jeans.

Catching my breath, I move my dress down so it covers me again. He steps back, lowering me onto my Jell-O legs.

I blow out a breath. “That was …”

He doesn’t respond. His expression becomes darker than before we had sex, and his eyes hooded over in a distance that was farther than the stars themselves.

“Dylan?”

He swipes his palm down his face. “I should get going. We, uh, both should.”

The rain has let up compared to what it was, so it’s easier to see the pain on his face despite the wall he’s putting back up.

I swallow back my hurt as I look at him.

It was only a distraction. One night. One time. One moment.

The lump forming in my throat and heavy chest weighs me down as he backs up, shoving his palms into his pockets.

“Yeah,” I finally relent. “We should.”

He doesn’t wait for me.