Anything but Broken

by Joelle Knox

  He takes the wrench from my hand and shifts his focus back to the work at hand. “Maybe I’m starting to feel like I’ve got my shit together.”

  “You’ve always had it together on the track.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not enough, is it?”

  It can be. He wouldn’t be the first guy to channel his frustrations into a race, to drive like he was trying to outrun everything outside that oval ring. “I think you can do it. Take the season.”

  “Right now, I’m more focused on you doing it.” Gibb quirks an eyebrow at me. “Not distracted, are you?”

  Hannah isn’t a distraction. If anything, our relationship makes me want to end the season on a high note, so then I can get on with learning all the things I don’t know about her yet.

  I doubt Gibb would be impressed by the sentiment. So I throw the dirty rag at his head and mirror his expression. “Someday, some chick is gonna get under your skin, and then you’ll have to shut your face.”

  “Keep dreaming, Whitlow.” He waves the wrench. “Let’s get this done, or we’ll be here all night.”

  Across town, Hannah’s busy settling in at Evie’s. We haven’t made plans, but part of me knows that she’s waiting for me. “Nah, let’s knock off. Tomorrow?”

  Gibb doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to. His grin as he slaps me on the shoulder says it all. “Bright and early, boss.”

  18

  »» hannah ««

  An afternoon trip to Target and an evening of unpacking are all it takes to turn the second bedroom in Evie’s house into my bedroom. The first quilt I ever made is laid out across the bed, scraps of purple and blue weaving together in random patterns.

  I was clumsier, then, not as good at seeing the potential of a piece and how it could fit into the greater design. But my grandmother helped me with this one, guiding me as best she could with illness sapping her strength. I finished it on my own, in my first dorm room, drowning out the agony of loss with tiny, careful stitches.

  It’s pain and hope. The memory of loss, but the memory of love, too.

  I’m unpacking toiletries onto my desk when the doorbell rings. Evie’s out with Sawyer for the evening, but that’s not why I hurry to answer.

  No, I hurry for the moment when I open the door and Sean’s standing there, his hair still damp from a shower, and my heart leaps into my throat at the joy of seeing him. “I wasn’t sure you’d have time to come over tonight.”

  “And miss your housewarming?” He pulls a small pot from behind his back. In it is a tiny cactus, with pale green lobes and delicate spines.

  It’s adorable. Even better, it’s hardy. My apathy toward gardening probably won’t kill it. I take the pot from him and step back. “I love it.”

  He steps across the threshold and brushes a kiss to my temple. “How’d it go today?”

  “Good.” I nudge the door shut with my foot and set the cactus next to the bowl holding our keys before leading him toward my room. “Gibb was really helpful. I tried to thank him, but he kept shrugging it off.”

  “He’s not big on that stuff. Doesn’t know how to handle it, you know?”

  It makes me sad, so I resolve to figure out a way to pay Gibb back without making him feel paid off—later.

  Because right now, Sean is sliding his arm around my waist and tugging me back against his chest. “Is Evie around?” His lips are so close to my ear that his breath tickles.

  Sweet warmth sneaks through my body, turning into giddy anticipation as I lean back into him. “She’s out.”

  “Yeah?”

  I settle my hand over his, tracing his knuckles and his strong wrist. “We probably have a few hours before she comes home.”

  “Mmm.” He’s already nuzzled past my hair, and his open mouth touches my earlobe.

  “Sean?” My voice wavers, but the fear that has gripped me for so long feels as insubstantial as mist. I’m full of hunger now, and I’ve been waiting forever to feel like this. Alive. Excited. Normal. “Do you want to see my room?”

  He wraps his hand around mine and takes a step down the hallway, pulling me with him. His eyes have gone dark, the way they do when he’s turned on. “Show me.”

  I thought my bright new future started the moment we left Atlanta in the rearview mirror, but I was wrong. My new life starts now, the second I follow Sean Whitlow across the threshold of my bedroom.

  I’m going to have sex tonight. Only that’s not quite right—the old Hannah would have had sex or made love.

  Tonight, I’m going to fuck Sean Whitlow.

  His hand sneaks under the hem of my tank top, the backs of his fingers rubbing my stomach just above my shorts. I shiver and reach for him, curl my fingers in his shirt. But I don’t pull it off. Not yet.

  I have to say this now, before we’re hot and desperate, so he knows I mean it. And I have to say it while looking up into those gorgeous, dangerous eyes, so he knows I’m ready. “I bought condoms.”

  His expression doesn’t change. He’s still staring down at me, but the lust in his eyes softens. “Are you sure?”

  “I bought condoms,” I repeat, tugging his shirt up. “I wasn’t taking any chances you wouldn’t have one. I’m sure.”

  As I strip his shirt away, he’s already reaching for mine. The moment both our shirts hit the floor, his mouth is on mine, open and seeking. I moan at the first touch of his tongue, sinking my fingers into his hair.

  I’m still half-expecting nerves to intrude. But the hot press of his skin against mine is familiar now, just like the lust it sparks in me. I can’t believe I ever felt cold. My heart pounds and my hands tremble, but I clutch at his head and open for him, let him kiss me deep and hard until the room swims around us and I have to cling to him to keep from melting through the floor.

  “Shoes,” he murmurs against my lips. He’s kicking his off without breaking the kiss, and then he’s bearing me down to the bed, laying me out on my quilt, the one I pieced together with my own hands.

  My hands are busy with him now. Sliding up his arms, pressing into the strong line of his shoulders. Digging in when his teeth scrape the spot just above my collarbone, followed by the soothing, maddening heat of his tongue.

  I smooth my fingertips down his back and over the denim covering his ass. The gentle pressure of his hips is dizzying, but I ease my legs apart to make room for him. He settles in the cradle of my hips like he belongs there, and I arch up, groaning at the pressure even with so many layers of fabric still separating us.

  His fingers play at the top edge of my bra, nudging the thin cotton. It takes forever for him to work it down, and his short fingernails graze my nipple a split second before he bares me to his touch.

  Slow and gentle. He’s warming me up. By the time he steers me across the finish line, I’ll be begging for it. I’m already panting, shaking in anticipation of his mouth on my breast. Instead, he rolls his thumb around the tight peak, and I moan his name.

  “I’ve been dreaming about this,” he tells me, the words muffled because he refuses to lift his mouth from the spot just beneath my collarbone.

  They race through me like electricity. I’ve been in Sean’s dreams. He’s closed his eyes and imagined this.

  Imagined me.

  My hand shakes as I drag my fingers up his spine and sink them into his hair. The short ends tickle my palm, and even that raises goose bumps. I’m the most alive I’ve ever been, and all I want is more. “What did you dream?”

  “This.” The light touch of his thumb on my nipple turns firm, flicking once before his whole hand covers me, squeezes. He bends his head, and the rough caress is overtaken by wet heat.

  His tongue, slow and rasping. I hold the back of his head as the pleasure of it pulses between my legs, where his cock is a hard pressure I can’t stop myself from rocking up, seeking.

  He stays there forever—licking, sucking my nipple into his mouth—and when he moves, it’s only to lavish the same attention on my other breast.

  At t
his rate, I’m going to implode before we get our pants off.

  I touch every part of him I can reach. Strong shoulders, flexing arms, the dip at the small of his back. When that doesn’t hurry him, I try my nails, scraping them lightly over his skin. He draws in a quick, unsteady breath, his hips flexing against mine as he tenses over me.

  Thrilled with the response, I do it again. Harder.

  Growling my name, he leans back on his knees—and reaches for the button on my shorts. Finally. I rush to help him, shoving at the fabric and lifting my hips to make it easier for him to strip my shorts away. But his fingers catch my underwear, too, and then I’m naked with Sean kneeling between my legs, his chest heaving as he stares at me.

  Too far away. I go for his jeans, fumbling with the fly, because if I can just get him out of them, maybe I can get him into me. “The condoms are on the desk.”

  He seizes my wrists and guides them to the bed above my head, stretching out over me as he moves. Heat and rough denim tease my skin, but none of it is as mesmerizing as his face so close to mine, his eyes blazing.

  He pins my wrists in place with one hand, braces his elbow and one knee beside me so that his weight shifts off my body, baring me to his sight—and touch. “Not yet,” he whispers. His fingers skim my shoulder, my ribs. The inside of my thigh.

  I stare up into those beautiful eyes. I’m safe with him, like when we’re in his car, the wind whipping through my hair as he takes control so I can be free.

  I lift my hips in a silent plea, but his fingers linger just shy of where I need them, and I can’t stop my moan. He knows what the anticipation is doing to me. He knows a lot of things, and I am going to learn every damn one and use them myself. Next time. “You are too hot for your own good.”

  “Shh.” His hand slides up, and I can’t breathe. My lungs burn as he strokes me—softly at first, then with slow, firm circles of his fingertips. I burn, and the frantic noises I’m making only seem to encourage him.

  We’ve been here before. The work-roughened pads of his fingers on my clit, his big body pinning me down, pleasure rushing toward me. But it’s not the same, because my trembling isn’t the end this time.

  He’s getting me ready to fly.

  “Relax.” He kisses me, his tongue tracing the same pattern and rhythm on my lips as his fingers, a filthy, maddening echo that twists the tension gripping me even tighter.

  “I can’t—” The word breaks on another moan, and I dig my heels into the bed and press up as my need develops an edge sharp enough to cut. “Oh God, Sean—”

  “I know.” The smooth circles slow, stop, and I’m ready to scream in frustration—until his fingers slip lower and thrust inside me.

  I don’t know how many there are. Enough to feel big, enough to feel full, and that’s what I needed. I kiss him again, clumsy with desperation, as he pumps his fingers in and out, working deeper with every stroke.

  Not enough to get me off. Just enough to make me shake and squirm, and I dig my teeth into his lower lip. He bites me back with a low groan and twists his fingers inside me, not only thrusting now but caressing, searching. “Come on—”

  I don’t understand what he’s waiting for until he finds some spot that sends a jolt through me. Not sweet, hot pleasure like his fingers on my clit, but something bigger and darker, something that jerks my hips up into his hand. “Oh, oh God.”

  Another groan, muffled this time as he slants his mouth over mine. He doesn’t kiss me—he devours me, the first hints of his shaking control breaking through in his desperation.

  His teeth scrape my lips. His tongue clashes with mine. My body tightens around his fingers as the heel of his hand presses down, the slow-burn pressure on my clit somehow so much more intense than those taunting circles. They whipped me up hard and fast, but this is like watching a wave grow higher and higher as it rolls toward the shore.

  When it crashes over me, I scream against his mouth. Fire burns through me, leaving me shaking. I’m coming so hard my fingernails dig into my palms, and I’m glad he still has my wrists pinned. It’s almost too much pleasure to bear, and if my hands were free, I’d be digging those nails into him, scratching him up as I tried to escape it.

  Foolish. There’s no escaping Sean.

  He’s still trembling, the arm beside my head rigid as he buries his face in the hollow of my throat. “Fuck.”

  “Sean.” Lifting my hips only sets off the flutters again, and I whimper and force myself to be still. “Please. I’m ready. I want you.”

  He pulls away. This time, he climbs off the bed, but only long enough to snag the glossy box of condoms from my desk and strip off the rest of his clothes. He stands there, naked, and I stare until he silently offers me one of the condoms.

  I’ve never done this before, but I know how, because that’s who I’ve always been. The girl who reads the directions on the back of the condom box before she buys them, the one who didn’t go shopping until she’d researched brands. My whole life has been wasted coloring carefully, meticulously within the lines, never breaking free without at least three drinks.

  I’m stone-cold sober now, and I’ve left all the lines behind. My hands don’t even shake as I rise to my knees and tear open the packet. Sean’s erection seems bigger now that I’m moments from taking it into my body, but I still take my time smoothing the condom down, because I like the sounds he makes when I have my fingers on his dick.

  He combs his fingers through my damp, tangled hair while I linger. There’s nothing polished about this moment. It’s raw, a little rough. The most honestly real thing I’ve ever known.

  I catch his other hand and lean back, bringing him with me. “Show me what to do.”

  Sean climbs over me and settles into the cradle of my hips again. He’s gentle, so, so careful, but my heart is still pounding and maybe it would be easier if he was already in me, the point of no return skidding out of sight behind us.

  But that’s not him. Not with me.

  Breathing unsteadily, I lift my hands to frame his face. “I trust you.”

  He nods and catches his breath again when he braces his arms on either side of me and moves. The blunt head of his erection nudges me with an insistent pressure that no amount of restraint can contain forever. Soon, he’ll be—

  He flexes his hips, and I close my eyes, not wanting him to see the sting of discomfort as he slides into me. It’s not bad at first, because I’m so slick from his fingers, but when he rocks deeper, I have to dig my teeth into my lower lip.

  I’m afraid he might stop, but somehow he knows, and he presses on. Deeper, faster, until the pressure blossoms almost to the point of pain.

  And then he’s in me, all the way, so deep and so big. I drag in a shaky breath and open my eyes, but I’m not prepared for the way he’s watching me—intently, intensely, as if the only thing that matters right now is how he makes me feel.

  My hands are still on his face. I touch my thumb to his lips and slowly ease one leg up over his hip. Even that subtle shift sets off friction as he moves inside me. “Sean.”

  Every panting breath skates over my lips. “Okay?”

  “Yes.” I wrap my arms around him and press my forehead to his. “I’m perfect. This is perfect.”

  He raises himself over me, his hands clenching in the pillow beneath my head. I can see the tension in his shaking arms, feel it in the hard muscles beneath my fingers. He needs to let go, to thrust fast and hard and to lose himself in my body.

  Instead, he rocks. Slow and gentle, the careful grind building pressure into warmth. The discomfort has already faded, and now heat is taking its place. I slide my legs higher up his body, and the sharper angle only makes it better.

  I’m melting into this, into him, and I want more. “It’s okay,” I whisper, urging him with my hands to move. “I need this. I’m so ready, Sean.”

  But it’s just like before, when I tried to hurry him out of his jeans. He grips my wrists, pins them above my head, and keeps up the sa
me rocking rhythm.

  I twist my wrists, my breath coming faster. “I think you’re a little evil.”

  “No,” he denies softly. “Determined.”

  Determined to stay in control. Determined to make this good for me, as if it could be anything else. Sean Whitlow is fucking me, and I’m five seconds from begging him to do it faster.

  I don’t have to. One sharp thrust leaves me moaning his name, and then he’s driving into me. And I’m suddenly glad that he took the time to make me hot and desperate and needy, because it’s rough and fast and so, so good.

  No pain, just tension building into fiery anticipation, and first times aren’t supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to be digging my heels into his back, trying to get him deeper. I’m not supposed to be crying out when he changes the angle of his thrusts and finds that spot again, the one that builds a different pressure, a deep, wild hunger.

  But it doesn’t shatter. I want it to, want it so much I’m begging in broken gasps. And maybe it’s too much to hope for, that he can rock my world like this the first time. I tighten my legs, sure that at any moment the pleasure will overtake him and he’ll give in.

  “One more time,” he murmurs, and that was my mistake. Thinking Sean would ever quit before he’d driven me across the finish line.

  Our skin is slick, hot. Our hoarse breathing fills the room. Sean sinks into me, rubbing every spot that feels so good, but this time he lingers. His hips grind against mine, and I jerk in his grasp, so close it hurts to think of losing that chance at bliss. “Right there, right there, please—”

  He gives it to me, just what I need, how I need it, and I fly.

  It’s the sweetest pleasure, starting deep inside me, spiraling out as he groans and starts fucking me again. That’s the only word left for the way we’re coming together, the slap of flesh, the grasping hands, my shuddering body and our moans. His face drops to my shoulder and he bites me, sharp and demanding, as he begins to shudder, too.

  Two more thrusts, three, and then he freezes above me, his shoulders and spine rigid except for his shaking, a tremor matched by his voice as he groans my name.