Page 32 of Broken Lines

I smirk.

Okay, she didn’t actually swim here. But by the looks of it, she came over in something closer to a bathtub or an inner tube than actual boat.

Curious, though. I wouldn’t expect little miss New York City pink-punk-hair to be capable of boating.

I grin.

Well, and apparently, she’snot. Not without getting herself soaked to the bone on the way over, at least. And it’s not even that choppy of a day.

She takes a solid breath, pushing her wet pink hair out of her face. She mutters something to herself, her face tightening like she’s psyching herself up for something.

Oh no fucking way.

And then, as I stare at her through the peephole, she marches across the yard, up the stairs, and right up in front of my door. She brings a hand up and grabs the door knocker again.

Apparently, this sassy little prick-tease doesn’t take no for an answer.

I watch in cold amusement as she slams the knocker again and again relentlessly. I try to ignore it as she knocks again. But the longer the knocking goes on, the harder it is to ignore.

Not just because of the sound pounding through my fucking skull. Because all I can do is imagine the fist hitting it, and the arm attached to that fist. And the body attached that arm. And the face that sits atop that body.

And thatass.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Finally somewhere between ten and three-hundred knocks later, I snap.

“What the fuck do you want!” I roar through the door.

There's no reply, but the knocking stops. I blink, wondering if maybe I scared her off again.

That is, until she gets one more goddamn knock in.

Fucking hell.

7

Jackson

I bringthe bottle to my lips, drinking deeply, before I stab my gaze back through the peephole once last time. I settle my hard gaze on her, my eyes narrowing lethally.

Yes, she’s attractive. Yes, in another world—in my old world, maybe—I’d already have her in the back of a tour bus, legs over my shoulders and my cock balls deep in that sweet little pussy. Maybe I’d have her sing my lyrics while I fucked her, just because I’m an egomaniacal prick like that. Or on her knees, tonging my balls until I came down her throat or across that pretty face.

But that was the old me. New me is… I want to say, “a changed man”, but that’s a lie.

The new me? He hasn’t changed at all. He’s just gotten darker. He’s just allowed himself to step out of society. He’s let himself reach the most devious, primal versions of himself.

Just because I abstain from the company women—or anyone, for that matter—doesnotmean I’m somehow a better person. In fact, there’s a chance it’s done the opposite.

She brings her hand up one more fucking time. But I beat her to, yanking the door open,hard. Melody shivers, swallowing as I narrow my eyes at her.

Devouring the gorgeous little pink temptation standing on my doorstep.

Again.

I grind my teeth, feeling the lust in me surge as she looks up into my eyes.

I frown. For a second, I want to say she look familiar. Or maybe her name is familiar? But I shake my head, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at myself.

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