Make Me Hate You: A Best Friend's Brother Romance Page 15

  It didn’t matter that he didn’t talk directly to me. It seemed he was doing the same thing I was, trying to put distance between us, to block out the same flurry of thoughts I had.

  Still, I loved the way he spoke about us. I loved the way my heart swelled at the memories. I loved the way I felt being back here, back with them.

  Back with him.

  And the way he smoothed his thumbs over my wrists under that arch…

  My body moved faster, as if to shake that thought away before I could latch onto it, but still, my mind raced. It was a fog impossible to fight through, but more than anything and at the root of it all — I hated myself.

  Because all it had taken to show my true, dark, and fucked-up morals was one trip back home.

  And one thing I knew for sure, one truth swimming low and acidic in my gut, was that I had to call Jacob tomorrow.

  And I had to break up with him.

  It didn’t matter that Tyler had a girlfriend, that our time had passed, that we would never be together. It didn’t matter that, surely, it was being here that was messing with my mind, and had I stayed in California, none of this would have happened.

  All that did matter was that I realized, in painful clarity, that I was not okay.

  I was not ready to date someone as seriously as I was dating Jacob. I didn’t deserve his love, his time, his doting attention. I didn’t know what I wanted, or who I was, or where I was going because I’d spent the last seven years running from where I’d been.

  It was the wake-up call akin to a bucket of ice cold water to the face, and I couldn’t run from it, no matter how I tried.

  My nose stung with the urge to cry, but I fought against it, picking up my speed, instead. My muscles ached in protest, and I knew I was pushing too hard. I knew I’d be sore as fuck tomorrow, but I couldn’t not run. I couldn’t not put my body in pain and fatigue.

  It was my only chance at escaping everything inside my head.

  It was almost eleven when I’d left the beach house, so I knew it had to be past midnight when I finally made my way back. I slowed from a run to a jog the closer I got to the back steps that led up from the beach, and I stopped at the foot of the stairs, hanging my hands on my hips and looking out over the dark water as I tried to catch my breath.

  The moon was just a sliver, most of the lights from the beach houses turned down, and everything was quiet. June was shoulder season for the Cape, so it wasn’t yet crawling with tourists like little ants. And in that silent, dark moment on the beach, I felt the universe inside me shift.

  And I knew things would never be the same.

  “A little late for a run, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t jump, didn’t so much as blink or shiver at the sound of Tyler’s voice. I hadn’t seen him sitting in the middle of the stairs like a shadow, but perhaps I’d felt him. Perhaps I’d sensed him, or always known he’d be there — like no matter how far or fast I ran, it’d always be him I’d come back to.

  A heavy sigh left my chest, and I turned, finding him in the darkness. And I didn’t answer. I just shrugged.

  Tyler rose slowly, making his way down the stairs toward where I stood on the beach below. He leaned against the banister, cautiously watching me, like I was a wild hare and one quick movement would send me running.

  “You okay?”

  Something of a laugh left my nose at that, and then my eyes welled with tears. I shook my head, casting my gaze over the dark water again. “No,” I whispered, and the fight was useless against the first two tears that fell hot down my cheeks. “I am far from okay.”

  Tyler pushed off the banister at once, his arms reaching for me, but I backed away like he was poison, nearly falling in the process. He stopped, holding up his hands as I crossed my arms over my middle.

  “Don’t,” I warned, shaking my head.

  “Come here.”

  “Please, don’t touch me.”

  “How can I not?” he asked, stepping toward me with purpose. “You’re hurting, and it’s killing me, and I don’t know how to fix it other than to pull you into me and try to shield you from whatever it is that’s bringing you pain.”

  “It’s you!”

  The words were too loud, too raw, and more tears flooded my eyes as they lingered between us.

  I sniffed, wiping my face and sucking in a cold breath. “Can’t you see that?” I asked, quiet this time, my voice something of a whimper or a plea. “It’s you who brings me pain. It’s you who is killing me. It’s you, and us,” I added, motioning between us. “It’s this thing that never was, but always is, that never will be and will never not be.”

  The air around us stilled, even the soft distant sound of the waves quieting, as if the entire world decided to stop spinning for this one specific moment.

  And Tyler looked like I’d just socked him in the jaw.

  I shook my head, face contorting with emotion. “I have tried to forget you, Tyler. For seven long years, I ran from you, and from that day, and from all those years we had together. I thought I’d grown. I thought I’d left you behind. I thought I’d succeeded in forgetting you, in giving the fantasy of us up.” I choked on a sob, covering my mouth with one hand as my eyes blurred again. “But all it took was one trip. One time coming back here — to this place, to you — and it’s so painfully clear that I wasn’t even close.”

  “Jaz…”

  “I just want to hate you,” I said, desperation splitting my chest open, and in the next breath, Tyler’s arms were around me.

  I shoved at his chest, trying to put distance between us, but he held me tighter. I shook my head and cried and pushed, but it was no use.

  His arms around me were unyielding, pressing, tight and secure and warm.

  And when I finally gave in, collapsing into him, another sob racking my chest, I submitted to every painful, shameful, horrendous emotion.

  “Please,” I begged, fisting my hands in his shirt to hold him closer but still trying to shove him away. “Please, just make me hate you.”

  Tyler’s knuckles found my chin, and he tilted it until I was staring up at him through wet lashes. Just the sight of the pain in his eyes made another surge of emotion assault my chest, and I winced, rolling my lips to fight off more tears.

  “Only if you make me hate you first.”

  Tyler stilled when the words came from his lips, and I tilted my head, confused.

  But before I could ask him what he meant, he grabbed my chin and crashed his mouth to mine.

  That kiss… that connection of lips, of heat and want, of regret and longing, of a past life and a present one — it hit me like an anvil to the chest.

  My next breath was stolen, and I’d barely registered that Tyler was kissing me before his tongue skated against my lips, seeking access, and I opened, letting him in like there was no other option.

  There never had been.

  It had always been him. It had always been us. And that kiss — that passionate, painful, bruising kiss told me that he knew it, too.

  Is this a dream again? Am I about to wake up?

  My question was answered with Tyler’s grip around my waist tightening, and I whimpered as he bit down on my bottom lip, sucking it inside his mouth before he was kissing me again. I was still completely breathless, shocked and scared and knowing we should stop but so damn turned on that I knew I never would.

  I should have shoved him back. I should have slapped him. I should have turned around and run and never looked back.

  But I held onto him like he was all I needed, all that mattered, and we spiraled together into the darkness we’d created.

  Our own little personal hell.

  Every moment after that was a flash, a blur, defying physics and gravity and every law of science there was. Time jumped and skipped, and I registered our movement in tiny specs.

  Hands everywhere, lips hot and wet as we climbed the stairs.

  A shock of pain up my back when he slammed me into the door th
at led into the house, and a cool rush of air when we tumbled inside it.

  A zing of warning down my spine when he grabbed my hand and tugged me up, stopping every few seconds to capture my mouth with his again, as if he worried that even one full minute without contact would be enough for me to wise up and change my mind and stop all of this.

  But I never could.

  I blacked out for the rest of the ascent, up the three stories, both of us trying to silence our breaths as we climbed each floor. Deftly, I registered Tyler gripping the doorknob that led into my room, and he shoved it open, tossing me inside before he shut it behind us with a quiet snick.

  When we were alone, he stood across from me, chest heaving, eyes devouring me like he was a wolf and I was his prey.

  He took one step, and I took the next, until we collided in the middle of the room in a mixture of shallow breaths and hot, needy hands. His wrapped around my hips and lifted, and then I was on the dresser, and when I spread my thighs to make room for him between them, the vase of flowers Jacob had bought me crashed to the floor.

  It was my final warning, I’d realize in the coming days, and I should have heeded it.

  But nothing could make me stop now.

  “Fuck, you feel so good,” Tyler husked, his hands raking up my thighs and spreading them more as he settled between them. He was already thick and throbbing in his sweatpants, his erection pressed right where I needed friction the most.

  I gasped, arching into him as his teeth grazed the skin of my neck. He bit down hard enough that I knew it’d leave a mark before sucking that same spot tenderly.

  “Do you know how badly I want you, Jasmine?” His words were but a low growl as his hands explored — up my legs, gripping the crease where my hips met my thighs, squeezing my waist so hard I hissed in a breath. “From the day you showed up in those tight, white jeans, that little blue crop top that showed your hips.” He traced the hips he was cursing, making chills race from that point of contact. “And then seeing you in your pajama shorts, and that hot little fucking bikini that day at the lake.” Tyler groaned, his mouth claiming mine so quickly and unexpected that I tasted copper on my tongue. “I want you so fucking bad it hurts.”

  He thrust his hips into me with the words, as if saying them wasn’t enough to make me truly feel them. Little did he know that every word he spoke was a drug to my system, fogging my morals, filling me up with the purest ecstasy I’d ever known.

  My tank top was ripped over my head before I realized he’d even broken our kiss, and then his mouth was back on mine, tongue seeking entrance as he palmed my breasts hard through my sports bra. He made quick work of it next, and then that hot mouth was on my nipple, sucking and groaning in appreciation with his hands still squeezing me hard.

  Words and breath were impossible to reach in that moment. I couldn’t do a single damn thing but lean into his touch, into his torturous, almost hateful seduction.

  The first time Tyler touched me, all those years ago, it was with gentle reverence. He’d handled me like a girl with a broken heart, which was exactly what I was. His kisses had been slow and soft, his hands hesitant and trembling, and I could still remember the look in his eyes when he laid me back and entered me for the first time.

  They were wide, careful, sensitive, longing and pure.

  But Tyler didn’t take me gently tonight.

  Tonight, he punished me with every kiss, with every bite, with every tight grasp. It must have been true, what he’d said on the beach — he wanted to hate me, too. And I felt it with every new touch, every new kiss, every new taste.

  He wasn’t worshiping me.

  He was claiming me.

  Like I’d ever had a prayer of being anyone else’s but his.

  My hands clawed at his shirt, bunching the fabric at his shoulders before he released his mouth from my breast long enough for me to rip the cotton over his head. As soon as it was gone, he continued his torture, and I raked my nails down his back, marking him just as he was marking me.

  “Shiiiiit, Jaz,” he cursed, his entire body trembling, and then his mouth crashed into mine again.

  He kissed me hard as his fingers dove beneath the band of my running shorts. He yanked violently, and I barely had to work to lift my hips for him to get them off of me and on the floor. They were the kind with built in underwear, which meant once they were on the ground, I was completely naked.

  And for the first time since he kissed me, Tyler stopped.

  He took a few steps back, far enough that I couldn’t reach him, and his eyes crawled over my exposed skin.

  The only light in the room came from my curtains still being open, and it was the soft light of the night, barely enough for me to see his eyes, but certainly enough for him to catalogue every inch of me. I closed my knees, arms crossing over my stomach before Tyler shook his head.

  “No,” he commanded. “Don’t get shy on me now, Jazzy. I want to see you. Open those legs for me.”

  Fuck.

  My entire being came alive at his words, and it wasn’t even an option to do anything other than what he’d demanded. My knees fell open again, and I spread my thighs wide, feeling the cool wood of the dresser under my ass. I was already so wet and swollen that just the combination of him watching me and the cool touch of the air conditioning on that sensitive center had me ready to come.

  Tyler was just a silhouette with the windows behind him, his hair sticking up this way and that, chest swelling with each new breath. I palmed my breasts as my eyes traced each valley and ridge of his abdomen, my nipples pebbling under the touch, and I moaned at the sight of him stripping off his shorts and freeing his erection.

  It sprang forward, thick and long, and when he wrapped one fist around it with his eyes still watching me, I panted, my hand sliding down to rub my aching clit.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, still stroking himself as he moved toward me. “You were touching yourself like that last night, weren’t you?”

  My hand stilled, just for the pause of shock registering through me.

  He smirked, still moving slowly toward me. “You fucking were. I heard you, your deep moans and hushed cries of pleasure. I thought it was a dream, but it sounded so real. It was, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded, lips parting, my fingers moving over my clit again at the sight of him towering and slinking toward me like a snake in the night.

  He only pulled his hand from himself when he was close enough to touch me, swatting my own hand out of the way so he could take the job. And when his warm fingertips pressed into my clit, rubbing it in a gentle circle, my entire body convulsed at the touch.

  “Who were you thinking of?” he demanded.

  I sucked in the urge to moan, holding my breath and fighting everything inside me that wanted to cry out at his touch. “You.”

  “Goddamnit,” he husked, and his warm fingers pressed harder, still circling as I writhed in his grasp. “Do you know how fucking hard you made me? I had to fuck my hand twice last night, and still couldn’t empty myself fully.”

  God, it was so hot the way he spoke to me, the filthy, forbidden things he said. “What did you think of?” I managed through my panting.

  “What do you think,” he asked, slipping his fingers down between my wet folds before he circled my clit again. “Fuck, it’s hot how turned on you are right now.”

  “Please, Tyler,” I begged, and I swear, I’d never begged for anything in the bedroom before in my life. But I needed him, and I didn’t even know what I needed first — his fingers inside me? His mouth on my clit? His cock buried so deep I could see the stars?

  I wanted it all, all at once. I needed him to consume me like a black hole. I desired nothing more than to die by his touch.

  Tyler kissed his way down my abdomen with his hands on my waist, sliding his tongue over the smooth skin above my clit. I resisted the urge to whine, but my hips bucked of their own accord. I wanted his mouth on me, his tongue on my clit, now.

  He seeme
d to know it, and he tickled my skin with his fingertips as his tongue drew designs on my mound, dipping close to my clit but never fully encompassing it. My breaths were so shallow they barely existed at all, and when Tyler slowly crawled back up to kiss me again, I shoved him back with frustration.

  The cocky bastard stood there with a knowing grin. He knew he was driving me crazy, that I needed him to touch me, and he loved to torture me and make me beg for it.

  But I was done waiting.

  I reached out before he had the chance to pin me again, wrapping one hand fully around the base of his cock and squeezing as I rolled my fist up to his tip and down again. Tyler groaned, his hands slapping down on the dresser behind me as his mouth claimed mine again, hard and demanding, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip. I trailed my fingers up to his tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum there over the sensitive skin before I wrapped my fist around him again and felt him flex into it.

  “That’s it, baby,” I whispered against his mouth. “Fuck my hand like you fucked your own last night.”

  Another growl ripped through him, and he grabbed my hips, yanking me down off the dresser to stand in front of him. And when he did, our cores lined up, and I pulled him between my legs, between my lips, hands grabbing his ass and dragging him in until his shaft was snug between my hot thighs, slick from my need.

  “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, and his hands loosened their grip on my hips as he leaned back to appreciate the view.

  We were both standing, him bent at the knees a little, and he pulled back enough to expose his entire cock before flexing forward, burying it between my folds again. This time, the heat of his base rubbed against my clit with the motion, and I gasped, arching back and gripping onto the dresser so I didn’t hit my knees.