I take two steps to the side of the bed and bend over. His hand comes up and locks onto the back of my head. "Oh, I am, am I?" I ask in challenge.
"Yes, you are." His lips touch the corner of my mouth and he growls when I pull away before I can fall into another lip lock with him. I know if I do, then there's no way he won't join me for a shower and I remember quite clearly how the last one had gone.
"Then you better leave me alone to get ready," I say, sliding away and heading for the bathroom. I let the door close behind me and sag against it the second I'm out of his sight. I thought there was no way Dean could control me, but if I'm not careful then that damn pierced cock of his might very well accomplish what he couldn't and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
48
Avalon
Unsurprisingly, Dean is gone when I emerge from the shower and so are the guys. I roll my shoulders back, trying to work out the kinks in my neck. Despite the hours of nonstop sex, our last conversation has me feeling tense. I quickly change into a new swimsuit and yank on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt over it.
I know Dean said something about wanting me at the party, but I'm suddenly not so much in the partying mood. So, instead of going in search of him, when I hit the main floor, I turn towards the backdoors and find my way outside. The bonfires have been snuffed out and it seems that the majority of the party is now taking place at an embankment a little bit farther down.
Good, I think, as I head down the stone staircase.
My feet hit the sand and a shiver courses through me. Without the bonfires lit, the beach is cold at night. Who would've known? Not me, that's for sure, but now that I'm sitting here right in front of it, I can see the appeal. I plop down on the ground and sigh. Despite the stickiness of the sand and how irritating it is on the backs of my thighs, the endless appearance of the dark waters makes me want to stand up and walk towards it ... and then keep walking until I'm completely submerged in it.
"Hey." I jump as something cold touches my shoulder. I jerk my eyes up and meet Dean's enigmatic gaze, and I realize he's holding out an opened beer bottle. His fingers brush mine as I take it. I force back a shiver and raise the mouth of the bottle to my lips, taking a long, slow drink. My muscles tense as he stands beside me and the dying bonfire a moment more before sinking to the sand, letting me know he's not just here to deliver a drink.
"How'd you find me so fast?" I ask.
He shakes his head but doesn't answer. With his body next to mine, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his skin, but not so close that we're touching, it seems a little odd to not be touching after the last twenty-four hours. I don't know what we are, though, or if we even are anything.
"Truth," he says suddenly.
A sigh slips from my lips. "I'm not playing a stupid game," I reply, lifting the bottle and taking a swig.
"I'm not asking you to. Just tell me a truth."
I analyze him from the corner of my eyes. "A truth for a truth?" I clarify.
He doesn't look my way but keeps his face turned towards the water. "Sure, if that's what it takes to get inside that devious mind of yours."
My lips twitch. Asshole. "Fine," I say, "you first."
"I hate my dad."
I blink. I hadn't exactly expected him to be so forthright, especially so quickly. "I hate my mom," I reply, taking another sip. After a moment of silence, when he doesn't say anything more, I feel the unusual need to elaborate and words start spilling out. "I used to say I didn't. I didn't like the idea of hating her, but … she's a pretty shit person."
"No need to justify it to me," he says.
A soft breeze that smells like salt hits my face as a wave washes in against the shore several feet away. Turning, I stare at his profile. He sits on his ass with both feet on the ground, legs bent, and his shoulders rolled forward. My eyes are immediately drawn to lines of black peeking out from beneath his shirt and I'm transported back to a moment when he was driving into me that his tattoos were all I could see. That and a white light as my orgasm crashed over me.
I want to ask what the meaning of his tattoos are, if they have a meaning anyway—for all I know, they could be pure decoration—but something tells me they're not. Dean Carter does not strike me as the type of man who does anything for the fun of it.
"It's your turn again," I point out, tipping my beer in his direction. His drink remains dangling from his fingers, the bottom resting against the sand.
After a moment of silence, his head tilts and he turns to look at me. "I went first," he says. "I think that earns me a second round where you take a leap of faith and just tell me something about you that no one else knows."
My lips part. "No one knows that I hate my mom."
"Maybe not," he says. "But anyone can guess. Give me something else. Something more meaningful."
"Why?" I ask.
"What?" he replies. "I've been inside your pussy, but you can't tell me a secret?"
I groan and bare my teeth in irritation. "I hate that you're such a fucking control freak," I snap.
Finally, there's a crack in his mask. His lips twitch and the corner of his mouth lifts until he's smiling—actually smiling, teeth and everything—at me. "No, you don't," he challenges.
"Excuse me?"
He shakes his head and chuckles. "I think that's the furthest thing from the truth and that's not how this exchange works. No lies in this game."
One arm hangs over his knee and I have the urge to knock it off and then knock his ass to the ground. "What do you know about me?" I say, but my words don't carry their usual acerbic-ness.
"A lot," is his immediate response. He sets his beer down in the sand and lifts his hand up until his fingers graze my cheek. I freeze at the feel of skin on skin contact. Which is fucking ridiculous. I've felt his skin on mine before. Hell, I just got done having a day and night long fuck fest with the dude, but this time is different. This feels like something more. And I don't know how to react to it.
"I know the reason that you're so fucking hostile and stubborn is because you've had to be. Let me guess … you grew up in a house with a revolving door? Did your mom date a lot of guys? Did they ever look at you the way adults shouldn't look at children?"
With every word he speaks, the colder I become. A prickle of something sinister slithers up my spine. I grab his wrist and hold it away from my face. "Did you learn that from your fucking research?" I spit. "How nice for you to think you can figure out everything about someone just by paying people off. Well, do you want to know what I know about you, D-man?"
He looks at me and I hate how I can't fucking tell what he's thinking right now. "Yes." I might have missed the word if I hadn't been listening for it. As it is, the whisper is so quiet, so quickly swallowed by the wind and the sound of crashing waves that I almost think I imagined it. But in his eyes, I see the truth. I know I haven't.
"You're such a control freak because you feel out of control most of the time," I accuse. He doesn't blink or react, and I think back to all the times before. The gas station. The Frazier House party. The warehouse fight. The lake. He hates his dad...