Page 56 of Break You

Xavier’s smile broadened. I could tell he was getting off on my reaction. One thing I’d noticed about him, was that he loved to be in control.

“Be careful what you wish for, Angry Girl, it might just come true—and then some.” He slowly twisted his thumb inside me, pushing so that his hand rubbed against my clit at the same time. It was sweet, delicious torture—just enough to get me going, but not enough to get me there. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to up the ante. “Want more, Angry Girl?”

I stared at him, noting the dark undertones in his ocean-blue eyes. I let my silence speak for me, and he was quick to take the hint. He withdrew his thumb as abruptly as he’d pushed it into me, the speedy withdrawal sending further shockwaves through my body.

He surprised me again by bringing his thumb to rest on my lips, and I shocked myself even more by taking it into my mouth without hesitation, loving the salty tang of my own arousal as it hit my taste buds.

Xavier groaned, letting his head drop back, and I marveled at how something as basic as the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard, could send my libido into overdrive as I sucked harder on his thumb.

“Christ.” He grunted the word through gritted teeth as he withdrew his thumb, bringing one hand to each of my ankles, drawing them together before lifting them to rest on his chest. Moments later he was inside me, and the world around me ceased to exist. My past, present, and future were eclipsed by the feeling of Xavier pounding into me like he was chasing more than just his orgasm. When we came together, hard and fast, there was nothing but white-hot light.

Xavier

I was lying on the floor in my living room, watching a girl sleep. And not just any girl, but Rukiya “Rocky” fucking Gordon. There was so much wrong with the picture, that I didn’t even know where to begin with unpacking it all.

First of all, she was the sister of one Peter “Pixie” Walters—the person I hated most in the world, second only to my waste of human genetic material of a father, and as such, I hated her by implication and was doing everything I could to ruin her life.

Secondly, above and beyond her connection to Pixie, she was a giant pain in my ass, and she’d made it abundantly clear that the detestation was more than mutual.

Thirdly, and definitely the most problematic element about the whole situation, was the fact that I was feeling shit I didn’t want to be feeling about anyone, especially not Rocky.

The fact that I’d brought her to my apartment was worrying in the extreme. Worrying, and stupid. Not only was she literally the only person to have been there, except my staff, but I’d had the cygnets break into her locker and take all her shit, both to totally freak her out—a success, given how high she’d jumped when I’d booed at her outside the bar—and to majorly inconvenience her. Then, I’d shown up like a knight in a black sports car, to bail her out, anyway. Not that she’d appreciated it, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was that I was starting to feel like Xavier Cross and Jupiter Cob were some kind of Jekyll and Hyde personalities warring within me. Jupiter wanted to see the vendetta with Pixie through to its conclusion, using the best tool he had—Rocky—and I had no fucking idea what Xavier wanted, except to spoon with the sister of his arch nemesis.

Thankfully, Rocky had her wits about her, even if I didn’t, and as we’d collapsed onto the floor on some scatter cushions and a cashmere throw my interior designer had selected to dress the room I barely ever used—she flat-out refused to go anywhere near the bedroom—her last words to me before she’d drifted off to sleep had been, “Don’t get any weird ideas about spooning or any lame shit like that.”

She hadn’t ruled out laying hundreds of tiny kisses across her neck, shoulders and back—that she’d presented to me after issuing the anti-spooning edict—or stroking the tiny tattoo I’d just discovered behind her ear, over and over with my fingertips. From afar it looked like just a pattern—actually more of a decorative squiggle than anything, but as I squinted at it, wanting to get a better look, I saw it was words written in tiny, neat, cursive script. A bit more squinting, and I could just about make out what it said.

“Somebody loves you.”

My heart raced at a million miles an hour at the sight of those three words. Three tiny words. I told myself they meant nothing. They were just words. Lots of people used that exact combination. It was just a coincidence. Of course it was. What else could it be? There was no other logical explanation that I wanted to consider.

I withdrew my hand, lying on my back, staring up at the familiar constellation through the glass ceiling. It always brought me peace to look up at those tiny shocks of light cutting through the night sky, seemingly so close, but in reality, so far away. Within my sight, but out of reach. It was a metaphor I didn’t like to dwell on. Still, the infinite nature of the universe appealed to me for some reason.

Rocky stirred next to me, lying flat on her back now too. I kept still and quiet, not sure if she was asleep or not.

“Stargazing? You don’t strike me as the astrology type, Cross.” Her voice was softer than normal, whispered into the darkness.

“I’m not. Just this constellation.”

“Why? What’s so special about it?”

“Everything and nothing.”

“Vague and cagey as fuck. Glad it’s not just me who plays my cards close to my chest.”

I sighed, turning onto my side to face her. She did the same, and suddenly we were almost nose-to-nose—up close, and altogether too personal for my liking.

“It’s Cygnus, the sixteenth-biggest constellation in the night sky. The brightest star in the constellation is called Alpha Cygni, and together with four other stars, it makes up the Northern Cross, which makes it easy to find when you’re looking for it.”

“Okay…?” She was clearly waiting for more information, but she was going to have a long wait, as I’d said all I was going to say on the subject.

“Hmm… yeah. Anyway, you owe me an answer after dodging the psych question in the car. So, I’ll switch things up a little. Tell me about the tattoo.” As though checking it was still there, her hand quickly fluttered behind her ear, and her face flushed. “Still there, and yes, I did get close enough to read it.” I reached behind me for my phone, then opened up a voice memo, pressing record, and placing the handset on the ground between us. “Spill.”

The silence between us was endless, but I had time.

“Question #10. Describe a life-changing moment. I didn’t have much growing up. In fact, sometimes I had nothing. This one time I got taken into the system by CPS, because my mom had disappeared about a week earlier, apparently thinking it was okay to go on vacay with her “boyfriend,” leaving her pre-tween daughter alone in an apartment where she hadn’t paid the power bill, or rent. It was the landlord who notified CPS, when he came repeatedly for the rent and realized I was home alone. Anyway, there I was in the intake center—it was Christmas Eve—”

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