Page 68 of All Her Broken Pieces

Hooking my leg over his thigh, I inch closer to him, pulling the shirt out of his pinched fingers and against me as our bodies crash together. His hand grabs my jaw as his lips move over mine. I’m not sure if it’s the all-clear I got from my doctor today, how fucking edible he smells right now, or the six tortuous weeks of emotional and sexual foreplay, but my libido is out of control, and I need this man more than I need air.

“Bridget, we can’t,” he says between kisses.

I rear back and look at him. He’s being sincere, a look of concern etching his features. The rejection stings, and I sit back.

“What? What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don’t you want to…” I trail off, unable to form the words at how his rejection hurts more than I expected.

I see the moment it clicks for him. “I want to fuck you so bad, but we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It hasn’t been…” He starts to open his mouth in response but stops, seeming to do the calculations in his brain. “Has it been six weeks already?”

“It has,” I purr, the sound a velvety rumble in my throat.

“Hell fucking yeah, come here.” He grabs my thigh and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. The surprise on my face hits him as I see the concern in his eyes. “Fuck, did you think I was turning you down because you thought I didn’t want to be with you?”

“Maybe,” I say quietly.

“Hellcat, I’ll fuck the fire out of you, you just have to say the word. I got so used to stopping things during your recovery that I lost track of how long it’s been. The number of times I’ve had to shut this down only to take a cold shower is unbelievable.” He grabs me hard, one arm wrapping around my waist as his right hand clasps the back of my neck, pulling me against him in a feverish kiss.

Suddenly, he pulls back to stare at me, our heavy breaths creating a cacophonic rush in my ears as my wildly beating heart adds to the noise. “Wait, is it six weeks today? Exactly?”

“Does that matter right now?” I question, my hips still grinding against him, seeking friction against his thick length. He grabs my hips, and I look into his eyes and see the concern there.

“Truth or dare. Is this my last night here?”

I forgot I’d agreed to let him stay only until the six weeks was up. Suddenly, the thought of him leaving fills me with sadness. I’ve gotten used to him being here, gotten comfortable.

“Do you want it to be your last night?” I question hesitantly as my hands still their movements on his chest.

“Fuck no. But I know you need your space and you like being alone. I’ll respect that if it’s what you want.”

I take a deep breath and stare into his eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I know I put up a front that I crave chaos, but being alone is peaceful to me. I don’t have to deal with people and their messy emotions. With my messy emotions. I’m okay with being on my own. I’ve never felt lonely while alone. Until I met you. Now my peace isn’t peaceful. It’s like I can’t relax until I’m near you and I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“I know howIfeel about that. I feel fucking amazing when I’m with you. I grew up in chaos. Our house was never quiet. Not with that many kids. I loved it, but I never felt at peace. You bring me peace. You feel like home. I like what we’ve created here these past six weeks. I want to keep going.” The hand on the back of my neck tightens as he pulls me into him, our foreheads pressed together, our noses touching. “You keep trying to fight it. But I’ll scale every wall you put up if it means that I get to bring you peace. Let me do that for you, be that for you. Fuck, sweetheart, please.Non hai ancora capito quanto ci tengo a te.”

It’s the begging that undoes me. Or the Italian. Fuck, it’s hot when he casually slips that in. I have no idea what he said, but it feels like an important confession.

“Stay.” I barely get the word out before his lips are on mine, tugging and devouring. Our tongues dance to a rhythm I can feel deep in my soul, as if the music was written just for us.

He tears his lips from mine and reaches into the cup on the nightstand, fishing out an ice cube. “Lie back and take these off. I’ve been dying to devour this pretty cunt,” he commands as he puts the cube in his mouth. “I want you to drench my face and make this ice melt.”

Fuck, I love the mouth on this man. He teases me with the ice, moving it up and down my inner thigh, his hot breath melting my resolve as my thighs drop further open. Pulling the cube from his mouth, he trails it along the apex of my thighs, chasing each cold swipe with a hot lick as I squirm against his hold.

Each lick moves closer to my aching core, and the juxtaposition of hot and cold lights up my skin. His tongue laps at my pussy, hot and aching, before he trails the ice behind it. He continues stroking me with the warmth of his tongue until the ice melts, and I’m left panting, needing more to ease the ache in my core.

He rewards me by pushing a finger into my pussy, working it open by making slow circles around my inner walls.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want you to make me come,” I breathe out, barely able to focus as he slips a second finger inside, stroking them against my G-spot. His thumb starts rubbing small circles over my clit as his fingers continue teasing me.

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