Page 72 of Break Her Heart
She cried out, nails raking down my back, and I gripped her breast with one hand while the other slammed the desk against the wall. The rhythm came fast, rough, relentless. I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.
The desk groaned under us, the thick wood bending with every punishing thrust. I hit it harder, again and again, until itbegan to splinter, the legs quivering beneath our weight. One final slam and the wood begged to break away, a sharp crack echoing through the room as the surface finally gave out beneath her.
But I caught her. My arm locked around her waist, lifting her as if I’d never broken stride. Still buried inside her. Still moving. I carried her to the bed without pausing. My mouth was on her breast, licking the drops of blood that ran before we landed, and I thrust into her deeper, harder, desperate to have all of her. Each thrust was more punishing than the last, but she didn’t break. She met me—stroke for stroke, moan for moan—like she was made for this.For me.
Her fingers clawed down my back again, harder this time, and I hissed through my teeth as I felt the sharp sting of her nails breaking skin. The pain only anchored me deeper in the madness, made me feel more alive in her grasp.
“Again,” she whispered. “Bite me again.”
Gods, she didn’t know what she was asking. Or maybe she did.
Her neck was bared, her head thrown back against the pillows. I could see the rapid flutter of her pulse. I hovered above it, panting, lips parted—torn between worship and hunger.
“I can’t,” I growled. My body trembled. “If I do, I’ll take too much.”
“Do it,” she whispered. “I trust you.”
Those three words nearly undid me. She was mine. Trusting me. Offering herself up like a prayer I didn’t deserve.
I leaned down and sank my fangs into the curve where her neck met her shoulder. The moment her blood hit my tongue again, it was like I was no longer in control of my body. A low growl escaped my throat as heat surged through every inch of me, drowning thought and reason in one violent flood. I felt theedge of my sanity fray, instincts roaring louder than logic, and I gripped her harder.
My hips slammed into hers. The bedframe cracked.
She gasped, a strangled moan breaking from her throat as I drank, as I fucked her, as I came apart inside her. I pulled back before the line blurred too far, dragging my tongue over the bite and kissing the spot like it was sacred. She was trembling beneath me, breathless and wild and perfect.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I whispered against her skin, forehead pressed to her neck.
She laughed, shaky and wrecked. “Then why do I want you to do it again?”
I stared down at her, chest still heaving, sweat cooling on my skin.
Because she was just as mad as I was.
* * *
A low golden light poured through the curtains.
She was warm beside me, tangled up in the sheets, in me. Her leg slung across my hip, her hand pressed flat against my chest like she was trying to anchor herself. Or maybe me.
I stared at her. At the soft line of her jaw, the way her lashes fanned across flushed cheeks, the faint bruise from where I’d gripped her too hard still blooming just above her hip.
Last night.Gods, last night.
It hadn’t just been sex. Not for me. I could still feel the echo of it—her body around mine, the way she’d said my name, the way I’d finally stopped fighting and let myself have her again. I told myself it was to protect her. That keeping my distance was noble. But it wasn’t. It was cowardice.
Because I loved her.
And I was terrified.
She shifted beside me, her brow tightening faintly before her eyes opened. I opened my mouth, but she pressed a finger to my lips before I could speak.
“I know what this was,” she said barely above a whisper. “And I know what this is going to be.”
I blinked, frozen.
“Just sex,” she said, pulling the sheet tighter around her.
Something inside me cracked. Loud and jagged. She wasn’t looking at me. Her voice was too even. Too practiced. And before I could speak—before I could tell her she was wrong—my cowardice returned.
