Page 9 of Broken Pieces
She’s not the first girl I’ve wanted.
But she’s the only one I’ve ever had to talk myself out of chasing.
And I’m losing that fight.
Every fucking time she storms past, all bite and fire, it guts me a little more. I want to ruin her composure. I want to hear her say my name when she’s too far gone to pretend she doesn’t want me back.
My eyes shift down over that tank top as it clings to her chest. The way the loose strap keeps slipping off one shoulder, teasing the sharp line of her collarbone and daring my gaze lower.
I shift against the cracked concrete, jeans tugging tight in all the places where I don’t need them to. My cock ishard and unashamed, reacting before I can even get a handle on the thoughts detonating in my head.
I grip the joint tighter, trying to drag the heat back down. But it’s no use. She’s already in too deep.
Skylar fucking owns me.
Even when she’s not around, she’s under my skin. She lives in the shadows of my thoughts, in every breath I take.
Every time I close my eyes, there she is on her knees, mouth parted, eyes locked on mine, full of that same defiance she wears like armor. That look she gives me, the one that dares me to break her, to see if I’ll actually do it this time.
She thinks she’s strong. Untouchable. But I see the cracks.
I don’t just want to fuck her.
I want to ruin her before anyone else does.
I want to see how far she’ll let me go. How close I can get before she cracks.
Because no one makes Skylar bend, no one breaks through those walls she hides behind. But I want every goddamn inch of that.
And that’s what makes this so fucked up.
She’s still on the phone, pacing the sidewalk like the world owes her something. And maybe it does.
Whoever’s on the other end has her pacing like a caged animal, trapped in a fight she can’t punch her way out of. Her hand flexesat her side, fingers twitching like she’s holding back something sharp.
A scream.
A sob.
A curse that could cut glass.
I watch the way she shifts her weight, heel grinding into the pavement, foot tapping in quick, angry bursts before she snaps, kicking hard at a loose rock like it insulted her.
It shoots across the road and smashes against the gutter with a sharp crack.
That’s the Skylar I know.
Not some polished, perfect girl with a fake smile and a soft voice. No. She’s rough around the edges, stitched together with spit and survival. The kind of girl who doesn’t care if the world thinks she’s too much.
She doesn’t hide the rage boiling just beneath the surface. She lets it bleed through in the way she moves, the way she glares, the way her whole body vibrates as if it’s seconds from going nuclear.
And fuck if that doesn’t make me want her more.
She slips her phone into her back pocket and stares down the road, lips moving with words I can’t make out. Then she throws her middle finger into the air, cursing the sky like it’s personally fucked her over one too many times, and she’s finally done pretending she can swallow it.
I grin around the joint, the smoke catching in my throat as I take another drag.
She’s pissed. Wound tight and close to breaking. Holding the kind of weight that crushes you slow, bone by bone, until you forget how to stand without shaking.
