Shatter Me

by Tori St. Claire

  Her words whispered through the silence. “I was young. I was nineteen, and he swept me off my feet. I was dying to escape my junkie folks, so I ran with him. Those first few months were good. Then he enlisted. When the abuse started, I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

  He couldn’t help but grimace.

  Reagan ran her hand up his back affectionately and then continued. “Then there was school. As long as I was married, I had tuition benefits. I told myself I could deal with the bad because it would pay off in the end. And then, there’s a period where you question maybe you’ve deserved the fists, maybe you’ve caused them.”

  “No,” he said, roughly.

  She pulled back and shook her head. “I’m past that now, Alex. But you asked why I stayed.”

  Reluctantly, he encouraged her with a nod. He wasn’t certain he wanted to hear the rest, but he’d asked, and he supposed, on some level, he needed to hear.

  With a huffed sigh, she blew the hair out of her face. “Then Drew was gone most of the time, and I had a new job. I thought maybe counseling might take us back to where we were once. But his noose kept tightening—cutting me off financially, cutting me off socially. I had my salary, but I had no home if I left. My paycheck went into a joint account and changing that would have made things worse. Up and running away wasn’t an option. I love my job. Love the kids here in Colton. So I was secretly saving to make that break. Which wasn’t easy, because he knew exactly how much I made, and I could only set back small amounts. Chance and Desi slipped me money when they could, much as my pride hated that. In the end, when Drew died, they co-signed on the house loan for me.”

  So they had helped her. A measure of relief he hadn’t anticipated flowed through him. Maybe they hadn’t intervened, but maybe there wasn’t an easy way to assist. Maybe anything they might have tried to do would have only made things worse for Reagan—particularly if their efforts failed.

  He studied her serene expression. She was so pretty, so heartbreakingly genuine as she stared into his eyes, unblinking. And he ached to touch her. To taste the sweetness of her kiss. To feel her soft skin brushing against his.

  He reached for her, sliding one arm around her waist. The other wrapped around her shoulders, enveloping her against his body. He smoothed a hand down her back, closed his eyes.

  And felt the damned scars against his fingertips through the light material of her T-shirt.

  Fuck.

  Grimacing at the pain he could never take from her, he refused the instinct to release her and leaned back to look into her eyes. I love you.

  Anguish twisted his mouth. His words came out broken and thick. “I want to touch you so badly, but I all I see is…”

  “My scars,” she finished for him.

  He nodded, hating the ugly truth of it all.

  She set a shaky palm against his cheek. “That’s all they are, Alex. Scars. Not open wounds. You have them, too.” Reaching between them, she clasped his hand and pressed it to her breast. “Love me. The way I love you.”

  Love him. A shudder gripped him so hard he fought to stay standing. He was shaking all over, never more desperate to touch a woman. Beneath his fingertips, Reagan’s flesh was warm and soft. He could feel her steady heartbeat. Feel the brush of her breath against his knuckles as she exhaled. Sheer instinct overruled all thought, and he gently kneaded his fingertips against her breast. “I would die before I hurt you,” he whispered hoarsely.

  She covered his hand with hers. “I know. I know it in my heart, in my soul.”

  He swallowed down the hard lump that lodged in the back of his throat, and licked his lips to moisten them. “I want to love you, Reagan, and I don’t ever want to stop.”

  One tear trickled down her cheek. “Then do. I’m right here, waiting.”

  Something inside him broke. Maybe the wall he’d erected. Maybe something deeper and more critical—he wasn’t certain. But he felt the rip and tear as surely as he felt the uptick of her heartbeat. He brought his fingers toward her face, holding his breath as he sought to brush away her tears, afraid she’d twist away.

  She didn’t. Instead, she turned her cheek into his hand and rubbed it against his palm. He cupped the side of her face and drew his thumb over her lips. She met the gentle caress with a soft kiss. Slowly, hesitantly, he bent his head, knowing the minute his lips touched hers there would be no turning back. But he needed the safe harbor that lay in her arms. Needed the absolution she offered.

  Her mouth dusted across his. Longing pulled through him like a thread drawn from the soles of his feet out through his chest. Heaven lurked in the sweet tangle of her tongue, and it called to him with a promise of salvation. He gave in, bringing his other hand up to frame her face between his palms.

  At the stroke of her tongue, another shudder racked him, this one more powerful than the last, as every remaining defense crumbled away. She had him. All of him. And he could no longer fight the yearning in his soul. He no longer had to. He dropped a hand to her waist, wound it around her, and drew her against his body. Contentment poured through his veins as her softness melded into him. This was right. So very right.

  Hunger stirred to life, the craving for all that she was and all she had to give. Along with the need to give everything he was. He skimmed his hands to her waist and tugged up the fitted T-shirt she wore. When it caught on her arms, he ended the kiss to look into her eyes. “Turn around.”

  Hesitation reflected in her blue eyes, uncertainty and apprehension. But she didn’t refuse like she had before. She dropped her gaze and reluctantly presented her back. Alex gently pulled her shirt off and dropped it at her feet.

  In the warm afternoon light, the scars across her upper back held a silvery sheen. The sight of them cut him to the quick all over again, and he drew in a deep, steadying breath. He couldn’t take them from her, couldn’t undo her suffering. He had to accept that. Had to accept them.

  “Alex,” Reagan protested uncomfortably. “Please, there’s no need. There are people—”

  She broke off on a sharp gasp as he covered one horseshoe mark with his mouth and shifted her ever so slightly beyond the line of sight from the window. He kissed her softly at first, testing his own comfort as much as hers with the brush of his lips. When a tremor raced through her body and she went pliant in his arms, he parted his lips and traced the raised flesh with the tip of his tongue.

  The ridges and bumps were like tiny pokers thrust into his heart. He closed his eyes, absorbing the pain, pushing through it as he moved from one mark to another, until it was no longer an intolerable ache, but a bittersweet pleasure. Tiny shudders made her tremble. The soft gasps that fell from her lips punctured his soul, filling him so full, his heart swelled to overflowing.

  God, what she’d gone through. Somehow, some way, he would make all that right. Replace every bit of her hurt with far more pleasant memories.

  He dropped his hands to the waistband of her shorts and slid them around, taking his lips off her skin only long enough to unfasten the denim and push it down her hips. It joined the shirt on the floor. Then he moved lower, tracing still more scars, lost to the sheer enjoyment of knowing her more intimately than he’d ever dreamed was possible. And it was intimate, this simple foreplay. So personal and penetrating that his eyes misted over.

  But he couldn’t stop the riptide of emotion, and before it could consume him completely, he banded an arm around her waist, bent her in against his body, and with a low groan dragged his chin up her spine to plant an openmouthed kiss at the base of her neck. Her bottom fit against his groin, awakening a deeper, more primitive hunger. Fully nude, her body heat soaked through his jeans. With one heavy thump of his heart, his cock filled to capacity.

  He arched his hips, pressing into the sensitive flesh beneath her buttocks, letting her know just how much he wanted her.

  Reagan answered with another soft gasp and a rock of her pelvis that stroked him so perfectly tiny sparks of light danced across the backs of his eyeli
ds. He lifted his head as he slid one hand up her belly to cup her breast. “God, Reagan, the things you do to me,” he rasped through his labored breathing.

  She leaned back against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Subtly, she canted her hips again, a side-to-side shimmy that only made him want to bend her over the couch and slam home again and again. Yet he fought the base urge, in need of something deeper, more meaningful.

  “Come upstairs?” she asked.

  “If we go now, we might make it there.” He dragged his teeth down the side of her throat. “Otherwise, it’s the couch again.”

  With a light giggle, she glided out of his arms and captured his hand. “No couch. The bed’s softer.” She rose on tiptoe and placed a lingering kiss full of promise on his lips. “And when we’re too exhausted to move, we don’t have to.”

  He was so on board with that plan. Taking over the lead, he led her up the stairs in double time.

  Inside her room, Reagan seated herself on the edge of the mattress and dipped her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. With quick, nimble fingers, she bared him completely. Then that delectable mouth wafted across his navel, bringing every nerve ending to life. His cock bobbed, nudging against her chin.

  “Someone’s antsy,” she murmured a heartbeat before she dipped the tip of her tongue into his belly button.

  “Um. Yeah.” He couldn’t find any other words, to his chagrin. The warmth of her breath, so devastatingly close to his erection, stripped him senseless.

  Reagan noticed his moment of dysfunction and laughed softly. “What’s the matter, Alex? Cat got your tongue?”

  He arched an eyebrow, searching for a retort, but before he could come up with anything, her tongue danced over the swollen head of his cock. Heat seared into his bloodstream, and he gripped her shoulders to keep his knees from buckling. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, the hint of a smile on her mouth.

  “How’s this?” she whispered before her lips closed around him.

  Alex’s eyes went wide at the pressure of her mouth. He tried to inhale and managed nothing but a sharp, short gasp through the enormous pleasure. On a groan, he slid one hand to the side of her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Fuck, that’s perfect,” he rasped.

  She took him deeper, swirling her tongue against his shaft as she glided along him. His body tensed, the urge to push farther, to feel her throat constricting as she swallowed him down, pounding at him. But he held back, giving her control. Later he’d indulge. Much later. Right now…

  Her teeth scraped against him, and Alex’s breathing became more labored. Climax rose steadily, each suck, each slide, bringing it closer to the surface. His cock pulsed against the back of her mouth. And Reagan opened a little wider, swallowing him down, drowning him in perfect pleasure. Against his will, his body moved, pushing deeper, pulling away only to sink once more. Her gaze lifted again, brilliant blue imprisoning him. The trust that glinted in those heavenly depths pushed him to the razor’s edge. Gasping hard, he pulled completely out of her mouth and wrapped a fist around his cock to tame his over-sensitized nerve endings.

  Reagan slid a delicate palm up his thigh. “You could have—”

  Not yet able to speak, Alex cut her off with an adamant shake of his head. He wanted every damn bit of her. He gestured at the bed with his free hand.

  Following his cue, Reagan lay back on the mattress. He took another moment to pull himself back from the precipice of ecstasy before kneeling between her spread knees and levering himself onto his hands. His gaze strayed down her body, drinking her in from her high and full breasts, to the narrow juncture of her hips, to the strawberry blond curls between her legs.

  Fuck. He was fooling himself—he might want to indulge in her all damn day, but there was no way his body would cooperate with that idea. The sight of his cock nestled against her feminine folds had him right back on the edge, release pounding at his senses. He dropped his head to her shoulder with a quiet grunt. “You have no idea how much I want to take my time. But I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen.”

  Reagan’s hands slid up his biceps, and she arched her back, guiding the tip of his cock inside her wet flesh. “I think I’d complain if you did.” She lifted higher, drawing him inside more fully. “Take me, Alex. Make love to me. Please.”

  When he pushed into her, they both groaned. He sought her mouth and kissed her as he sank deeper and deeper. Her inner walls contracted around him, gripping and squeezing, drawing him in farther until he was buried completely. And yet he needed more. He tore his mouth away. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

  Reagan obeyed, twisting beneath him, her movements as desperate as the need searing through his veins. The soft little whimpers that escaped her parted lips as they pushed against each other obliterated the shreds of control he clung to. He gave in to it, in to the passion she pulled from deep inside him, and allowed himself to become lost in her.

  Frenzied hands tangled, their mouths clashed and parted, only to seek each other yet again with another hard, frantic kiss. Each thrust wasn’t enough, and yet, somehow more fulfilling than the last. It was too much, too overwhelming, too…all consuming. He needed to slow down, to hang on just a moment longer.

  “Slower, baby,” he murmured.

  But he was already coming, spilling into her uncontrollably, and so was she, her body milking him dry with every mind-searing pulse of her flesh.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Alex, once again, woke before Reagan and cursed his internal clock. The sun had barely poked through the stars, and he couldn’t remember ever being so sated. All he wanted to do was curl up beside her, sleep in until noon, and repeat yesterday and last night all over again. Three times, he’d made love to her. Three times he’d sworn he couldn’t know greater pleasure, and yet, he’d found it with each release. He’d indulged like he’d wanted to, taking his time and loving her thoroughly, then waking for another desperate, hungry round. And finally, finally, when the emotion ebbed to a bearable level and need gave way to more playful indulgences, he’d rolled her onto her belly and taken her from behind, at last able to lick, bite, touch, and squeeze her glorious ass to his heart’s content.

  She’d let him, too. No ounce of hesitation, no trace of apprehension, clung to her when she knelt on all fours, caged beneath him as his body dominated hers. Trust flowed between them more tangible than the perspiration on their bodies. He’d made love to those scars with his mouth while he made love to the rest of her.

  Bathing in the memories, Alex lifted to one elbow and smoothed a hand down her bare spine. Spread out on her stomach beside him, she slept like an angel. And God, it was nice to wake up to her naked instead of covered in a damned T-shirt.

  The air-conditioner kicked on, filling the house with a quiet, soothing hum. In that moment, Alex noticed the silence in his head. The chaos was gone. The questions answered somewhere between her sweet, intoxicating kisses. No more Drew haunting his conscience, no more questioning Reagan’s actions. She was strong in ways he couldn’t fully fathom, and that strength only made him love her more. In some strange, unexplainable way, she’d shattered his world, only to sew it together more tightly than before. He was done fucking around. No more doubting himself. She’d offered him absolution, and it was time to take a leap of faith and make the commitment, wherever it led. If he’d read the affection in her eyes last night right, he had a firm suspicion it would lead to old age and wheelchairs. Maybe a couple of kids to look after them in their golden years.

  Heavy banging on the front door filtered through his awareness. Crap. He’d told her he’d made arrangements for her house…but he hadn’t quite confessed to everything. Their conversation took a drastically different course yesterday. And now there wasn’t time. He refused to wake her after keeping her up through the night.

  He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, over one of the silvery marks, and hurried out of bed. He suspected he’d pay for this later. But he chose to have fai
th she wouldn’t be unreasonable.

  God help him—he hoped he was right.

  As quietly as possible, he dressed and slipped out of her room, careful to shut the door behind him soundlessly. Then, as the first birds greeted the morning, he opened the front door to find Chance and Don standing on the broken porch.

  Chance eyed him warily. “You sure this is a good idea?”

  No, he wasn’t sure at all. But when Don had followed him out of the bakery, one thing led to another. In less than a half hour, plans were laid. Phone calls made. Alex couldn’t have stopped the momentum if he wanted to. Not that he did.

  “Sure,” he answered nonchalantly. “I told her I made arrangements for the house.”

  Chance quirked an eyebrow. “She didn’t hand you your balls?”

  Don chuckled.

  A wry grin took up residence on Alex’s mouth. “Nope. Still intact.”

  “Well, I’ve got the full crew. Where do you want us to start?” Don asked.

  …

  A loud thump yanked Reagan out of sleep. Muscles she didn’t even know she possessed protested as she tried to twist out of the tangle of covers. Her eyes felt like someone had tried to glue them shut and didn’t want to stay open, so she lolled back into the pillows, convinced she’d dreamed the noise.

  Until another loud thump had her eyes snapping wide again. This time, she tugged at the quilts until one corner pulled free. Finally able to toss them aside, she slung them back and slid out of the bed. What in the world was Alex doing outside, and after the night they’d had, how could he find the energy?

  Wearily, she trudged to the window and pushed aside the thin sheer to gaze down at her front porch. Instead of the half-standing roof, all she saw was two upright posts framing a pile of splintered wood and broken shingles. No Alex in sight. But two strange men filled two wheelbarrows with the debris. Wait—was that Jacob Nance and Mike Owens? What the hell?