Page 19 of His Fractured Girl

His warm lips are suddenly on me, wrapping around my clit. I cling to his head as the intense rush hits. I’ve never been so sensitive. So desperate for a release. When his tongue licks through my folds, I soak the tabletop. I hope they’ll assume the water dripping from the ceiling is what caused the mess. This is so different from my first time. The feeling is expanding, tightening in my gut, and I have no control over it. It’s rising fast, forcing me to come whether I’m ready or not. It feels too good. I don’t want it to be over yet. I want it to last for hours.

“That’s it, baby. God, you taste so good.”

Another gush and he groans in kind, driving his tongue deeper. The fact that he’s so into me is heightening the pleasure, pushing me straight into the heat at full speed. When his lips wrap back around my clit again, his fingers pumping into my body, crooking right to that magical little spot, my back bows. The orgasm tears through me. Mind numbing pleasure scorching me from every angle. Disintegrating every thought with its flames. I hang on for the ride, rolling through the pulses until they coast to a stop. My body goes limp, and I catch my breath. Letting the oxygen return to my lungs.

“Is that better, pretty girl?” His deep voice is right above me. His fingers running through my hair. Softly brushing across my cheek. My eyes flutter open and meet his eyes. The look in them has the hope expanding inside my chest. He’s looking at me like he cares.

“Much better,” I breathe. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “You never need to thank me, babe. Touching you is a privilege.”

He’s acting like he was the one on the receiving end, when I did nothing other than take from him. I need to rectify thatbefore he thinks I’m a selfish lover. Because that’s twice now where I haven’t reciprocated.

“Can I return the favor?” I sit up, feeling a bit light-headed. I think all the blood is still pulsing between my legs.

“It’s not that I don’t want it, because believe me when I say I do, but this moment is about you.”

There’s no way this guy is real. He’s unlike any male I’ve ever met. Maybe that should be the red flag. The fact that he’stoonice, too considerate. He’s good-looking, an amazing lover, and sexually unselfish. I feel like I’m missing something because guys like him don’t exist.

“Is there something I should know about you? Do you have some weird fetish? Or a raging temper? Or is there something you haven’t told me yet about your family?” He told me that his parents waited until they were older to have kids and that he’s an only child, which seemed normal, given the fact that I’m from an almost identical background. But maybe he left out the fact that he can’t go to sleep at night without his baby blankets and sucks his thumb. Or he has a crazy porn addiction. There has to be something, because nobody is this perfect.

“No,” he chuckles. “I don’t have any strange secrets or weird fetishes. And I certainly am not hot tempered. Why are you asking?”

“I don’t know. You’re just too good to be true.”

He shifts between my legs, his hands coming up to grasp my chin. His touch is so gentle. Caring. So impossibly real. “I’ve been thinking the same about you, babe. I just can’t wrap my head around how incredible you are. It makes no sense to me that someone hasn’t snatched you up yet. But that makes me the lucky one, doesn’t it?”

“See.” I poke him in the chest. “That’s what I’m talking about. You say all the right things and make me feel special.” His brow creases like he doesn’t understand.

“Youshouldfeel special, babe, because you are.”

And at any moment I’m going to wake from this dream. Yet…when he leans forward, kissing me softly, sweetly, holding me like I’m fragile, it feels very real. And when he arranges to pick me up at seven for a painting date, it does feel like I’m special. He took the time to plan one of my favorite things to do. There has to be something I’m missing.

8

Travis

Iturn my painting around to show her my masterpiece and she bursts out laughing.

“It’s not that bad,” I say, tilting my head to see if it looks any better from a side angle. Nope. It still looks like crap, and hers… Her painting looks like a true work of art. She painted the vase perfectly and the flowers look like a beautiful blooming bouquet blossoming under the sunshine. And my vase looks like a slanted fishbowl with colorful sticks coming out of it. It’s safe to say painting will not be in my future as a career option.

“No.” She shakes her head, trying to stifle her laugh, but failing. “It’s not horrible. But how did you get that from that?” She looks over at the instructor’s example, which he walked us through step by slow step, and yet mine looks nothing like what’s sitting up on his easel. Or hers. But no one’s looks like hers. It’s a masterpiece.

“I just wanted mine to have some flare to it. That”—I point to the instructor’s painting—“would’ve been easy to draw. But this”—I hold mine up proudly—“was a challenge.”

She’s laughing even harder now. “Come on, Picasso. It’s time for us to go.”

“By the way, I made this for you, so I hope you’ll put it up on your wall.” I smirk, looking at the hideous thing one more time.

“Aww. I will cherish it forever.” She grins as I open the door for her. I take her hand and lead her to my truck, placing the two paintings in my back seat so they can dry.

“All right. Where to now, babe?” I shut my door and turn to face her. God, she’s stunning.

She rests her head back on the headrest, and there’s a glowing smile on her face. “I had so much fun with you tonight.” I did too. Hands down, it was the best date I’ve ever been on.

“Me too, babe. I know you’re probably tired, but I don’t want this night to end.”

“Me neither.” She grins. “Do you want to come back to my place and watch a movie? Oh wait. Lukas and Torre are having a Halloween movie marathon tonight.”

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