Dahlia Aldridge
When I woke up, I was disappointed to find that Dermot was no longer underneath me.
I blushed, realizing how that sounded but still feeling very much the same about it. Falling asleep on top of his muscular chest had been absolutely amazing. Especially because of how warm he was and the feel of his arms locked around me as I listened to his strong, steady heartbeat.
Sitting up, I looked at the moon that was breaking through the heavy clouds outside, the rain having lightened but still coming down. His room was beautiful, reminding me of something you would see in a medieval castle, with stone walls and floors, a large fireplace, and comfortable, dark, masculine furniture.
I wrapped a blanket around me, tucking myself against the headboard as I wondered where he had gone. I considered going to look for him, but when I yawned, I decided against it. Instead I reached over to the night table and picked up his phone, the screen lighting up as my thumb brushed the center of the bottom. I had meant to just check the time, but when it opened, I frowned.
Did Dermot not have a password? That seemed odd.
Closing the phone, I pressed it again and watched it light up. My brows rose, realizing that it recognized my thumbprint. Had he added it? I yawned and blinked, squinting slightly, wondering if I was imagining shit. After three more times, I realized I was very muchnotimagining shit.
Honestly, I had no idea what to make of the fact that he’d added me. I mean, it was flattering and made me think he trusted me a ton, so I didn’t feel as bad when I opened his Instagram. I was curious to see what people were saying about us… but from a distance.
I didn’t have the nerve to ask for my own phone back. I had a feeling that would send me spiraling.
As I opened the app, his profile came up, and I realized that I had never looked him up on social media before. Which was probably good, because almost instantly, insecurity hit me hard. Not because of anything he was doing, but because the pictures that he had on his feed—the latest from about two years ago—featured him with a group of people out at a bar. It was a simple photo, and he looked like he was having fun, but what got me were the two women on either side of him.
A wave of jealousy slammed into me as I smoothed a hand down my throat, realizing that I had spent so much time secure in my boys’ emotions for me, even if not in a romantic way, that I had grown used to them not dating anyone… so this concept of him being with other women made me uncomfortable. Jealous, even. He wasn’t even with them as far as I could tell, but it still made me feel almost dizzy with insecurity. My throat tightened as I closed his phone and tossed it to the side.
God, they had been beautiful though. That alone made me feel inadequate. Why was he hanging out with models? I mean, that just wasn’t necessary, right?
Of course, my stomach rumbled at the exact same time, a wave of anxiety crashing over me. I was both hungry and not wanting to touch any food, ever. A flush broke out on the back of my neck as I found myself standing and searching out the bathroom.
I opened a heavy, dark door I found, the lights flickering on as I found myself in a luxurious black bathroom accented in gold, the tiles seeming to glint with an embedded metallic shine. I washed my face in the sink, wondering when this was going to start to feel more… normal? Not just the boys and I, but everything I’d experienced. Right now, I wasn’t completely convinced that this was reality to begin with. I mean, there were just so many reasons why this wouldn’t work.
Why did I think I was good enough to keep the attention of six men? Six gorgeous men, nonetheless. A whimper slipped from my lips as I put my face in my hands and tried to massage out the tension, bile beginning to work its way up my throat. I hadn’t even eaten anything in the past day or so. Nothing of note. Yet I could feel the need to purge riding hard, knowing it would give me a sense of control over something.
I hadn’t weighed myself since we left Wildberry.
I hadn’t purged since Tuesday.
My anxiety was nothing new, and I shouldn’t have been surprised at its appearance. Just because of my moment with Yates and Stratton didn’t mean I was fixed. I was still messed up. Still broken. I’d just been praying I would be distracted enough to not think about it…
But now I was. Now I could feel it heavy on my shoulders as a tremble began to take over. A small, wounded noise broke from my throat as I felt my knees go weak. This was going to be bad. I could feel it. The world around me spun, and I wondered if I was going to pass out. It wouldn't completely surprise me, if we were being honest.
My throat felt dry as I tried to remember when I’d even had water last.
“Angel.” Stratton’s masculine voice echoed around me as I squeezed my eyes shut further, trying to keep the puke down. I trembled when I felt his hands close around my shoulders as he pulled me into him, my hands grasping his shirt. Tears began to flood my eyes, making my eyelids hot as I squeezed them shut, refusing to bring myself into reality. A reality where I knew I wasn’t good enough for any of these men.
“Dahlia!” Stratton shook me slightly, but I couldn’t. I knew if I opened my eyes, I would have to face that I was a pathetic imitation of the type of woman theycouldhave.
This was all a dream. That was the only explanation. There was no way men like this would want to share someone when they had all the options in the world. With all those choices, why would they want someone like me? Someone who had lived her life so incredibly isolated and in a bubble that she didn’t even have the ability to respond right to situations. I was so freakin’ messed up in the head—
Stratton’s lips slammed into mine as the bile that had been working its way up my throat disappeared, my head spinning as the firm, hard press of his lips worked its way into something more dangerous and deep. I let out a soft moan against his mouth as I pulled him closer, his massive hands lifting me up onto the counter before he pressed against me, his hard length rubbing against my center. I spread my legs further as he pushed the skirt I was wearing up over my hips, causing me to roll my center against him in a needy way.
If this was a dream, it only made sense that this would be part of it. That the pleasure I’d been feeling at the hands of these men was part of it.
When he suddenly lifted me against him and carried me from the room, I clung to him, hoping that he wouldn’t let me go. I buried my head against his neck as I felt the cool air of the hallway hit us, making me wonder when he’d come into the room in the first place. I kissed his neck gently, shaking as he murmured something softly against my ear, his words not translating to my fuzzy brain but keeping me more grounded.
When I was dropped in a bed that was large but not Dermot’s, I instantly reached for Stratton again. I didn’t have to wait long before the man was there, over me as he pinned my hands above my body, his lips devouring mine once again.
“I need you back, Dahlia.” His voice was soft and commanding, the feel of his ringed fingers against my body bringing me back. “I need you to pull out of this.”
I blinked, realizing tears were still dripping down my face as I tried to breathe in and out, the sound raspy and almost pained.
“I can’t,” I admitted as I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling like my lungs were being compressed. Crushed. Destroyed by the reality that I wasn’t good enough.