Page 136 of Broken Trails
His throat bobs with a swallow. “Well, fuck me—that’s hot.”
I smirk. “You can look all you want.”
“I plan to,” he says, planting his hands behind his head like the cocky bastard he is. His eyes drag down my body, heavy and hungry. I start to move, rolling my hips as he did, in steady circles, grinding against him until his head tips back with a low groan.
His hands twitch above his head, clenching and unclenching. “Fuck! I need to grab you. I need to touch you.”
“Not yet.”
His groan is pure frustration, his knuckles pressed to his mouth as he watches me. I change the angle, rolling my hips differently, dragging out the friction just right, and he chokes on a curse. “Jesus, do that again and I’ll come.”
I do. Slowly. Watching his face contort in pleasure. “Don’t,” I warn, voice silky. “I’ll tell you when to come.”
His jaw drops open. “Holy fuck…”
“Hm. That’s a good boy.” He moans. It’s loud and unrestrained, and I laugh, drunk on the power, on the way he gives it up so easily for me. Who would’ve guessed? The stoic, brooding mechanic likes being bossed around.
“You think this is funny?” he pants.
“Mhm. But you’ve been such a good boy, keeping your hands to yourself.”
His voice is gravel. “I have?”
I grind down hard, dragging my nails across his chest, leaving streaks of red. “You have, Michael,” I purr, leaning down until our noses brush.
“Fuck,” he growls, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Say my name again.”
“Michael.” I hum.
His whole body trembles. “Please,” he rasps, eyes glassy. “Please, can I touch you now?”
I hover, lips grazing his. “Since you’ve been so good—”
He doesn’t wait for more. He flips me fast, pressing me into the mattress as he thrusts back inside with one powerful, brutal slide. The rhythm is punishing—hard, deep, relentless. I cry out, clutching at his shoulders, my whole body burning. We unravel together, bodies shaking, breaths caught in our throats.
It’s not just physical. It’s not just sex.
It’s something more. Something deeper. Something terrifying.
Because this feeling that’s blooming between us—the connection I’ve been pretending not to see—it’s not lust. And I’m not ready to admit it out loud.
Michael’s groans spill into my ear, and it’s the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard. His body trembles above mine, buried deep, and grounding me completely. He presses his face into my neck, arms tight around my body. I feel it then—everything he’s holding back. Everything I am.
“God, Freckles,” he rasps, voice thick and wrecked. “I’m—”
“Shh,” I whisper quickly, running my nails across buzzed hair, down his back. “Don’t.”
Because whatever he’s about to say, I can’t hear it. Not now. Not when it would ruin me. Tears burn behind my eyes, and one slips free. I blink fast and swipe it away before he notices, swallowing the ache that rises sharp and sudden in my chest.
Michael can’t love me. He can’t fall for me. And he can’t know what’s really happening—because if he did, he’d beg me not to go. Or worse, he’d try to come with me, and that would only make things harder. Not after what Liam has threatened him with.
He wouldn’t understand, and maybe that’s not fair to him, but I know it’s true. And thathasto be okay. So I stay quiet, holdingon to the silence like it’s a shield, something to protect the small, fragile part of me that’s still pretending this is only physical. Because if I speak—if I let him speak—it becomes something else.
Something neither of us is ready for. SomethingI’mnot ready for.
All logic has left the room, and I know I’m not thinking clearly, but deep down, beneath the panic and the pull of him and the warmth of his body wrapped around mine, I know exactly what I have to do. I have to end this before it becomes something I can’t walk away from.
Before it ruins him.
