Dylan (Dark Legacy Book 4) Read online

  “You don’t understand how hard it is for me to see you be hurt,” she told me, her voice breaking. “If…” She cleared her throat. “If I had a child, I would hope someone would help them if needed.”

  “I love you,” I said, hugging her again. There was nothing else I could say because we were both victims to circumstance. But there was light at the end of the tunnel. We had plans to escape eventually.

  “I love you too, child. Like my very own.”

  Mary had always poured so much motherly love into me that I thought it a shame she’d never had a child of her own, but I was also grateful that she hadn’t. It allowed her to be with me, and I was selfish enough to want that, even if it was a hard life for her as well.

  We chatted together longer than normal, and even though I’d probably be late for Dylan, I didn’t hurry her away. We both needed comfort, and it was so rare these days. Eventually though, Mary had to get back to work, and that left me free to escape from this hellhole.

  My room was on the second floor, but I had long ago chiseled some holds in the stone that ran along my side. It was disguised with well-placed ivy, which Mary had convinced the gardener to grow on this wing of the house. It’d taken me a good year before I could use it, but it was well worth the wait.

  Grabbing my small leather backpack, I slipped it over my shoulders, pulled on my Vans, and took a moment to check out the window on my side of the estate. There shouldn’t be any guards and the garden staff had finished for the day, but I never took chances.

  That’s how I stayed alive.

  Everything looked quiet below as the last dregs of sunlight faded across the hundreds of plants and trees below. Blake was very proud of his garden, including a maze with seven-foot hedges—because that wasn’t stupidly extra.

  His most prized plants, though, were the exotic rosebushes that lined the perimeter—roses with a dual purpose, being both beautiful and deadly for anyone—aka me—trying to sneak in or out of the estate. I was smarter than Blake, though, and I didn’t even try to fight the roses. Nope. I worked with them.

  After waiting the required ten minutes for observation, I decided it was safe enough to climb out. My bedroom door was locked, no one, aside from Mary, was allowed to check on me, and I’d already told her I was just going to try to get some sleep and would see her at breakfast.

  Everything was falling into place.

  Easing myself out of the window, I got both feet onto the small ledge below. The climb down was always scary and exhilarating, but I was nearly an expert at this point.

  When my feet hit the ground, I dropped between some of the ivy and a huge tree with bright pink and purple flowers. I had no idea what it was called, but it smelled like sweet summer days, which would soon fade as we ventured further into the winter months.

  At the moment, the temperature was cool but not cold. Soon, though, there’d be snow everywhere, not that it would matter since I was apparently locked in the house for the next six weeks.

  Best make the most of tonight.

  The path I took was well-worn, one I knew as well as my own room. When I reached the roses, I moved close to a particularly nasty one with thorns as long as my nails. Feeling around, I found my small green bag, which had yet to be discovered thanks to the roses and their reputation as lethal assholes.

  Inside was my suit, commissioned for me by Mary—using money from small items she and I had pawned from around the house. Items Blake would never notice had gone missing. It was a full-body number, made from metal-infused mesh, designed to stop even a knife from penetrating its surface.

  And funnily enough, it was a Delta technology. Fitting, considering my main use for it up to now was for me to escape to see Dylan Grant, one fifth of Delta-Huntley himself.

  The suit slipped on over my clothes and backpack, then zipped up over my hair, leaving only a sliver of my eyes visible. Crouching low, I followed the path I’d made through the roses, heading toward the fence. Thorns and branches scraped across my suit, but there was no pain.

  In more ways than one, I owed Mary my life and sanity, and one day I’d figure out a way to repay her.

  Once I reached the fence, I found the hole I’d created last year and shimmied my way through to the other side of the estate. Out there, I hid my suit in a small hollow of a tree, straightened my clothing, and ran. It was already 6.45 P.M., and I still had to get to the bus stop. Thankfully, one would be pulling up in two minutes, but it was also all the way down the street. Running was my only option.

  I was a few hundred feet away when I saw the silver bus round the corner, and I pushed myself harder, ignoring the pain rocketing down my chest and through my bruised ribs. I mean, I’d dealt with bruised ribs hundreds of times, but running with them was a whole other kettle of pain.

  It soon became obvious I wasn't going to make the bus before it pulled away, but somehow the driver caught sight of me sprinting my broken guts out and waited a few more seconds. “Thank you,” I gasped, breathing heavy and ragged. “Thank you so much.”

  I scanned my bus pass, one that was in Mary’s name so Blake never tried to check up on me via the pass, and dragged my sorry ass to an empty seat. Dropping my head back on the chair, I breathed slowly, trying to get my lungs under control. I used to be a great runner, and I still tried these days to sprint around the estate, but it wasn’t the same.

  I was getting way out of shape being so restricted. Not that Blake cared about my health. Just about my weight, which he kept under control by near starving me.

  When the bus finally arrived at my stop, I hurried off, pushing back my hair in the hopes of taming the mess it was now. Checking my old wristwatch, I saw it was already 7:08 P.M.

  Shit.

  I couldn’t even message Dylan to tell him I’d be late because my phone was back home in my room to prevent Blake from tracking me through it.

  Here was hoping that Dylan hadn’t left yet.

  I needed him to be there.

  3

  He always rented the same room. Always. I never asked him why, but I’d considered lots of reasons. He struck me as the superstitious type for starters; also it was probably the nicest room here, on the top floor with its own private elevator, with security footage he could turn off.

  Or maybe it was always the only one available because it was expensive. Or he owned it.

  With Dylan, the possibilities were endless.

  I stepped into the elevator, and it moved on its own, as always. My heart was hammering in my chest, palms sweaty, and my underwear was soaked before I even got halfway there, as always.

  The fact that I could even get turned on after having the shit beaten out of me probably said a lot about my fucked up mental health, but whatever. One thing that’d come out of this tryst with Dylan was my newly discovered love of sex. It was an escape I’d never expected to have in my life.

  Dylan was a true master at turning me into a quivering mess, hence the reason I’d been unable to give it up before now.

  When the ding of the elevator signaled that I’d arrived, I smoothed my hands along my jeans, pushed my hair back one last time, and stepped out. The room was already dimly lit, and I forgot about the rest of the world as I walked further inside. Dylan had a presence, something tangible that took me over when I was close to him.

  The moment his darkly enticing scent—spicy male and expensive aftershave—washed over me, my knees wobbled, and I cursed myself internally for this weakness. Last time. Fuck, maybe if I repeated it enough, I’d possibly follow through.

  “You’re late.”

  It was a deep rumble in the shadows, his huge body barely visible, but I could see the glint of a glass as he sipped a whiskey.

  “Sorry, the bus was late.”

  Fuck. Stop it, Brooklyn. You don’t need to apologize to him.

  Dominant men were my Achilles’ heel. I was like Pavlov’s dog, licking their damn boots because Blake had taught me to heel.

  “Are we doing this or w
hat?” I bit out, some of my anger leaking through my voice.

  He stilled—I could see it even in the low light—and I wasn’t surprised. I never spoke to him like that.

  He stepped forward, into the light thrown by a nearby lamp. Dylan was every dream I’d ever had of the perfect man come to life. Warm, brown skin, broad, masculine features, full lips, and eyes that were such a piercing green they could stop you in your tracks. He was huge, at least a foot taller than me, and built like he played professional football. No one would think he worked in an office pushing papers.

  I still wondered if that was a front. There was a coiled lethality about Dylan that would make any person wary. Not even one part of him screamed “CEO.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, a small crease forming between his dark brows. "You're never late. What changed today, Serena?"

  I flinched at the fake name I'd been using, biting my lip against all the lies I'd told him. Not that it mattered... Dylan Grant wanted one thing from me, and it sure as hell wasn't an open and honest relationship.

  "I told you," I replied, folding my arms across my chest and swallowing a groan at the pain of that movement. "My bus was late. Not all of us own a garage full of fancy sports cars, you know." More lies.

  Dylan stared back at me a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away.

  I released a long breath as he moved to the minibar and poured two drinks—scotch, neat. Because that's what I'd ordered in the bar that night we met, trying to impress him, and now he thought I actually liked it. Another lie.

  He handed me the crystal tumbler, and I took it eagerly. Our fingers brushed, and my whole body ignited with desire. He was like some kind of fucking drug habit that I just couldn't kick.

  Our gazes locked, and neither one of us blinked while I took a long sip of the whiskey. My poker face held firm as the spirit burned a path down my throat and warmth pooled in my belly. It tasted awful, but it always bolstered my courage.

  "You look beautiful," Dylan murmured, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "Flustered, but beautiful."

  He looked like he wanted to push the issue further, so I took matters into my own hands. Rising up on my tiptoes, I cupped the back of his neck and pulled his lips down to mine. I must have surprised him. It just wasn't in my nature to make the first move, to assert myself, or to take charge. Too many years under Blake's control, and my father before him, had turned me into this... weak, submissive thing. I hated it. I hated me. But I had no way out.

  Except when I was with Dylan. He made me feel things that I’d thought Blake had snuffed out. Like joy... and hope. But it was all bullshit, and it had to end.

  Last fucking time.

  So I'd better make it count.

  He only hesitated a second before he was kissing me back. His full lips claimed me in a way that was all consuming, chasing away all the demons in my mind and leaving nothing but pure, undiluted lust.

  I reached out blindly, dropped my glass on the table beside us, then threaded my other hand up to knead the strong muscles of his neck. Like any good drug, the more I had of him, the more I wanted. Needed. Fuck me, this would be hard to give up.

  My lips parted, and he didn't miss a beat, his tongue slipping in and meeting mine with that demanding passion he always brought to our hookups. Fucking hell, he was good with that tongue.

  "Wait," I gasped as his hands slipped under my T-shirt, lifting it slightly. "Can we turn the lights off?"

  Arousal clouded my brain so much that I couldn't find a subtler way to ask. I just knew that if he stripped my shirt off now, even with the soft glow of lamplight, he'd see what Blake had done to me. The ache in my body said that the bruises were in full bloom now, and the last thing I needed was Dylan asking questions.

  "Sure," he agreed, but not without giving me a slightly suspicious look.

  He was so fucking smart. He needed to be in his line of work, I guessed.

  Still, without further questions, he turned the lights off and plunged us into nearly total darkness. Only the lights from the city outside the open blinds lit the room, giving it a dim glow—just enough that we could find one another to strip our clothes off in a flurry of kisses and caresses.

  Pain flared through my ribs as Dylan's hands cupped my sides a fraction too hard, but I just clenched my teeth and swallowed the wince of pain. I wasn't letting Blake ruin this for me. Not when it was the last time.

  "Are you okay?" Dylan broke his lips away from my neck and cupped my face in his huge hand. If the light had been any better, we'd have been peering into each other's eyes. But as it was, his face was fully in shadow, and I prayed mine was too. Anything to hide the mess of emotions swirling through my mind.

  I jerked a nod, letting my actions speak for me. My fingers hooked under the elastic waistband of his boxer-briefs, tugging them down and revealing his impressive erection.

  Holy hell, Dylan Grant had a gorgeous dick. Then again, it was the only one I'd ever seen, so I wasn't exactly an expert in the area. I could only go off the fact that I was thoroughly, undeniably addicted to this dick. I knew I was only making him more suspicious with my weird behavior—I was never aggressive in bed—but I was past caring. I wanted this last time with Dylan to be epic so I could hold onto the memories forever.

  He sucked a breath between his teeth as I closed my hand around his hard cock, stroking him with an out-of-character confidence. It wasn't enough, though. Biting my lower lip against the rush of nerves and excitement, I gave him a small push toward the bed, and he sat heavily. I followed a moment later, sinking to my knees between his spread thighs.

  "Serena—" he started to say, but he broke off with a moan as I closed my mouth over his tip. I wasn't a total amateur at giving head—Dylan had given me plenty of practice over our past engagements—but it had always been him initiating it.

  I made it my mission to make him forget my weird mood or, at least, ignore it. My tongue rolled over his silken flesh, tasting the salty slickness of his pre-cum. He let out a low groan, his fingers threading into my hair as I took him deeper into my mouth and sucked.

  The way his breath caught and the way his hands tightened in my hair, it was satisfying as all hell. The fact that I held some measure of power over such a powerful man, that I was the one who made his pulse race and his hips buck... it was intoxicating.

  I couldn't take all of him in my mouth—he was just too damn big and I was too inexperienced—so I wrapped my hand around his base as I worked him over as deeply as I could. He never complained, so I figured I must be doing a decent enough job of it.

  His grip on my hair tightened a moment later, though, and he tugged me up from my knees. We often needed no words, just knew what each other wanted and needed intuitively. Right now? He wanted my cunt.

  I stood between his spread knees, balancing my hands lightly on his strongly muscled shoulders as he stripped my lace panties down my legs and bared my most intimate place to him. Thank fuck for the near darkness so he wouldn't see me blush. Again. He'd teased me for it before, and I was trying so hard to be more comfortable, more confident. But... it wasn't easy.

  His long fingers trailed up my inner thighs, coaxing my legs to part, then stroked over my already aching core.

  "So fucking sexy," he murmured under his breath as he sank his middle finger inside, making me gasp. "You're always so ready for me, Serena."

  I cringed at the use of my fake name, but it was better than the alternative. Better than him knowing I was really just plain, eighteen-year-old Brooklyn Lawson... or that he'd taken my virginity when I was only seventeen.

  "What can I say?" I forced a teasing laugh into my voice, adopting the sexy personality of "Serena" and pushing aside Brooklyn. "I'm addicted to you, Dylan. I get wet the second you tell me you're in town."

  The city lights from outside lit up the room just enough that I could see his full lips curve in a pleased smile. His finger slipped further inside me, and my fingers flexed against the stron
g muscles of his shoulders as I whimpered. He just gave a soft chuckle, then encouraged me to straddle his lap where he sat on the side of the bed.

  He wanted me to ride him, and I wasn't arguing as I settled my weight on my knees and waited for him to line up with my center. His thick cock always took a bit of stretching to accommodate, but I was no quitter and knew from experience it'd be well worth it in just a few moments.

  "You okay, babe?" he asked in a deep rumble when I sucked in a sharp breath and dug my fingernails into his skin.

  I jerked a nod, forcing myself to relax, and sank down further onto his dick. More often than not, he put me on top for our first fuck of the night so I could set my own pace in taking his cock. It was kind of sweet, and he always checked if I was okay.

  Biting my lip, I lowered myself farther onto him. A moment later, my ass met his thighs, and I let out the heavy exhale of the breath I'd been holding.

  Dylan just grabbed my face with one of his huge hands to bring my lips to his and kissed me hard. Our tongues tangled up, and his soft lips worshipped my mouth in a way that made my whole body quake. By the time he’d moved to my neck, I was panting and squirming with his thick cock fully seated in my throbbing cunt.

  "Dylan..." I groaned, winding my arms around his neck and pushing up with my quads. One thing all my ballet classes had proven good for: My leg strength came in all kinds of handy when I was on top.

  He just mumbled incoherent encouragement as I started to ride him, sliding up and down his shaft with increasing pace as my body trembled with heady, addictive arousal. Fucking hell, it shouldn't be so easy to climax on a dick alone. At least, that's what I'd read and heard from girls at school. Yet I never seemed to have any issues finding multiple orgasms on my nights with Dylan Grant. Maybe we were just made for each other.