Page 39 of Broken Pieces
Instead of pushing, I clutch tighter, caught in the pull I swore I would never allow. My heart hammers so hard it aches, each beat ricocheting through me until there is nothing else.
The world disappears.
The street below.
The breeze cutting over the rooftop.
Even my own thoughts. All of it drowned under the rush of him, the weight of his mouth, the way this kiss hits less as a choice and more as something inevitable.
His hand cups my jaw, firm enough to tilt my face exactly where he wants it. The other tangles in my hair, grip tight, dragging me closer until there is nothing left but heat and hunger.
It is possession masked in tenderness, and I am drowning under the weight of it.
I should remember that this is Zane, the boy who ruins anything stupid enough to fall into his orbit. But my body doesn’t give a fuck about logic. My chest presses into his, my mouth parts against his, my lungs refusing to work unless it is through him.
His teeth catch my bottom lip and I gasp, the sound swallowed by him.
“Zane,” I whisper against his mouth, breathless, shaking. The word slips out before I can swallow it back.
He pulls back, just barely, his forehead pressing to mine. His breath is rough, uneven, proof that I am not the only one caught in this storm.
His eyes stay closed, lashes brushing against his skin, his hand still cradling my face as if I might vanish if he lets go too soon.
“You want to tell me you didn’t feel that?” He says, opening his eyes, every edge of him still cocky but cracked underneath.
I can’t answer.
My throat closes up.
My chest is a war zone, torn between the need to deny it and the truth that already blazes in every nerve. I can’t even fucking breathe.
He searches my face, and for a second I think he might kiss me again, might finish what he started. But he lets go. His hand slips from my hair. The other drops from my jaw.
He leans back, runs a hand through his messy curls, and that fucking smirk slides back into place, smug as hell.
“Didn’t think so,” he says.
And then he is on his feet.
He yanks his backpack up, slinging it over his shoulder with careless ease, every movement casual enough to gut me. As if the kiss never happened. That he hadn’t torn through me and left the pieces scattered.
He heads for the ladder, each step clanging against the metal, ringing louder than my own pulse, until the sound fades and he is gone. Swallowed whole by the shadows below.
I sit there, frozen, lips still tingling, pulse thrashing so hard it rattles through my ribs.
My head is nothing but static, my chest cracked wide open, because that kiss wasn’t some passing thing.
It was a brand seared into me, burned too deep to ever scrub clean.
My fingers lift to my mouth, trembling.
My first kiss, stolen by the one boy I swore I’d never let get close.
And fuck my traitorous, desperate body? It wanted it more than it has ever wanted air.
Chapter Six
Zane
