Page 55 of A Little Broken

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I challenge. “You sure that’s what you want?”

Her tongue darts out between her lips, and she takes a deep breath. It causes her breasts to brush against my chest. The lack of light only shrinks the space between us, highlighting her shallow breathing and my heart thrumming in my ears.

My cock hardens in my jeans, but I ignore it, tilting my head. “Why are you acting like you hate me?”

She presses her hand to my chest, and my heart pounds even harder. “Because I wasn’t supposed to see you again.”

I shake my head, feeling like a caged beast. My muscles vibrate with so much adrenaline that if it doesn’t expel soon, I might lose my fucking mind. Doesn’t she get it? I haven’t needed to see her to think about her. To wonder. To be curious.

My throat is dry, but I swallow past the thick cotton and tower over her. “Tell me to leave.” My words hang in the air as she stares at my chest, refusing to look up at me. To give me a glimpse at what she’s thinking, well aware if I’m given the opportunity, I’ll read her like a fucking book.

“Leave,” she whispers.

My shoes touch her bare toes as I shift closer, growling, “Say it like you mean it.”

“Pax.”

I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Tell me why you lied.”

“Because I knew if I didn’t, you would track me down.”

“I do like the chase,” I agree.

“Exactly.”

“And what’s wrong with the chase, Birthday Girl?”

Again, her lips gnash together as she bites her tongue, refusing to let me in. To let me see exactly what she thinks so I can’t form a rebuttal and she can continue living in the land of delusion.

“You liked me, Tatum,” I push, giving in to the pull of her body as I press mine against hers. Like I knew it would, her body molds against mine, fitting me perfectly. “You liked talking to me,” I rasp. “You liked being on the back of my bike. You liked what I did to your body.”

“Stop talking.” She wraps her arms around my neck, her fingers threading through my hair and tugging sharply. “Stop.” She gulps. “Talking.” Then her mouth is on mine. Biting. Licking. Sucking. Her fingernails dig into the nape of my neck. I groan into her mouth, the sharp sting shooting straight to mycock. And fuck me. The memory of our night together doesn’t even hold a candle to this.

I grip her crop top in my hands, fighting the urge to rip it off her no matter how much I want to as she lifts her chin to give me better access to her throat. I dive in, scraping my teeth against her sensitive flesh. “If I didn’t hate you for lying to me, I could fuck you right now.”

With a breathy gasp, she whispers, “Who says you can’t fuck someone you hate?”

I look behind me, taking in the distance between us, the bonfire, and the nearest person who could see us, let alone hear us.

“Promise you’ll stay quiet,” I order.

She nods and reaches for my cock, squeezing the tip through my pants before dropping to her knees.

The movement nearly knocks me on my ass. “What are you doing?” I demand.

“Making sure I stay quiet.” With a quick zip of my jeans, my cock springs free, and she palms my shaft. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Bringing it to her lips, she swallows it completely until it hits the back of her throat. I slap my hand against the black rock to keep balanced.

Fuck.

We didn’t do this last time. Didn’t get this far. Didn’t have enough time to explore each other and all the ways we could make each other fall apart. The idea alone has me begging to throw her on her back and spread her legs wide so I can taste her while she sucks me off. Part of me wants to. The other part? I want to savor this. The feel of her mouth on me. The tiny mewls hitting my erection and shooting straight to my balls. The feel of her hands cupping my sac, rolling me in her palm and tugging softly until I swear I might black out.

My chest swells with every dip of her head and sweep of her tongue. It isn’t sweet or slow. It’s punishing. Twisting my stomach into a tight knot of greed and lust. I hold her head on me, pumping in and out of her sweet lips as tears roll down her face. I want to hate her. I want to worship her. I want to make her see what she does to me. Want to make her regret it the same way I do. That she has all the power. Every fucking ounce of it. And instead of wielding it the way I wish she would, she’s done nothing but torture me. Wreck me. Make me wanna smack her ass and come down her throat to prove I can. And I might if she doesn’t let up.

Dragging my thumb along the edge of her mouth, I warn, “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna come.”

She swirls her tongue around the mushroom head, her eyes glued to my face and branding the image into my brain for the rest of my measly existence. I’ve had good head before. More times than I can count, thanks to one too many afterparties. But this? After all the years she’s crossed my mind, knowing I could never have her again? This is something else entirely.

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