Page 86 of A Little Broken

“God, keep doing that,” I beg, my hips lifting to meet his mouth and fingers in the inky blackness.

It’s been…it’s been I don’t know? Ten fucking seconds, and like a spark, my body ignites. I fall apart, stars hitting behind my eyelids, my muscles tightening, my lungs seizing, and my jaw dropping as I come undone.

“Shhhhit,” I seethe.

His hands find my ass, taking my weight until I’m a fucking puddle in his grasp. I don’t know how long he holds me, how long I black out, or how long my body feels like mush. All I know is I’ll never turn him down again. Not from an experience like that. Want me to crawl, rockstar? You got it. Want me to do your fucking laundry? If you’ll eat me out after, I’ll do your fucking laundry.

Ho—ly. Shit.

Slowly, Pax’s lips trail kisses along my stomach and up my body, bringing me back to our reality and what just happened next to the boxed mac and cheese.

Making sure my Bambi legs can hold me, he lets me go and stands. But his mouth? It stays on me.

He skates his lips across my ribs, collar bone, and throat, then finally meets the tip of my nose. “Don’t forget to do the dishes.”

I blink past the post-orgasmic haze still clouding my nervous system. “What?”

“The dishes,” he repeats, smoothing out my T-shirt as I stand bare from the waist down. “You forgot them last time.”

Then, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving my jaw on the fucking floor.

Asshole!

25

PAXTON

With a sigh, I shift on the cold plastic seat and wait for them to bring Rafe in.

I’ve been putting this off. I shouldn’t. But I couldn’t help myself. Seeing your best friend incarcerated has a way of messing with your head, and time has a way of dulling memories and relationships, especially ones like this. He was my brother in every sense of the term except blood. Now, he’s barely more than a stranger.

I wasn’t lying when I told Roman I’ve written Rafe a lot over the years. I have. He’s written to me, too. But seeing him face-to-face? It’s been years, and I’m more anxious than I’d like to admit. I could really go for a cigarette right now, but I ignore the craving the same way I have since the night I met Tatum, chewing on the inside of my cheek instead.

When Rafe appears through the door on the right, an officer points in my direction, and my adrenaline spikes. A grin spreads across his face as he moves closer, sitting down on the empty chair across from mine leaving nothing but glass separating us as I bounce my knee up and down.

Reaching for the telephone, I pick it up, and Rafe does the same.

“What’s with the hair?” he laughs.

Surprised, I scrub my hand over the dull, yellow-green color and shake my head. “It’s a long story.”

“I got time,” he returns. “Obviously.”

Obviously.

The weight in my chest lifts just like that. Memories of our late nights in his basement. Smoking weed, sharing a bottle of Jack. Talking shit about anything and everything because…we got time. Hell, it’s all we had. And in a way, it’s all we have now, too.

Dropping my hand, I lean closer to the glass and dive right in, catching him up on everything going on with Tatum Taylor, the bane of my existence and the woman I can’t stop thinking about.

Once he’s all filled in, Rafe laughs even more. “Glad she’s giving you a run for your money while I’m locked up.”

“Yeah, she’s something else,” I mutter. “How’ve you been?”

He shrugs. “Not bad. Roman said he ran into you.”

“Yeah.” I glance at the officer standing a few feet away and drop my voice an octave lower. “Seems he’s following in your footsteps.”

With a low laugh, Rafe argues, “Nah. They’re not doing anything we wouldn’t have at their age. Let him have some fun. He had to grow up way too soon, you know?”

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