Page 128 of Broken Pieces
Zane
Themorningcreepsinslowly through the window, with that dull gray light that never quite touches everything.
My eyes open, and then I feel her. Warm. Soft. Pressed against me.
Skylar.
Her thigh is draped over mine, skin smooth against my hip, her head resting under my chin. Her breath ghosts across my chest, each exhale hitting me harder than it should. My arm is already around her, hand splayed low on her back.
Fuck.
I can’t breathe.
She fits against me too well. Too fucking natural.
Every part of her molded to mine like she belongs there. My cock twitches, traitorous as hell, pressed against her thigh. Butit’s not just her body. It’s the weight of her in my arms. The way her fingers curl against my stomach even in her sleep.
I stare at the ceiling, trying to steady the pounding in my chest.
I should have gotten up already, pulled on my jeans and fucked off, pretending none of this had happened.
But here she is, curled into me, breathing against my skin, and I can’t bring myself to pull away.
Fuck. I’m in trouble.
I don’t fucking move.
Not a twitch.
I don’t fucking breathe for a moment.
I lie there, staring at her like she’s some dream I never deserved.
Her lips are parted, breath real slow, lashes casting shadows across her cheeks. She looks peaceful in a way I’ve never been. In a way I’ve never seen her. Fuck, she looks soft, not in a weak way, but in an untouched-by-this-fucked-up-world way. That this world hasn’t clawed at her skin or dragged her through broken glass just for daring to exist. As if no one’s ever broken her, and I know that’s bullshit, because I’ve seen her cracks.
Hell, I’ve kissed half of them.
But right now… she’s whole. And I’d burn the world down to keep her that way.
Fuck me. I wanna be the one who keeps the cold out. Make sure there’s food in the fridge and my hoodie on her back. I want her to know what it feels like to be safe. Not because she can’t handle shit. She’s tough as hell. But because no one’s ever protected her.
I’m already in too deep and I know it because I think I’m falling in love with her.
And that thought alone nearly fucking kills me.
It crawls up my throat, burns through my chest, and I can’t swallow it back down.
I don’t want it. Don’t need it.
I’ve spent my whole goddamn life building walls high enough to keep this kind of shit out. Needing someone makes you soft. It fucks with your head. Makes you reckless… weak.
But she’s sleeping beside me in one of my shirts, skin warm against my sheets. The collar’s slipping off one shoulder, and the sight of her wearing something that’s mine hits differently. It is dangerous and too fucking real.
That weakness presses into my chest until it hurts to breathe.
She digs up shit I poured concrete over and promised myself I’d never touch.
Now all of those emotions are clawing to the surface, wild, messy and fully fucking alive.
