Page 109 of Broken Pieces
Tongue, teeth, the scrape of his stubble against my chin. There’s no pretending anymore. His kiss is brutal, filled with everything he’s never said out loud.
He kisses the way I’ve imagined he fucks.
Deep.
Dirty.
Possessive.
The kind of kiss that ruins you for anyone else. The kind you never come back from.
He cages me in with his body, chest brushing mine with every desperate breath, as if he needs every inch of me. His other hand moves fast, sliding down onto my hip, gripping tight, fingers digging in through the fabric. He yanks me closer until there’s no space left between us. Every inch of him presses against every inch of me and still it’s not enough.
I want more.
I want him.
His teeth catch my bottom lip and he pulls, hard enough to sting, just enough to make my body shake.
I moan into his mouth, a needy sound that I couldn’t fucking stop if I tried.
Then I feel it.
His cock.
Hard. Thick.
Straining against his jeans. Pressed right into the heat between my legs.
A sound breaks in my throat, one I’ve never made before. It’s need and ache fusing together in something I have never let myself feel before.
He grinds against me, slow at first, then rougher.
His name stumbles out of me, broken and breathless.
There’s no coming back from this. No pretending I don’t want him, fucking crave him… not after this.
His mouth finds the edge of my jaw, heat trailing heat across my skin. Down to my neck. His tongue flicks over the spot below my ear before he sucks, hard enough to leave a mark. My hands are in his hair now, tugging, anchoring myself as his hips roll again, dragging a broken sound from my chest.
His hand slips beneath the hem of my skirt, fingers dragging up my thigh, taking his time.
My breath hitches. Every nerve is buzzing, my blood pounding so hard in my ears I can’t hear a damn thing except the rush of want crashing through me.
He doesn’t rush, just keeps going, one inch at a time. Fingers brushing bare skin, teasing the edge of my panties. His fingertips find the seam and glide along it, right over where I’m soaked and aching.
My hips jerk without permission, and a helpless moan spills out of me.
“Fuck,” he growls, eyes locked on mine. “You’re dripping for me, baby.” His finger presses harder, rubbing slow circles over the soaked fabric. “All that attitude and this pussy’s been begging for me the whole fucking time, hasn’t it?”
I can barely breathe. My legs are shaking.
His mouth curls into a smirk, dangerous and hungry, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing,
“You walk around all tough, talking shit, but under this skirt? You’re just a needy little thing, fuckin’ soaked and waiting to be ruined.”
He leans in, lips brushing my jaw as his fingers slide under the fabric. His fingers graze my slit. Then his middle finger finds me, slick and throbbing, and he groans against my throat.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.”
