Page 172 of Broken Pieces
His hips slow, rolling into me with a deliberate grind that makes my spine arch.
It’s different now. More than just heat and skin.
Each thrust sinks deeper, steadier. He’s not rushing. He’s giving it to me as if it means something.
And fuck, it’s so good; it makes my toes curl, my breath stutter and my chest tighten with every filthy, perfect movement.
I lift my hips to meet him, matching his rhythm, feeding that fire between us.
“Zane,” I moan again, but it’s not just his name anymore.
It’s a plea.
A prayer.
A promise.
Because whatever this is… whatever we’ve become, I don’t want it to end.
Every time he thrusts into me, I come apart a little more. He doesn’t just fuck me, he buries himself so deep it's as if he’s trying to live inside my skin.
He’s never taken me like this before.
There’s hunger in every move, desperation carved into every breath.
And then it hits me.
This isn’t just about the sex.
He’s tearing down every wall between us, brick by brutal brick, until there’s nothing left but this.
He wants me to see him. All of him.
My fingers trace his jaw, lingering on the rough stubble, careful not to press too hard against the bruise blooming along the bone. He’s fucking beautiful. All scars and silence. And at this moment, he’s mine.
His eyes find mine, and the look there guts me. It’s worship. It’s a vow.
He holds me tighter, moving slower now as if memorizing the way our bodies fit together.
He’s not just inside me. He’s etched into every breath, moan, every fucking heartbeat.
Zane Rivera doesn’t just fuck me. He worships me.
As our fingers tangle together, Zane raises one of my hands above my head, pinning it there.
The other trails between us, his touch unrelenting as his fingers find my clit.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. How to drive me wild, to strip me bare with nothing but a touch. Every deep, punishing thrust tears a whimper from my throat, dragging me closer and closer to the edge.
I part my lips, meaning to beg for mercy, for just a second to breathe, but all that escapes is a moan. I bite down on my lip, trying to quiet the sounds, but it’s no use. My body betrays me.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, voice strained.
His next thrust knocks the breath from my lungs.
It shatters something inside me.
My orgasm crashes over me in a sudden, overwhelming wave, a cry ripping from my throat as every muscle locks up tight.
