Page 65 of Bend & Break
She pulls at my sweats, desperate, and I help her, shoving them down and catching her mouth in another kiss, all teeth and tongue and nothing patient about it.
“I’m going to teach your body my name, make every other touch feel like nothing,” I groan, lining myself against her as my control frays. “Everyone before and after me will feel like background noise.”
I flinch at the thought—at the idea that there could be anyone after me. I hate how small it makes me feel and how fast I want to erase every possibility she might ever belong to someone else.
She answers before I can swallow it down. Quiet, sure. “There won’t be anyone else. I’ve wanted you more than I wanted to be right about half the things I’m stubborn about, even when it seemed like I didn’t. I don’t want anyone else touching me. Ever. I only want you. I want you to be the only one who gets this.”
The words hang between us, shocking and holy all at once. Relief floods through me, slow and greedy. I pull her closer until there’s no space left for doubt, and the way she’s kissing me now is the kind of answer that makes me believe it.
I sink into her, everything reduced to the pressing together of our skin and the way her body takes me in. Her gasp tears through me, and I swear under my breath, pressing my forehead to hers.
“That’s it,” I rasp, already lost. “That’s mine. You’re mine.”
And for the next stretch of time, there’s nothing but her. Every sound she makes pulls me deeper. Every shift of her body has me clinging tighter, desperate to memorize the way she feelsunder me, around me, with me. It’s raw and consuming, the kind of closeness that drowns out coherent thoughts.
I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want her to stop wanting me this way.
I flip our positions until she’s under me. I rut into her, again and again, until I can’t tell where I end and she begins. Her nails score my back, her breath catches against my throat, and I know I’ll never be able to forget this. Not the rhythm of us. Not the way she looks at me when I falter and find her still there, still holding on.
We break at the same second, and it guts me in a way I’m not prepared for. Her body answers mine, pulling me under with her, and I can’t hold back. It isn’t just release—it’s the way she clings to me, the way her voice cracks on my name, the way she looks at me when she falls apart. I give in with her, helpless, every part of me unraveling at once. And in that moment, all I can think is that I’m hers as much as she’s mine, that I’m never walking away from this, from her.
I collapse against her, chest heaving, sweat cooling on my skin.
“Jesus, Blue,” I mutter into the curve of her neck, kissing the damp skin there. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
She lets out a shaky laugh, but her fingers are gentle where they comb through my hair. It undoes me more than anything else tonight, how soft she is now.
I shift, easing my weight off her, but she follows, curling into my side without hesitation. My arm goes around her automatically, hand tracing lazy circles on her hip.
“You okay?” I ask, voice rough.
“Yeah,” she says quietly, and I can feel her smile against my chest. “You?”
“Never better.” I kiss the top of her head, softer this time, then add with a grin she can definitely hear, “Though I’m notsure any passersby will agree once they replay the soundtrack of your moans in their heads tomorrow.”
She gives me a look, but then she’s laughing, and I’d take that over anything.
The room falls quiet after, just our breathing and the faint tick of the radiator cooling. I stare at the ceiling, wide awake despite how wrung out I feel, because my head won’t stop circling back to the same thought:I don’t just want this piece of her. I want the whole damn thing.
She shifts closer, burrows against me, and I tighten my hold, pressing one last kiss to her hair.
“Sleep,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”
Chapter 23
Blake
Afew uneventful days crawl by. No new leads, no shocking revelations, nothing to move the investigation forward. The only real progress we’ve made is in our ability to keep our hands off each other for at least an hour at a time—which, to be fair, can feel like a lifetime.
I tell myself we’re just leaning into the whole “partners in crime” thing, except most of our recent activity has involved significantly fewer clothes and absolutely no crime-solving.
By the time Colin’s Halloween party rolls around, we’re overdue for a distraction that doesn’t involve naked negotiation.
The house is already shaking by the time we get there, bass rattling the windows, the porch littered with empty bottles and people in borderline ridiculous costumes.
Colin’s parties always look more like natural disasters than social gatherings, and tonight’s is no different. The living room is wall-to-wall bodies, beer sloshing onto the sticky floor, someone screaming along to a song that isn’t actually playing.
I tug at the hem of my skirt, the pleats flipping up every time someone brushes too close. I wore this Nancy Drew costume to the other party, but I felt like it deserved an encore. Why waste the effort of putting together a blazer, pleats, and a perfectlychosen headband when I know for a fact Mads hasn’t stopped thinking about it since the first round? The magnifying glass clipped to my belt keeps smacking against my thigh, but if that’s the price of accuracy—and of watching his eyes linger—I’ll pay it.
