I Dare You by Lylah James

Two weeks later

I fed him another small spoonful. He accepted it weakly, chewing as if it took all his strength to do such a small act. He lost all his hair in three weeks. Lost all his weight, until he was skin and bones. Ghastly pale and wrinkled. His cheeks were drawn in, and his eyes had lost their vibrant colors – a hollow look in them.

Brad Coulter was frail, almost too weak, to even sit up straight and have his own meal. In three weeks, his health deteriorated, until he needed a wheelchair to move around, and one of us to feed him, help him in and out of bed. Taking his bath, alone, became out of the question, when he passed out in the tub a week ago.

Frail. Sick. Dying.

My mother refused to bring a nurse home. She was adamant about taking care of her husband herself, but she grew weary, as the days passed, so I was forced to jump in and help.

If you asked me why I dropped out of this academic year and moved in with my parents, awaiting my father’s death – I didn’t have an answer.

I didn’t want anything to do with my father or my mother – but here I was.

Taking care of them, as a dutiful son. That was what Lila wanted, after all. She told me I’d regret it later, if I didn’t spend these last days with my father. Maybe she was right, I didn’t know.

I didn’t know shit.

All I knew was that the thought of my father dying left a heavy, hollow ache in my chest. I didn’t like it one bit, but it was what drove me here.

Back into the very mansion that I spent my childhood in, lonely, scared… unloved.

My father coughed, and I quickly dabbed the corner of his mouth. He accepted another spoonful, before he shook his head, indicating that he had enough. I placed the half full bowl on the table. He was eating less and less every day.

My mother stood up with a weary sigh. She rubbed her forehead, and I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “Do you mind helping your father to bed? There are a few documents I have to read.”

“Yeah,” I said.

Brad gave me a small, tired smile. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Except, Lila was going to look at me with disappointment in her eyes, if I didn’t.

And maybe I was doing it for… myself.

“C’mon, old man. Time for your beauty sleep.” I pushed his wheelchair into the guest bedroom downstairs. I helped him out of his wheelchair and into the bed, tucking the comforter around his shoulders.

“Maddox,” he said, his voice small and breathy. “I know I never said it before, but I am… I am… proud of you, Son.”

I froze, and my stomach twisted, shock coursing through my veins. My fists started to shake, and the thick vein in my neck pulsed. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, almost too loud.

I shook my head once. “Too late,” I said, smiling acidly.

Brad nodded, as if he knew that would be my response. He knew he fucked up. “Your high school graduation… your mother and I were there.”

“No,” I hissed. “You weren’t.”

His smile was forlorn. “We were. We saw you with Lila and her family and your friends.”

Fuck that. He was messing with my head now.

“Why didn’t approach me?”

“And ruin your special day?”

He had a point. I just didn’t understand him… why?

“You were so stubborn, Maddox. Still are. We lost so many years. You were eighteen, and I didn’t know to approach my son. How to talk to you, how to be a father again. I didn’t know… how. My relationship with you was beyond repair, and I didn’t know where to start.”

I seethed, even when my lungs clenched and refused to let me breathe. “And so you took the easy way out, instead of trying?”

“My way of trying was to make sure you never give up… I know I was hard on you. Too hard. But I was pushing you, because I worried, you’d either drop out of school or you’d ruin your life. One way or another.”

He sighed, and his chest rattled. Breathing – a simple act, something that is second nature to humans – he struggled with it. “Remember the last time you walked out of my office. I had warned you not to hurt Lila… because you’d hurt yourself. I said you were on the path of self-destruction because I knew. I knew about the Carmichaels. I knew you were keeping it secret, and I… warned… you.”

My back shot up straight, and I glared down at my father. “How did you know?”

His lips crooked on the side, a grin that reminded me of my own. A signature Coulter’s smirk. “You were digging into her past, and you weren’t as careful as you thought you were. Maddox, you forget, I have eyes and ears everywhere. Of course, I knew.”

Goddamn it.

His eyes closed, and he sighed again. “I’m sorry I never said I was proud of you.” His voice grew weaker, until he was whispering those words.

“Too late,” I said. But this time, there was less anger, less heat.

There had been too much toxicity between us. Too much hatred, too much frustration and a whole lot of negativity. Our misunderstandings grew every year, and it pulled us apart, further and further away from each other.

It took my father to be on his deathbed for us to try and fix this, whatever was left of this father and son relationship. And trust me, there wasn’t much left.

After making sure he was tucked in comfortably, I turned off the lights. “Good night.”

He mumbled something incorrigible in return.

Numb and mentally exhausted, I stumbled into my bedroom. Turning my neck left and right, I tried to release the tension there. My skin prickled with something fierce, too many emotions, rattling inside of me.

I tugged my shirt over my head and discarded the rest of my clothes on my bathroom’s floor, before stepping into the shower.

I stood under the spray for a long minute, and with my forehead against the shower wall, I squeezed my eyes shut. What the hell was I really doing? Here, in this sterile place, that reminded me of nothing but how ugly my relationship with my parents was.

They have been trying, slowly opening up to me. We’ve had all meals together, had a movie night every night – fuck – my mother even baked my favorite carrot cake. The last time I had my mother’s carrot cake was on my seventh birthday.

Shit. Fixing our relationship wasn’t an easy task, when we had a time limit. If only Lila was here…

No. No. Fuck, NO!

My hand landed beside my head, and I slapped the wall. She was the last person I wanted to think about, right now, but damn it, she was everywhere. In my head, in my every thought, in my dreams.

I tried burning that stupid dreamcatcher, but it felt like I had torn out a piece of my heart. My left hand was still sore from the burn it took, when I saved that damn necklace from the fire.

The mere thought of her drove me crazy, an insane desperation for her. I quickly soaped up my body, angrily rubbing my skin, until it itched and burned. Now that Lila had made her way back into my head, I couldn’t stop thinking of her.

Her voice.

Her brown eyes.

Her sweet fucking smile. Her mischievous smirk.

Her slim throat. Her scars…

Her juicy ass. Damn it. And now, I was hard.

My hand drifted down to my dick. I gripped the base and squeezed my length, before stroking myself once, twice, and then my cock jerked, as I added more pressure. My hand glided around my dick, easily, and I hissed, as the pressure grew, my hardness growing thicker in my palm. I fisted my cock tightly.

I was assaulted with every image of Lila. Her sexy grin, as she laid on the bed, legs spread open, her pussy, red and wet for me. I imagined Lila on all fours, ass in the air. That was the thing about imagination. You could turn it into anything you wanted.

In my head, I cupped her ass and squeezed. Slid my thumb between those two pale, juicy globes and caressed her tight, little hole. My balls grew tight and heavier between my legs. I pumped my throbbing dick harder, as I conjured up the filthiest scene in my head.

She fights me.

Because she knows I want it.

She moans, louder. Her hips jerking, as I pinch her clit between my thumb and forefinger. She whimpers, as I drag her wetness between her ass cheeks, coating that hole with her own juices, using it as lubrication. She already came once, squirted all over my arms and chest, before she started crying and begging for my cock.

“Such a filthy girl,” I growl in her ear. “Tell me, Baby. Where do you want my fat cock? Do you want to swallow my cum? Or do you want it in your cunt… or maybe you want it dripping out of your little, tight asshole.”

“Please!” Lila cries out louder. Her body starts shaking, as she pushes her ass back against me. “Take me. I’m yours.”

“Fuck yeah. You’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.”

Her asshole clenches, as I spread her cheeks apart, spitting for lubrication. Her breathing becomes harsh, and she pushes her face into the mattress, muffling her moans.

Slowly, I push forward, forcing my thick, hard length inside.

Lila cries out. “Maddox! Oh God!”

She pulses around me, clenching tighter. “It hurts. But oh, oh… please, don’t stop.”

“Good. Because I’m not stopping, until you’re so fucking sore, you can’t walk tomorrow,” I growl. My hard length throbs and aches with the need to fuck her hard and deep, but I remind myself to go gently… slowly…

I thrust forward with gritted teeth and mold my body against hers. I wrap around her, my cock seated fully inside her asshole. She’s stretched to capacity, bearing my thick length inside her. She’s so fucking tight, I can’t breathe. We’re both shaking, sweating… and I’m so fucking destroyed.

Lila Garcia is everything I ever wanted, and she’s mine. Every inch of her.

The fantasy broke apart, as I spurted cum all over my palm, but it quickly washed away. I came with a hiss, and I kept fisting and squeezing my cock, until every last drop was spent.

God, Lila was going to be the death of me. She killed me then and… she still kills me now.

I quickly washed off and walked out, drying myself and wrapping a towel around my waist. I must have passed out, without realizing, because my phone ringing roused me. The digital clock read 11:30PM. Blindly, I reached for my phone.

Bianca. Why was she calling me, instead of knocking on my door? We were literally two rooms apart. Panic flashed through me, and I grew cold. I sat up straight and answered the call. “What is it?”

“The baby is craving mint-chocolate chip ice cream.”

Oh.

Her midnight cravings. “Ice cream?”

She hummed. “Mint-chocolate chip, specifically.”

Mint-chocolate chip…

Lila’s favorite…

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Dairy Queen is probably still open. I’ll see if they have that flavor.”

“Thank you.” I could hear the smile in her voice. I sure as hell didn’t know pregnant chicks were this much work. I hadn’t been prepared for it. The cravings, mood swings, the extra emotional drama.

“Okay,” I said.

She was silent for a second, and I was about to hang up, when she softly called out, “Hey, Maddox.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she whispered, like we were sharing a secret.

I growled and hung up.