Page 53 of Broken Pieces
My breath stumbles, my pulse thrashing as I curl my fingers around him through the denim. I stroke him, hesitant at first, then firmer.
His breath tears out in stutters, curses spilling from his lips, voice breaking apart. “Fucking hell, Skylar—”
His head tips back hard, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parting as a moan rips from deep in his chest.
The sound spurs me on, drives me past the shaking in my fingers.
I rise onto my knees, pushing gently until his back sinks against the tin.
His chest rises hard, his breath stills as I hover over him.
My fingers fumble at the button, clumsy and unsteady, trembling with nerves I can’t shake. The metal fights me, slipping each time I think I’ve got it, frustration clawing its way through my chest. My pulse hammers harder, my breath uneven, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
His eyes pin me in place, dark and burning, watching every single move I make, stripping me bare without a word.
This is the first time I’ve ever touched someone like this, and the weight of it presses down until my skin prickles, every nerve lit and screaming. My whole body buzzes, breath stuttering as Iforce my fingers to keep working, knowing exactly what waits on the other side of that zipper.
His jaw flexes, a muscle jumping as his eyes stay locked on me. His chest heaves, every rise sharp, as if he’s fighting to keep himself from snapping apart.
The button pops, the zipper rasping down. My hand slides inside, over the rough fabric, brushing the waistband of his boxers before I push lower. My fingers curl around him. My lungs forget how to work.
He’s hard.
So fucking hard in my hand, every twitch against my grip proof of how bad he wants it.
A hiss tears from him the second I touch his cock. His head tips back, throat bare, and a curse rips out of him.
“Fuck—”
His hips jerk up into my fist, chasing it, demanding more.
I stroke him slow, then tighter, dragging my hand along his shaft, feeling the weight, the size, the ache of him. Precum smears over the tip, making every slide dirtier, filthier.
His breath shudders, broken sounds spilling from his mouth. His chest heaves, every line of him straining.
“Fucking hell.” The sound tears out of him.
There’s no mistaking what he wants. His eyes crack open, dark and burning.
“Get your fucking mouth on me,” he rasps, voice shredded, jaw flexing as his cock jerks in my hand. His chest heaves, every muscle pulled tight. “Suck my cock, Skylar.”
Chapter Eight
Zane
Herhandstaysonmy cock, stroking slow, unsteady, enough to rip a growl from my throat as my head tips back. Every nerve is burning, my blood pounding so hard it deafens me.
I have wanted this.
Wanted her more than I ever fucking should. More than I will ever admit.
And now she is here, on her knees, her fingers tight around my cock, and I swear I could die right now and it would be enough.
I reach up, fingers tangling in her hair, wrapping tight until I feel the gasp break free from her throat.
Fuck, that sound… it shoots through me like a live wire, makes my cock throb harder.
