Page 84 of A Little Broken

He moves closer, the same casual lilt of his footsteps driving me more and more insane with every slow pass. “Should I spank you? Pin you up against the wall and whisper in your ear how you're a naughty girl?” He chuckles softly. “Not gonna lie. That sounds pretty fucking sweet, if you ask me.” The jingle of keys slips through the door. “Might as well come out, Birthday Girl. Pretty sure you’ll need these if you want to get out of here.” Another soft chuckle follows his statement. “Actually, after last weekend, I guess you proved that isn’t entirely true. But I’m not gonna let you borrow my car this time.” A shadow moves across the crack in the door before his espresso eyes meet mine through the slit. “Found you.”

My breath hitches.

A quiet creak cuts through the charged silence as he pushes the door open, and I step back, letting the pantry shelves press along my spine. The natural light kisses his tan skin, casting shadows along his strong shoulders as he moves closer, reachingbehind him and grabbing the edge of the door. A towel is wrapped around his tapered waist, and his chest is on full display.

I don’t know how he does it. How he manages to steal my breath every time I see him. I’ve been around hot guys before. Plenty. But none have done this to me. Caused such a…visceral reaction that it leaves my head spinning. I’d say it’s my fear of facing the repercussions from the dye, but it isn’t. No. This is all Pax, and I don’t know how I feel about it.

The click of the door closing behind us makes me jump when we’re blanketed in darkness. His steady breathing is a stark comparison to mine, and so is the heat of his body as he cages me in, stealing all the space in the large pantry until all I can see, smell, and hear is him and only him.

Holding my breath, I whisper, “What are you?—”

“You got a thing for green?” he rasps. A warm hand hits my hip and tugs me against him.

Holy shit, batman. I have a thing for calluses, and the gentle tickle of his hand against my bare skin? Yup. It’s a problem. A big problem, if the, uh, outline of a certain appendage is anything to go by. The terry cloth and my jeans are the only barriers separating us. It only turns me on more, which is wrong on so many levels.

“You stain my bra, I stain your hair,” I whisper.

“You were the one who chose to wear your bra in the hot tub,” he reminds me.

“Would you have preferred I was naked in front of your friend?”

“Touché.” His hot breath hits my cheek. “So, what is this? An eye for an eye?”

My chin dips in a gentle nod, causing the top of my head to brush against his jaw. He’s close. Really close. And thanks to the lack of light, it only amplifies my other senses.

It’s official. Hiding in the pantry was a very…very bad idea.

“Then I guess that means I owe you, right?”

“What?” I whisper.

“For the beach. You got on your knees. Guess it’s time to get on mine.”

He drops down in front of me, his breath slipping through the fabric of my T-shirt and warming my belly as his hand trails along my outer thighs.

Ooookay, there.

Am I really doing this? Is he really doing this? I could tell him to stop. I could walk away. And I probably should. But the darkness is too much of a cover. It quiets the tiny voice inside my head. The one reminding me how much of a bad idea this really is.

The heat from his hands tickles my skin as he undoes the top button on my jeans before stopping. It’s a request. A check in. A confirmation that we might be playing cat and mouse, but he won’t go further if I don’t invite him to. And I kind of hate it. The unspoken request. The convenient out he’s giving me.

I should take it.

I won’t, but I should. Lifting my hand, I run my fingers through his damp hair, smiling as I imagine what it must look like. Slowly, I roll my hips toward him, urging his mouth to my bare skin above my pubic bone without a word.

He reads me loud and clear.

Dragging my jeans down my thighs, he places another kiss beneath my belly button. It’s enough to burn me up on the spot. I shift my weight to my right leg and he grabs the denim at my left ankle, tugging it off me entirely before moving to my right. We repeat the movements, his mouth never leaving my skin as he helps me shed my pants, while my pulse thunders in my ears.

“What color?” he whispers against my cotton boyshorts.

Giving the shelves more of my weight, I lie, “Green.”

A huff of amusement escapes him. “No shit?”

My mouth lifts. “It’s black.”

“Mmm,” he grunts, gripping my ass and tugging me toward him.

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