Page 169 of Broken Pieces
I am. Every part of me is lit up, begging for more, and his voice only fans the fire.
“I need you inside me when I come,” I breathe out, desperate and aching.
His eyes snap open. That look hits me straight in the chest.
He sits upright, pulling me closer. One hand wraps around my lower back, dragging me in with a possessive grip.
“I want my cock buried inside you too.”
Goosebumps race over my skin; my breath stalls in my throat. His words are a promise.
A threat. A fucking prayer.
Our eyes lock as he slowly enters me.
“Fuck, you take me so good,” he mutters, voice tight.
I grind against him, the pressure so intense it blurs the world.
Every roll of my hips makes him hiss through his teeth. His mouth finds mine again—messy, claiming, tongue sliding in deep and filthy—and it sets something off in me.
My moans turn frantic, fingers digging into his shoulders as I ride him harder, chasing every ounce of friction.
His thumb slips down and works my clit while his cock fills me, and I swear I could shatter from how good it is.
Each thrust has me unraveling, pleasure climbing fast and ruthless.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, head thrown back. “I’m… fuck… I’m coming—”
A deep growl tears from his throat as my pussy clenches around him, every pulse of pleasure dragging me further over the edge.
His cock jerks, and I swear I feel the tremor roll through his whole body, chest rising and falling hard against mine. His forehead presses to mine, skin damp, breaths ragged, like he just fell apart with me.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
My limbs are heavy, my thoughts slow, and all I can do is melt into him, head tipped against his, eyes fluttering closed with the tiny splutters of pleasure still hitting my body.
His arms wrap around me tighter, pulling me in until there’s nothing left but skin and breath and the steady thrum of our hearts. I catch his pulse against my ribs. The way his chest presses against mine.
His breath ghosts against my lips as he whispers my name.
His voice is quieter than before. He tilts his head, resting his forehead against mine again.
There’s restraint in him, a need to make sense of whatever this is, but instead, he threads his fingers through my hair and stares at me.
Zane Rivera.
All grit and chaos.
And right now? He’s holding me like I’m the only fucking thing keeping him steady.
My heart quickens as I take in every sharp line of his jaw, every flicker of emotion behind his eyes, riddled with a hunger that borders on pain.
His chest heaves, muscles tight, every part of him straining to stay still while he’s still buried deep inside me.
But he doesn’t move.
