Page 42 of Break Me

“Let me,” she whispers as she reaches down and unbuckles my belt. She pops the button and draws the zipper down. The heat of her hands against my hips damn near unravels me.

I lift just enough for her to slide the denim down my legs. It’s messy and awkward and real. Me half-bracing on one arm, her tugging them past my knees, both of us breathless.

The jeans hit the floor with a soft thud.

I shove my boxers down with one sharp motion, kicking them aside. The moment I’m bare, her gaze drags over me.

Her hands slide up my back, fingertips tracing the lines of muscle, the edge of ink, the curve of my shoulder blade.

I kiss my way down her neck, then along the delicate ridge of her collarbone. When I reach her breast, I slow, brushing my lips across her skin in a soft sweep that has her fingers tightening slightly in the sheets.

Then I take her into my mouth—slow, warm, deliberate. A trembling sigh escapes her as my tongue traces her tight nipple in lazy circles. She grips my shoulder for balance, her nails catching lightly against my skin, the smallest tremor running through her.

My hand moves down the curve of her waist, slipping beneath the thin fabric between us until my fingers find the heat waiting there. She inhales sharply, her thighs tensing, then easing open around me as I stroke her. My touch is unhurried and steady as I coax her body into a rhythm that pulls soft, breathy sounds from her lips.

Her hips shift, guiding herself closer to my touch. “I need you,” she says.

My hand slides lower, fisting myself. Needing her to see what she does to me. How close I am to breaking.

Her gaze dips, drinking in the way our bodies line up. The low, wanting sound she makes nearly undoes me. Slowly, deliberately, I drag the tip through her wetness. She shudders, pulling me closer with a need that borders on desperation.

“You sure?”

Her hand slips between us, covering mine, guiding me exactly where she wants me.

“I’m sure.”

The words undo me, and I press forward just enough to feel her open around the head of my cock.

“Look at me,” I say.

She does.

Wide-eyed. Trusting. Braver than she realizes.

The moment her gaze meets mine, the last of my restraint snaps. I push into her, driven by the feel of her beneath me and the way she opens for me without hesitation. Every inch pulls me deeper, the connection between us so fierce it steals the air from my lungs.

Her lips part on a broken inhale as her fingers lock around the back of my neck. The sound that rips out of me is raw and helpless, because she feels the same as she always does—tight, hot, welcoming, like she was built around every bad decision I’ve ever made.

She lifts her hips to meet me, urging me to take her deeper.

“Raven,” I say, half warning, half worship, all hunger.

I pull back and surge forward again, harder this time. Her thighs tighten around my hips, locking me in place, dragging me deeper with a need that matches my own. Every thrust sends a bolt of fire through my ribs, a burning reminder of Knox’s fists, but I don’t slow.

Pain is secondary. Nothing more than background noise that I can deal with later.

Right now, Raven’s beneath me, meeting me stroke for stroke, like she’s starving for me.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” I grit out, voice scraping low.

“You feel so good.” Her voice breaks into a breathless moan.

I brace harder on my good side, ignoring the sharp stab that bites through my ribs. She’s worth every second of pain. Worth every bruise and every reckless choice that brought us here.

Because the way she responds to me feels too damn good. Like everything I never thought I’d have. Everything I don’t deserve.

“Sam—”