Page 56 of Their Broken Legend

He drops to his knees; his arms bracket my hips on the mattress. His hand still holds the little deer, while his gaze finds mine through my lowered lashes. “Is that all?”

I lift my head, fiercely holding eye contact with him. “I’m bitchy, Xander. Like, seriously.”

“I can handle it.”

“I’m spoilt. Selfish. Jealous. Vindictive. A liar!” I clench my teeth, and his brows furrow above pained blue eyes. “Isn’t that what I am?A liar?”

He looks at the little deer in his fingers, moving it slightly in contemplation—intensely passionate Xander.

And I’m twisted with nerves that he’s thinking, ‘Yes, you are. Forget it. I don’t need to date a moody, bitchy, Sylvanian-loving liar.’ But then his eyes search mine, falling in deep. “Stunning,” he gushes.

My breath catches. “Shut up.”

“Self-assessing,” he begins, each word sailing along a deep, gruff, sexy timbre, carrying meaning—awe and adoration. “Real. Sassy. Interesting. Can we kiss now, Woman?”

A short laugh leaves me, and I give into the giddy girl sensation I get whenever he’s nearby. Inching slowly towards his lips, I take my time but he’s not that patient, pushing up, sweeping my mouth with him.

Under his spell, I fall backwards to the bed with him crawling on top of me, his hand tucking below my back to slide me until we are comfortable, his lips soft in pressure, exploratory in motion, and tough from that damn callous I like so much. And they are on me the entire time, air a trivial thing when we are kissing.

This is our firstrealkiss.

His hand slides up to the curve of my neck, resting on the arch, his thumb tracing the muscles of my throat as he keenly enjoys my lips. His other hand feeds gently through strands of caramel and umber in reverent dominance.

He’s slow with me.

It’s different.

I slide my fingers down his torso, lazily caressing the muscular ripples all the girls swoon over when he’s shirtless in the gym. His abdominals somehow purr against my fingertips, a rolling motion in my wake, and he groans when I get to his waistband. The sound begs me onward.

I follow his hair down to his cock, finding him half-engorged. My world tilts, ruling the forearm comparison no joking matter, but a very realistic size comparison.

And—

With a gasp, I still my hand on something strange. I feel his smile against my lips, taste his satisfaction in shocking me. I expect him to stop and explain, but it’s like he can’t bear to separate our mouths, so our bodies talk instead.

“Here. Let me show you…”

He slides his hand down to meet mine, urging my timid fingers along the underside of his shaft. My forefinger and index roll over one, two, three piercings like a ladder.

“Touch me.”

When his hand covers mine, he squeezes and guides us up and down the long length of his cock, slow and controlled. Immediately, we are swallowing each other’s moans in time with the steady, firm strokes.

“God, that feels good.”

I feel his pleasure like waves of energy beating into my body, somehow floodingmewith desire far more potent than my own. It’s unbearably erotic to feel my soft, comparatively fragile body, smothered in this man’s wall of muscles while they tighten and contract.

Whether it is like this with all guys, I don’t know. But there is nothing more sensual than making Xander Butcher pant into my mouth, groan, and hum uncontrollably from his throat while his lips refuse to break from mine.

It is perfect.

Our kiss.

His enjoyment.

“It’s perfect.”

I squeeze harder. His lips start to fumble, the building of his climax overwhelming his pace, his rhythm, his breathing.

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