Page 97 of Broken Lines

“Or maybe,” I rasp again against her mouth. “Maybe I need tofuckthis tight little pussy like it deserves to get fucked, and feel you milk the cum from my balls while you come all the fuck over my thick cock.”

I shift my hips, letting my swollen dick brush hotly against her thighs.

And instantly, something happens. Melody stiffens. That heat and drug-like ecstasy in her eyesvanishes. Instead, she goes cold, the color draining from her face as the light just winks out of her eyes completely.

My brow furrows as I peer down into her face, watching in real time as she just shrivels away from the whimpering, sexually submissive but eager little orgasm machine I just had writhing under me.

“Mel—”

And suddenly, I see it. I see it like looking into a fucking mirror—a jagged, broken one that cuts me even if I can’t look away. I look into her eyes and see something only people like me—like us—can really understand.

“Hang on…”

She flinches as my hand comes up to cup her cheek. Fury—not at her, but because I know what this—erupts in me, blackening my heart as I pull back from her. Her breath is coming in ragged hitches, and I understand this pain.

I know this trigger.

Because I’ve heard it click a million fucking times since the night my childhood was taken from me.

I yank my boxers on, tugging my shirt back on too before I grab a blanket. I wrap her in it, both to cover her and take away that sense of nakedness she’s feeling. But also, to put a barrier between us.

Because I know she needs that.

She’s still shaking as I tug it tight around her and then sit beside her on the couch. Every ounce of me wants to hold her and bury her in my arms as if to shield her physically from the demons and monsters rampaging through her head right now.

But I won’t do that. Instead, I just reach out and take her hand, squeezing tightly. She flinches, but it snaps her out of. With a blink and another shiver, her eyes rip from whatever hole they were just in, turning to stare at me as her face falls.

“I—Jackson, I…I’m so—”

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize,” I rasp quietly. I squeeze her hand again. This time, she squeezes gently back.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“This isn’t happening, sweetheart,” I say quietly, shaking my head. “We’re not—”

“No, I want—”

“No.” I shake my head as my eyes lock with hers. “I see you, and I know what’s going through your head. You don’t have to prove shit.”

Her brow furrows, a flicker of anger sizzling behind her eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t have to do anything to prove to anyone, even yourself, that you’re fine, or over it,” I mutter. “Trust me.”

She swallows, her face paling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

She looks away, yanking her hand back.

“It’s none of your business.”

“No, it fucking isn’t.”

She swallows, brushing the back of her hand across her eyes.

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