Page 66 of Unbroken

Then he’s pulling me toward him, his hands shifting from cradling my face to tangling into my hair. He tilts my head back, bending my mouth to his without a single word. And when his lips press to mine, something electric explodes in me. Every nerve lights up. I drop out of my head and straight into my body—fully, completely—like I never have before. His mouth takes mine, and his tongue? It slants over mine, commanding and hot. I lick him back, needing the taste of him, and he makes this low, masculine noise—half growl, half groan—that floods me with want. His arm traces down the length of my back, smooth and sure, then cups my ass in one big, possessive hand. Awareness fires through my body again, thick and sharp.

He kisses me like a man starving—and I’m the only thing that can save him. There’s pain in it, yes. But underneath that pain, a glimmer of hope. Like this could mean something. Like maybe we both still can.

“My sister died,” I whisper, my voice catching. “But we didn’t die with her. We’re still here. We’re still alive. Don’t we deserve to live?”

I’m crying—just a little—and I know I am because my chest feels cracked open and raw, and our kiss, the intimacy of it, blends with something deeper, something breaking inside me. He pulls back, only barely, burying his face in my hair. His voice is rough, a sound like shattered glass.

“Ruthie. God, Ruthie. I read your texts to your sister. I thought it was just me. I thought I was the only one. I didn’t know. I didn’t know you felt it too. I thought you?—”

His voice cuts off as if it’s physically painful to say more. He just shakes his head, then suddenly he’s lifting me—his hands under my ass, his mouth grazing mine again. He walks toward the bed like he can’t wait another second. And honestly? Neither can I. I can’t think beyond this moment, beyond what I need—what I want. And I know it now. I want him.

He lays me on the bed. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Take the shirt off, Ruthie,” he rasps, voice thick. “I want to see you.”

I hesitate, the fabric balled in my fist. But then he cups my face, holding my gaze with something so sincere, so reverent, it undoes me.

“Beautiful girl,” he whispers. “Can you trust me?”

I nod. I just know.

“Then let’s give this to each other,” he says quietly. “No one can touch me like you do. I don’t want anyone else. I can’t trust anyone else but you, Ruthie.”

I slip my T-shirt over my head. My breasts spill free, and his eyes darken. His mouth closes over my nipple, and heat explodes low in my belly. Need twists inside me, and I whimper. I brace myself against the bed as he licks, his tongue flattening against my nipple until it’s tight and aching. Then he grazes it with his teeth while sliding his hand between my thighs, pressing the heel of his palm into the wet, swollen center of me.

One hand rolls a nipple while his mouth works the other, switching back and forth until I feel like I might scream.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls. “And I want you.”

I run my hands along his arms—those powerful, inked arms—and for the first time, I don’t see the man who once loved my sister. I see the man who loves me. And somehow, impossibly, that makes all the difference.

He presses his face to my belly, breathing me in deep, then spreads my legs with his broad hands.

And when he licks me—fuck—I’ve never felt anything so good, so perfectly made to unravel me. I moan, my hand reaching instinctively for him—only for his palm to slam down on my thigh in warning.

“Put your hands by your sides,” he says in that same low, commanding tone. “There’s something you’re gonna learn, woman. I let you get away with your mouth. I let you be a little brat. But in here? Behind these doors? I am king. Do you understand that?”

“What if I say no?”

His eyes darken, lips curling into a slow smirk as he shakeshis head with a low, dangerous chuckle. “Then I’ll have to teach you how to obey.”

“Is that what you need, little brat?” he asks, mouth brushing my belly, inhaling deeply as he parts my legs. “You need a lesson?”

He ends the sentence with a long, lazy lick to my clit, and my hips arch instinctively. I can’t help it. I whisper, “No, of course not. I’m a good girl.”

He licks me again, slower this time. “Then show me how good girls come,” he murmurs—a challenge, a dare. “Go ahead, angel. Come on my tongue. Let yourself go, baby.”

And then he’s devouring me, two fingers sliding into my slick heat, curling just right as his tongue torments my clit. I moan, reaching out before I even realize I’ve moved.

His hand smacks down hard across my thigh, his voice a dark warning between my legs. “I told you not to move those hands,” he growls. “If you want to come, you’ll do what I say. Understand me?”

“Yes,” I breathe out. My hands fall obediently back to my sides. I’ve never played a game like this before. But god—it’s making me burn.

He licks me again, his fingers pressing deeper, firmer. It’s perfect—so perfectly placed I could scream. I feel it building, that sweet, devastating pressure.

“Are you close, beautiful?” he murmurs, voice low and reverent. “Come on my tongue. I want to feel it. I want to taste you. Come for me.”

I fall over the edge, crashing into the kind of orgasm that rewrites reality. My pussy clenches and pulses around nothing and everything, shaking with the force of it. Earth-shattering. Bone-melting. The best of my life. It’s so much I can’t breathe. I’m wrecked and weightless—and yet all I want is more of him. A primal, feral need coils inside me.

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