Page 40 of Broken Play
"He's the best."
As I search his face for any sign of judgment, any reason to clam up, I try to steady my voice. "It's not that I'm still in love with Bodhi. I just—" My voice cracks for a second, and Ilook away, focusing on where my thumb circles over his hand. "He was my first everything. And for a long time, I thought love meant forgiving and forgetting, no matter what. But every time I think I'm done feeling small around him, he finds a way to make me doubt myself all over again." I meet Greyson's eyes, hoping he hears what I can't quite say. "It's complicated. And sometimes, it's easier to run than to try to explain it all."
He nods, seeming to understand. "No need to run from me. I'm here."
"Bodhi is basically the only person I've ever dated..." His eyebrows lift and his eyes widen with understanding. "I thought I did something wrong to set him off when he would hit me." Tears start to form and fall from the corners of my eyes.
He pulls me closer and lays my head on his shoulder. "It's not you. It's him. Even if you did do something to anger him, it's not okay to hit a woman. How long has this gone on?"
My tears wet his shirt, and I place my hand on his chest, grasping the cloth in my hand. "Even when we were teens, he would throw water bottles at me if he caught me talking to another guy."
"Why did you stay with him?"
"Every girl and some of the guys wanted Bodhi Creed. It felt good to have someone want me. I basically had no family around. My mom lived close to the academy for a while, but once Dad started paying for the academy directly, Mom had to move. She just kept freeloading off whatever man married her. I loved her, but then she passed away."
I'm not one to talk about my feelings, but they just keep tumbling out. "Anna liked his best friend, so we were justalways together. And as we grew up, the water bottles turned into beer bottles or fists." My chest tightens with every rough inhale, my voice splintering as I speak the pain I've kept buried. "Thank you for defending me."
He tilts my mascara-streaked face to his and says, "You're worth defending."
His lips hover over mine as he searches my eyes for permission. I part my lips, silently giving him the green light. A slow, shy smile pulls at the corners of his mouth before the cushion of his lips connects with mine. I could live in this moment forever as he sweetly nibbles while he runs his fingers through my hair.
He pulls away, our eyes meet, and he says, "I can't pretend I've been in love before, but I'm not like him. I would never hurt you."
"You've really never been in love?"
Greyson's lips linger against mine, slow and reassuring, and it chases all the pain away from Bodhi shoving me. And even though I wish I didn't know what would have happened if we weren't in public, I do.
"Never. I haven't kissed another woman since you that night in Denver. I don't know if that means it's love, but it's something. Something I've never felt." He coaxes me closer, and with every gentle caress of his plump lips, my fear is replaced by a sense of safety. "For the first time, I'm putting my heart on the line."
Feeling protected, hearing the truth laced in his voice, I feel desire build in my core, and I suddenly straddle him, my knees digging into the couch. My name falls from his mouth. It's raw, and I think he wants me to stop, but I can't.
My fingers can't unbutton his dress shirt fastenough. I need to feel his chest. Is his heart racing as fast as mine? I try to kiss him at the same time, but it's sloppy, and part of the time, I miss my target. His body jolts with a quiet chuckle. I must look like I just went from zero to one hundred in a hot second, and he's clearly enjoying every minute of my determined enthusiasm.
When I rip his shirt from its tucked-in position, I stop and admire the man in front of me. His hands cradle my face with his calloused palms, and he brushes his thumbs over my cheeks, erasing any memory of the tears that streamed down them only minutes ago.
I press my mouth hungrily to his, letting urgency and need pour into every movement, desperate for a new experience with the man who defied football decorum, running to my rescue. Greyson's heartbeat pounds in sync with mine, but then he breaks the kiss, searching my eyes with a softness that roots me to the spot.
"Let's take our time." His voice is a thick, low whisper, his breath mingling with mine. "Let me show you how good it can feel." Without giving me time to respond, he tilts my head, tracing lazy circles along my jaw before he dips to kiss the sensitive spot in the hollow of my neck. My nerves zip with desire, but he keeps the pace torturously slow, letting his lips travel over my skin, mapping a new constellation with every press.
Consumed by the sensations flooding my body, I moan, and even to me, I sound like a seductress in an R-rated movie that comes dangerously close to being porn. His hands skate down my arms, grabbing the hem of my shirt. As he pushes it over my body and I raise my arms, he lets it fall to the floor. His hands roam over my back and then move around mywaist and up to my bra. He grins, and my whole body lights up.
"You like my sports bra?" I ask.
"I do, because it's you. I think I'll like it better if it's on the floor, though," he says, the firelight flickering across his baby blues. Trailing his fingers over my breasts, he feels for a clasp, then slips his fingers under the band and huffs out a laugh. "Is this one of those you need an engineering degree to get out of?"
"If you can't get me out of it..."
He arches a brow. "Oh, I can... and I will. I might need to call tech support or get the kitchen shears. Worst case, I'll cut you free and buy you another one." His words shudder, as if he can't wait.
"I don't know if that's possible. I haven't seen a Target since I've been here," I joke, but my voice cracks as his fingers slide all the way under and he rolls my nipples between them. "You love a challenge. Let's see how fast you can get it off."
With his lips over my ear, his voice rough and low, he says, "Sutton, I'll solve all your problems. Let me show you."
My heart stutters, my nerves and desire intertwined, before his hands finally lift the bra over my head, and it joins the growing pile on the floor. We're smiling like teenagers getting felt up for the first time. But the way he looks at me afterward melts every ounce of hesitation I have.
He takes my breasts in his hands, pulls me closer, and says, "Damn, you're perfect." Taking my nipple in his mouth, he flicks and bites lightly. Drowning in desire, I can't help the moans of appreciation that slip out of my mouth.
"Please," I beg for more.
