Anything but Broken

by Joelle Knox

  He drags my tank top over my head. The straps tangle in my hair for a moment, and I don’t even care, because he’s already flipping the tiny plastic clasp of my bra. It’s smooth, but not too smooth, just shy of practiced.

  And his hands are trembling when they steal beneath the loosened cotton to cover my breasts.

  My breath catches, and I pull his hair, urging his head up so I can watch his face. “Sean?”

  He freezes, his palms a delectable pressure on my aching nipples. “Do you want me to stop?”

  It startles me, because I trust him so much I forgot to be nervous this time. “No. God, no. Don’t stop.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I feel silly now, because I don’t know how to admit the truth—that I worried something was wrong because his hands were shaking, when my whole body is shaking. But I’m used to the way he shreds my control and makes me feel.

  I still can’t believe I do the same thing to him.

  “It’s nothing,” I whisper, drawing my fingernails lightly down his neck and across his shoulder, to see if I can make him shiver. “I’m not afraid. I trust you.”

  He sucks in a sharp breath. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I make your hands shake.” I can’t stop the goofy smile that tugs at my lips. “I like it.”

  He moves his hands a fraction of an inch, enough to tease me with a sweet taste of friction. “How much?”

  I arch my back with a hiss, trying to push into his touch. “How much do you like it when you make me tremble?”

  “I don’t.” He buries his face in my neck, stubble and teeth and soft, soft lips. “I love it.”

  “Me too.” I tangle my legs with his and curl both fists in his shirt. “Take this off.”

  He leans up before he complies, kneeling above me as he strips the T-shirt over his head. And then he stays there, staring down at me. Heat fills my cheeks and spills down, but I don’t move my arms to cover myself.

  I’m not invisible anymore. When Sean looks at me, I feel it. And when he looks at me like this, with hunger and affection in his eyes, I feel something else.

  Wanted. Craved. Adored.

  Instead of stretching out over me again, he reaches for the button on my shorts. I lift my hips in silent approval, too turned on to feel even a flutter of nerves. He drags my shorts down my legs, leaving my panties in place, and tugs at my hands, bringing my shoulders off the bed as he closes my fingers around his belt.

  I don’t know how far he’s planning to go, or what will happen when we’re both in his bed with no pants and so much skin and his lingering adrenaline from the race and all of my pain. I don’t know if it’s smart to unbuckle his belt and drag it free of its loops one at a time.

  That doesn’t stop me. It doesn’t stop me from popping the button on his jeans, either, or tugging his zipper down as the backs of my fingers graze his erection through denim.

  His head falls back and his throat works, and I feel the raw truth of my own power. I can make him tremble. Can I make him moan?

  I slip my hand inside his pants, still over his boxers, but the thin fabric isn’t enough to hide his heat from me as I press my fingers against his erection. And he does moan, low and ragged, and now I wonder if I can make him beg.

  Before I can find out, his fingers cage my wrists, and he falls over me, pinning me to the bed. “Not yet,” he breathes.

  My breath whooshes out, and I can’t seem to get it back into my lungs. I like this side of him too much for someone who’s never managed to have sex. Maybe it’s like the fast cars and the lake—just enough of the thing I fear to get my blood pumping.

  I flex my fingers, but I don’t fight his grip. I don’t want to escape. “Are we being a little bad now?”

  “We’re way past that game now, sweetheart.”

  Yes, we are. Whatever game we’re playing now has higher stakes, with no end in sight—as long as I can run fast enough to keep ahead of the past.

  I shy away from that thought by leaning up to bite his lower lip. He nuzzles my cheek and whispers my name in response. Soft and sweet, and for one moment my chest aches as much as the rest of me.

  I can’t take the slow burn. I want to drown. “Please, Sean.”

  He hears it. He must, because in a heartbeat he’s on me again, my hands trapped at my sides as he skips his mouth from my cheek to my collarbone—and then lower. I squirm as he kisses the swell of my breast, his mouth open and hot.

  I need more, and he gives it to me, licking a gentle circle around my nipple.

  “Oh—” It’s all I can manage. No words, only breathless sounds, because it feels that good. My hips lift all on their own, restless and searching. Sean presses one hard thigh between mine, and the next rock of my hips is so perfect I can only moan.

  He echoes the noise, though it’s muffled as he closes his lips around my nipple and sucks.

  Pleasure floods me, sharp and hot, and I try to reach for his head before the steely lock of his fingers around my wrists reminds me. He wants me to feel right now.

  And I do, so much. More than I know how to process, but that doesn’t matter when I can grind against his leg and chase relief. It’s instinct, something my body just knows, and it feels more right than anything else ever has.

  He lingers over my breasts, licking and sucking until they’re wet and swollen, and I’m dizzy from wanting. Then he releases my hands and shifts lower, tracing an equally hot path down my stomach to my navel.

  Past my navel.

  Oh God.

  I know what’s about to happen. Anyone with an internet connection knows what’s about to happen. But knowing doesn’t mean I’m ready for the way my heart hammers into my throat and my entire body tenses.

  I dig my teeth into my lower lip, because I can’t say anything. If I speak, he’ll hear how nervous I am, and he’ll stop.

  I don’t want him to stop.

  He lingers at my hip, his lips parted on my skin, and looks up at me as his fingers slide beneath my panties.

  One word, that’s all I have to manage. Confirmation, permission. I have to own wanting this, even if the thought makes my cheeks burn. “Yes.”

  But Sean doesn’t take that as permission. At least, not permission to get me naked. His fingers drift lower, beneath the sheer cotton, and then he’s touching me. Slow, gentle, as hot as it was last time, but not more than last time.

  God, I’m stupid. I don’t have to speak for Sean to know that I’m nervous. And when has he ever given me anything I wasn’t ready for? Begging for?

  Shivering, I let my knees fall apart and lift my hips into his touch. His fingertips graze my clit, soft and slick, driving a cry from my throat. I grab at his head with one hand, gripping the short strands as best as I can. “Sean—”

  “Say it,” he whispers, his breath hot on my skin.

  I can’t. For a few seconds, I literally can’t. My tongue trips over the first word, and I whimper and tug at his hair. But he stays stubbornly in place, taunting me with featherlight touches, and embarrassment is pulling me in one direction while need pulls in the other.

  The tension snaps—not with an orgasm, Christ, I wish—but the need for relief, for more of him. The words spill out on a wave of frustration as I squeeze my eyes shut. “Oh my God, just go down on me. Please.”

  He drags my panties down and then pushes my legs wide again as he settles his shoulders between them. “Beautiful.” The word leaves him on a hoarse sigh that sounds more like a prayer.

  Then his mouth is on me—no searching or hesitation—and I think my heart stops beating.

  I have to open my eyes then, but the sight of him is even worse. His strong shoulders pushing my thighs apart, his dark head bent over me, until he glances up and his gaze clashes with mine just as his tongue drags across my clit.

  I stop breathing, too.

  It’s okay, I don’t need oxygen. I don’t need anything but him, and I sprawl back on his pillow with a moan that I ho
pe encourages him to keep going.

  It’s slow, leisurely, like he’d be happy to spend every single minute we have left right where he is. Licking me. Exploring me.

  Destroying me.

  It’s only when I’m squirming and digging my fingers into his scalp that he gives me more than his tongue. One finger, and then another, because I’m so turned on it doesn’t ache this time. Hell, it ached more without them. I was empty and needy, and now I’m…

  God, even the word is dirty. And I’ll have to add it to the words I can never think again without blushing.

  Full.

  “Sean—” I’m close to the edge, to flying apart. “I need more. I need—”

  “I know.” He thrusts his fingers harder, twisting them inside me, and sucks my clit into his mouth.

  I don’t fall apart. I shatter, coming with a hoarse cry as pleasure floods every dark, empty space inside me. It’s the sweetest, purest thing, so intense I can’t think until the first wave recedes. But Sean doesn’t stop. Instead, he guides me through it, backing off just enough to almost let me catch my breath.

  Almost.

  His fingers shift inside me. Curl. And if I felt full before, the pressure only intensifies as he abandons his quick thrusts for something slower. An exploration, and more. He’s working deeper, patient as my body adjusts to accommodate everything he’s giving me, until two fingers isn’t too much, but barely enough.

  “Good?” He’s panting, his voice a low rasp. This is making him as crazy as it’s making me, and suddenly I don’t know if I want to stop at all.

  It’s scary as hell. I know too many ways sex can go bad, too many ways it can wreck you, but I can’t remember a single damn one. And if I don’t offer, he might pull back, and I don’t want to lose this connection. Not tonight.

  “It’s good,” I whisper, voice shaking. “We could—we could do more.”

  His eyes lock with mine. For an endless moment, he just stares at me, desire and conflict flashing across his face.

  Finally, he groans. “I want to, Hannah. More than anything else. But not—not tonight.”

  Maybe I should be humiliated, but what floods me instead is gratitude. I’m worse than not ready. I’m scared, grasping for anything that makes me feel less alone, and I don’t want to regret Sean in the morning.

  Besides, he’s not going to leave me alone. Even if I don’t fuck him.

  “Come here,” I beg, tugging at his arm to try to urge him up.

  He covers me, his hard, hot body blocking out everything else. “Do you understand?”

  I slide both arms around him and lean up to kiss him. Quick and hard, and then I press my forehead to his. “Thank you.”

  When he rolls to his side and gathers me against him, it feels like more than comfort. It feels like a promise, one he confirms with a single soft word. “Soon.”

  16

  »» sean ««

  Hannah wakes me up with a hand in my boxers.

  At first, it weaves right into my dreams, that soft touch sliding past my hipbone. Then I feel her lips on my ear, and the sharp rush of sensation drags me from sleep.

  It takes me a second to find my voice. “Morning.”

  “Hi.” Her breath is warm. So are her lips, ghosting along my jaw. “I want to touch you.”

  Her voice is sleepy and sweet, and I want to fall into it. “You are.”

  She laughs, one fingertip tracing as close to my aching dick as she can get without touching it. “I want to get you off.”

  Oh, Jesus. If she breathes a little harder on my neck, she’ll get her wish. “Got any ideas, or are you taking suggestions?”

  Her hand vanishes from my boxers. She sits up and swings one leg over so that she’s straddling me, rumpled and breathtaking in nothing but her panties and one of my T-shirts. “I have ideas, but I’ll consider requests.”

  “Good.” I rub my knuckles over the hard peak of her nipple, visible through the thin cotton. “I request that you leave this on.”

  She sucks in a breath, her eyelids drooping as she catches my wrist and guides it back to the bed. “I’ll keep the shirt on, but you don’t get to distract me this time.”

  “I can’t agree to those terms.”

  Hannah grabs my other wrist, pinning both to the bed as she leans forward, until her lips are hovering over my nipple. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yeah.” To drive the point home, I arch against her. “I like it when you’re distracted.”

  “Sean.” I like that, too—the way she says my name when she’s flustered and exasperated and turned on, like she’s breathless and scandalized and loving every second of it. Her tongue darts out, swiping wet and hot over my skin, and I don’t just like that.

  She does it again. Then I feel the scrape of her teeth, and it’s not a conscious decision to thrust up against her anymore. It’s instinct, desire. A rush that makes my head spin.

  The next stroke of her tongue is lower. She kisses her way across my abs and then she’s working her way down, and I hold my breath as I slide my fingers into her hair, because a single word might shatter this moment.

  She peeks up at me when she reaches my boxers and runs a finger along the waistband. Her voice is husky. “Say it.”

  It takes me a second to make the connection, to realize she’s echoing my words from last night. Did it feel like this when I said it? Did it spark the same mix of tension and anticipation?

  I was wrong. Words could never break this spell, just weave it tighter.

  But I reply lazily, drawling the words because I know she’ll love it. “Say what? That I want you to suck my dick?”

  Her breathing hitches, but she hooks her fingers under the edge of my boxers and inches them down. “I thought about this last night, while we were still at the garage. But Gibb was there.”

  He definitely wouldn’t have appreciated walking in on that. “Now who’s being bad?”

  Hannah’s smile is wicked. “You won a big race,” she murmurs, and she’s so close her breath is warm and teasing on my skin. She frees my dick from my boxers and wraps her fingers around the shaft. “I wanted to give you a big reward.”

  “Yeah?” I can barely hold my hips still—but this moment isn’t mine. It’s hers.

  And she takes it. Her lips are so soft, a light brush across the head. Before I can do more than breathe her name, her tongue follows, slow and hot.

  My hands are shaking. Her hair slips through my fingers like silk, skimming my thighs as she explores me with growing confidence, and I’m lost. Not just to the sensation, to the pleasure of a woman’s tongue on my cock, but to the fact that this is Hannah.

  And when she’s licked me from the crown to where her hand wraps around the base, she takes me into the searing heat of her mouth. I’ve never been this hard before, and even clenching my teeth doesn’t stop a groan from slipping free.

  That only encourages her. She moans in response, her mouth vibrating around me, and tries to take more. She’s clumsy, but she’s eager, so into it that it doesn’t matter that this just might be her first blowjob. In fact, the thought drives my hips up, beyond my control, and she makes a startled noise as I thrust into her mouth.

  But she doesn’t pull away. Her hand tightens around my shaft, squeezing hard for the span of a heartbeat, and my pulse throbs in my ears. Everything throbs, because she goes deeper, like she’s determined to recapture the helpless feeling of having me drive between her lips.

  Fuck. Fuck. My head swims, and I can’t stop myself from pulling her hair, from hissing out a sharp breath when she sucks harder. The throbbing centers at the base of my spine, and I hold my breath. My whole body is tense, rigid—and then she moans again, and the tension explodes. I come hard, release pumping through me in rhythmic waves of relief and pleasure.

  Hannah crawls back up the bed and rests her head on my shoulder as I catch my breath. “Good morning.”

  “No kidding.” My heart is pounding, and I can’t wipe the stupid grin off my f
ace.

  I feel her lips curve before she leans up to kiss my cheek. “You make me feel brave, Sean.”

  What she should feel is hungry. I promised her steak last night, and what she got were sandwiches in the dark kitchen at 3 a.m. “You want some breakfast?”

  “Maybe something light. We’re going to Sadie’s for brunch, right?”

  “If you’re up for it.” Last time, my brothers embarrassed the shit out of both of us. Maybe Gibb will show up this time and take some of the heat instead.

  “I’d like to.” Her fingertip traces slow circles across my chest. “As long as you want me there.”

  I always want you. It’s the wrong thing to say, to even think. I roll into a sitting position and put my feet solidly on the floor. “We’d better think about a shower, too. Then we can run by Evie’s so you can change.”

  She turns pink as she sits up and tugs at the hem of my shirt. “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t show up in this. I want your mother to like me.”

  “She likes you fine.” I can’t resist teasing a lock of her hair over her cheek. “She’ll even like you if you show up in last night’s clothes.”

  Hannah leans into my hand, her eyelids drifting shut. “You better get in the shower soon, before I forget about brunch and decide to stay in your shirt. And in your bed.”

  “Shower’s big enough for two people. If they’re real friendly.”

  Her laugh is startled—and a little scandalized. “Oh God, we’re really going to be late, aren’t we?”

  “That depends,” I tell her solemnly. “On how fast you can...wash your hair.”

  As if to answer, she slides out of the bed—and slips out of my shirt. She stands there for a moment in just her cute little panties and her tousled hair.

  Then she grins and backs toward the door. “Guess you’ll find out.”

  Hell yeah, I will.

  »» hannah ««

  Sadie doesn’t utter any empty, insincere platitudes about my mother. When she pulls me into a hug, I feel the warmth and the caring. When she leads me into the kitchen and puts a cutting board in front of me and a knife in my hand, I feel something else.