Page 117 of Broken Pieces
She pulls back slowly, her mouth slick, lips flushed. There’s a glint in her eye that says she knows exactly what she’s done.
I’m still breathing heavily. Still trying to recover. My legs feel weak. My chest is tight. I’ve never come that fast, never come that hard, and it’s never felt at all like this before.
It’s not just a release.
It’s total obliteration.
And all I can do is stare down at her… completely fucked, completely hers, knowing that nothing will ever compare to this again. Knowing that in this moment I’ll never be the fucking same again.
Chapter Eighteen
Skylar
It’sbeenaweek.
Seven endless days since we were on that roof. Since his mouth ruined me, and I came undone under the stars while he worshipped me.
He hasn’t touched me since.
Not once.
I sit on the bed, cross-legged, pretending to study. The page in front of me is nothing but blurred ink, numbers turning to nonsense as my pen taps against the edge of the notebook.
I keep telling myself to focus. To care about algebra.
But he’s here.
Across the room.
Shirtless.
Gloriously fucking distracting.
The weights clink softly as he lifts, muscles coiling and flexing with every rep. His chest glistens under the light, skin flushed from the effort, veins standing out across his forearms. That jaw is locked tight, his expression unreadable, all focus and control.
He’s too much… too close. Too goddamn beautiful.
I tell myself not to look, but my eyes betray me. They trail over the slope of his abs, the sheen of sweat slipping across his stomach, the dark waistband of his sweatpants that hang low enough to make my breath hitch.
My gaze moves past the tight line of muscles to where they disappear beneath the waistband of his sweats.
The soft fabric clings in all the right places, and I swear he’s doing it on purpose.
Every time he exhales, the muscles along his stomach tighten, and my pulse goes with it.
I try to avert my eyes. Try to act normal.
It doesn’t work.
He hasn’t said a single word about that night. Not one mention of how he had me shaking, begging, soaked in the sound of his voice while he devoured me under the stars.
But he still makes me grilled cheese melts. Always two pieces cut diagonally, the way I didn’t know I liked until he started doing it. He still brings me takeout.
It’s become routine now, the way we move through this space.
Somewhere in the blur of days and cheap instant coffee, this place stopped feeling temporary.
It feels settled.
