Broken (The Addictive Trilogy Book 2)

by Ashley Love

  I swallow hard as he sits back on his knees, his eyes scanning over me spread out before him, and he slowly leans back over me again, his thick length trapped between his stomach and the slickness between my legs. I gasp when I feel him against me and he grunts low in his chest when I rock my hips a little involuntarily, the head of him pressing against my clit, pulsing with want. It's too much. Fuck, it's too much; all of this at once. I am not ready for this. I wonder if he can see the fear in my eyes.

  My head falls to the side and frantic heavy breaths escape my open mouth as he drops his weight onto his elbows, pressing harder against me still, one hand sliding between our bodies to slowly massage my naked breast as his lips play across my collarbone. "Shit, Leala...I wanna fuck you so bad." And I feel him, I feel him arch his lower back and slide down, positioning himself against me, the silken head of him against my wetness where it aches—Goddamn—it aches for him. But my mind is frantic, crying out, stop, stop, stop! And I panic.

  "Lex." The urgency in my voice stills all movement of his body. He pushes up on his hands, sliding back up against me. I look down to see him resting against my belly now, hard and ready, trapped between our bodies.

  "What?" he asks impatiently after I'm silent for a minute, just staring. Shit, why am I doing this? There should be no questions, just do it. It's Lex...it's sex.

  But right now it's so much more.

  "Do you have a condom?" It's the first and only time I've ever asked him that. He shifts a little on top of me and finally shakes his head.

  "C'mon. We've never used one before." He kisses my neck gently, nuzzling my jaw with his nose. I almost cringe at the truth as it falls from his mouth.

  "I know...I just want to be safe, you know? I don't wanna do it unless you have one."

  He sighs a little. "Are you serious? You know I don't have anything. I'm only ever with you." He runs a hand down my face, and his voice is gruff, raspy with sexual frustration and he's looking down at me so hungrily. He touches his nose to mine, nuzzling it softly, smoothing a hand over my hair as he lightly kisses down my cheek to my ear, his breath tickling against my skin as his voice coaxes me. "Leala...let's just do it, baby."

  Before I can say another word he takes my inability to speak as a lack of protest more than a tongue-paralyzing insecurity, and he's sliding back down my body a little, his length dragging against my clit until he's aligned with me again, pushing at my entrance.

  I choke on my breath, grabbing at his back as he suddenly plunges inside of me. One hand clutches his lower back, my thighs squeezing his hips, holding him inside of me, and my head falls back as he fills me up completely, reaching and stretching and pleasuring parts of me that I'm sure no one else could even fathom. I was supposed to give him up, just like the drugs, but here I am falling right back into it. Relapse.

  As my body takes over my conscious, it's just like I remember but I never thought it could be this good without the drugs, him touching me everywhere inside, satisfying my every need. His head hangs heavy as he dips in and out of me slowly but with great force, our bodies slapping together, the sound of skin on skin mixing with his groans and our heavy breathing.

  Our faces twist in pleasure and pain as we...I can't even say fuck because that's not what this is. It isn't fucking. To me, this is so much more than fucking. It's more than sex, it's about the two of us being together and wanting each other, needing each other, as lame as that sounds. We both need this. On some level it's a wordless reminder that I'm still his and he's still mine, just like it's always been.

  "Lex," I sigh his name as he pushes into me over and over, his mouth open, eyes shut tight as our bodies rock roughly against each other.

  "You like that dick? Did you miss this shit?" He opens his eyes and looks down at me with a smirk. His brow is furrowed and his teeth is clenched, eyes hard and almost cruel as his hips speed. His hands leave the seat where they were pressed in next to my shoulders to grasp my hips roughly.

  I hiss and whimper as his thrusts become more relentless, grabbing at his biceps and shoulders, trying to pull his body down over mine to hold on to because I want him close to me. I don't like this...this rough, detached sex, just trying to get off. It used to be enough, it really did. I'd settle for a few rough minutes and an orgasm as long as we got high when it was over, but this...

  Now this just sucks. Now we're fucking. And that's not enough.

  "Calm down, Lex...ugh, just...just slow down." I squirm, grabbing at his back and arms, wanting it to last.

  "Oh, I think you like it just like this, baby," he growls, and his speed and intensity doesn't falter, and damn, he's right. Like it—no, I used to love it like this. But that was when sex was about the climax, not about me and Lex, and being together, and all that shit that I used to think was cheesy until right now when I want it, when I want him, when I want him to want me. And not just want to get off.

  I run my hands down his back, nails scraping against his spine, palms smearing the light sheen of warm sweat over his damp skin and I hold his hips as they move with his thrusts. I'm chasing that feeling, that high, caught up in this moment, him inside me and the sounds of our panting breaths and moans. I clutch his back again when I hear him groan deep in his chest and I know he's close.

  He breathes out curses as his stomach tightens and he pulls me harder against him, watching that place where our bodies are connected as his dick slides in and out of me, thrusting mercilessly while the muscles in his body wind and wind. I feel it building in my center, deep in my core as he thrusts faster and faster, hitting that spot that makes me tremble, and my insides clench around him as my body shakes and I release everything. He grunts deep in his chest as he works me through my orgasm. Just a few thrusts behind me and I feel him coating me, spilling into me as I clench around him, his hips crushed to mine, head thrown back as my body sucks at him until he's empty and spent.

  When it's over and I find myself just wanting to lay there with him, touching each other slowly, I know that shit has really changed for me. But when he immediately pulls off of me and starts dressing himself before he can even catch his breath, something in my gut tells me he was completely unaffected by the entire series of events. And that hurts. That hurt worse than anything he could've ever said, because actions speak louder than words.

  I have to keep telling myself that I'm the only one who's changed, but it's hard to understand because I'm so used to being on the same page with him. Even when we fought before, we still knew where we stood, because we were thinking and feeling with the same fucked up brain from all the drugs we were pumping into ourselves to make us feel alive. But now I finally get that feeling from a different place, from him. But he still gets it from the drugs.

  "Wow, way to kill the moment." My tone is joking, but I mean the words. I slowly pull myself up to a sitting position.

  He looks over at me slowly, puzzled. "What?" He laughs out the response and shakes his head, continuing to dress himself.

  And it slaps me in the face. He hasn't changed a bit. I'm angry, I'm angry with him because this was different for me. Tonight was different, the entire evening, especially the sex. But for him it was the same. And that fucking kills me.

  This is why there are rules about shit like this...

  And as I dress myself quickly, I wonder if tonight was a complete mistake. My feelings for him are changing, but I could never tell him because it's just too much for him to understand. He doesn't have the ability to get there in his mind. I know because I used to be just like him, and I curse myself for ever letting my emotions become so numbed for so many years.

  But it's almost harder to have all of my emotions back, because now it feels like overload. Sensory overload. I'm leaking emotion from every pore, giving away my heart and soul and feelings while he stays numb. And it kills me, it eats away at me more and more by the second as I sit so close to him but feel so far away. I told myself I wouldn't do this with him; not yet.


  But I did. Almost as soon as I stood up, I took the fall. What the fuck do I do now?

  9

  We're going to talk about this...we need to talk.

  I rehearse my speech over and over in my head as I pace up to his front door. I know after the other night in his truck, things can't be like this between us anymore. Not yet. Not while we both want two completely different things from each other. It has to stop. I've been thinking about it and thinking about it, and this just has to be done. I have to just face up to it. I fucked up. I fucked up royally, and now I just have to deal with it. This has to be done...it has to end. I have to fix it. I can't run, I have to face this head-on.

  I was actually pleasantly surprised to get his call tonight after a few days of us not speaking. "You hungry?" And I figured talking over dinner was as good a time as any, so I said okay. On the outside I'm trying to remain calm.

  But inside...I'm screaming.

  "Hey baby." He's grinning like it's his birthday when he answers the door. I can't help but grin back at him. Dammit. Where the fuck is my resolve? Where is my anger, my frustration?

  I try to steel myself. "Lex, we need to—"

  "I know, I know we should get going. Will you just...will you cut my hair really quick?" He steps inside and I follow, closing the door behind me. "It's getting kinda long and it's getting on my nerves," he says over his shoulder, walking toward his bedroom.

  Surveying him from behind I can't tell much of a difference in the length of that mess he calls hair, but Lex is very particular...about everything. He's stubborn, which is most of the fucking reason we're in this goddamn mess, besides the fact that he's sexy and I'm weak. But I push those thoughts down.

  He peels his shirt overhead as we step into his bathroom and he looks pale in the light, his ribs protruding a little more than I remember, and his eyes look dark and sunken in, and it's like my vision is completely unclouded today. That thought engulfs my mind and it's foreign to me because I've never been one to readily admit that I look at Lex through rose-colored glasses sometimes, but maybe...maybe it's just the weird lighting in here. I shrug it off. It's never him, it's always something else.

  He pulls up the barstool which he moved from his kitchen to the bathroom and straddles it, slumping a bit into his natural posture. He reaches for the folded towel on the sink, draping it around his naked shoulders and shielding his freckled skin from what will soon be his stray clipped hairs as well as my aching fingers. What is it about his skin that makes me want to touch it? It's been that way since I was eighteen years old and he answered the door of that dingy apartment without a shirt on for the first time and I had to suppress the weak moan that threatened to pull from the back of my horny teenaged throat.

  I have to stop.

  I grab for his clippers on the counter by the sink and snap on the 1-guard, clicking the power on and letting it buzz in my hand. He grins at me in the mirror, biting at his lips playfully and making faces at me, and I can't help but giggle as I run the electric razor over his head, smoothing my free hand over his dark hair behind every stroke that I make. He has to know what he's doing to me. My mind drifts back to that night, my hands rubbing over his hair, "Lex..." nails scraping at his scalp, "Don't tell me your body's not aching for it..." and I shake my head to clear my thoughts. We can't keep doing this. It's not right.

  He moans softly, closing his eyes as I rub my hands all over his hair, tilting his head from side to side to shave it all around. I bite my lip to conceal my smile that creeps up as his hums of pleasure echo in the small bathroom, because God, when he moans like that...

  Fuck. I have to stop thinking about the other night...his dick shoved inside of me...and I mean deep too, buried until our hipbones thumped against one another's, and I have the bruises to prove it. God, I need to stop.

  I came here to tell him no, that we should be friends, if that, and I'm not supposed to be getting turned on by him. It's like the awkward morning after, only it's worse because it's two days later and there's been plenty of time for me to sit and stew over the events, and have mixed feelings, and just be so fucking confused. All I know for sure is this switch in my brain needs to flip back off, because this is what got me into trouble that night, wanting him so bad like this. Otherwise I would've been able to tell him no and none of this would even have to be solved.

  "Alright mister, you're all done." I gather up the towel from his shoulders, careful to keep his stray hairs inside before tossing it into the hamper in the corner. I brush off his shoulder just for good measure, my fingertips igniting with warmth, blazing trails across his skin. Fuck. I just can't quit.

  "Thank you, baby." He winks at me in the mirror and spins around slowly on the barstool so that he's facing me, pulling his shirt back over his head and licking his lips as he eyes my frame before grinning up at me, and I'm putty. I am sad and pathetic, and I want him, my body wants him and I can't help that. I can't help that anymore than he can help that he wants the drugs.

  I blush a bit and can't fight my giggles under his playfully hungry gaze as his hands smooth over my hips and grip them gently. He tugs me forward so that I'm standing over his lap before he pulls me down against him.

  Where the fuck is my resolve!?!

  He smirks his signature cocky smirk as I press my forehead to his and suck my bottom lip in between my teeth coyly, feeling his hands roaming over my thighs and up to my waist. And I want this. I want him, and I want him to want me and that's the only thing I know for sure right now, except that this is wrong. I know that too but I push it down.

  "Lex..." I sigh as he grips my hips again and presses me down harder against him. His tongue sneaks out to wet his lips before he presses them to mine, open and inviting, sucking my bottom lip as he pulls away before going right back in again.

  So much for my speech.

  He gathers me up in his arms, standing from the barstool, and he walks me backward toward the wall before pressing me against it, our lips and tongues still battling. A moan bubbles up in my throat as he hooks his hand under my knee and pulls it over his hip and my hands search his body, blindly tugging and pushing at the bottom of his layered t-shirts until I feel the skin of his waist under my hands. A hum of approval pulls from deep in his chest as he reaches between us and I barely hear the clinking of his belt buckle being undone when his phone rings in the other room.

  "Fuck," he mutters under his breath.

  I sigh as the sexual energy in the small bathroom is completely sucked out in a vortex with a second ring from that damn phone and my head falls back against the wall with a muffled thump when he rushes to answer it. And just like that, it's over.

  The business phone...he's still handling business...

  And I know what his business is.

  I groan and press my palms to my forehead, the heels of my hands pressing against my eye sockets, scrunching up my face in frustration with myself and all of this stupid shit. What am I thinking? We can't do this anymore. It's not right.

  "Lex," I call out, letting my hands fall to my sides with a sigh, mustering up the courage to finally just come out with it. I need to tell him. I need to tell him we can't do this and I need to do it while I still have the balls to say it. But when I round the corner into the bedroom he's sitting on the edge of the bed holding a finger up to me. .

  "No...tell that fucker that's my price and I'm not coming off it...I don't give a fuck, he can take his business somewhere else, and take that crackhead babymama with him. That's fucked up that him and that slut sit around in that dumpy apartment and get high when they have a fucking kid...Look Bruce, business is business, but he's not gonna ass-rape me on this price 'cause he has a kid to support now, that's not my problem, I didn't fuck his girl and get her knocked up...Yeah, you tell him that shit..."

  I sigh audibly and he cuts his eyes up to me with a glare, one of those "shut-the-fuck-up" glares, and I make a face. One phone call and he's all riled up and back to being an as
shole. I hate this. I hate it so fucking much I want to cry and I turn my back and walk out of the bedroom before I do, refusing to be weak in front of him. I hear him mutter into the phone, "Hold on."

  "Leala!" he shouts out into the hall and I stop abruptly, turning back to him with reluctance. I raise my hands, shoulders shrugging up in a questioning gesture and he mimics me, both of us asking each other silently...what the fuck do you want?

  But I don't even think I know anymore.

  10

  We're going to dinner. Dinner. It's simple. We'll go to dinner, and I'll talk to him, I'll give him my speech and that will be that. I'm in control...I'm in control.

  Okay, I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. I am not in control. I am the farthest fucking thing from in control, and I'm not used to this. This feeling that I'm just being pulled along when I know that I'm thinking with a clear head now and I should be capable of being that person that I was before—that person with answers. But I don't feel like that. I'm helpless, controlled by something other than my head. Controlled by something else...just like...just like I was before.

  We're riding in his truck in silence and it's not just the kind of silence that lacks words. His mouth is silent, his eyes are silent, his body is silent, and my brain is silent. Seriously my brain is just OFF when it comes him, and it's about to really start stressing me out. I'm almost in tears sitting here staring at him. Just staring—diamond studs in his ears, jaw muscles flexing and clenching beneath his skin. He's so pale I can see the blue of his veins trailing down his neck, the black of his tattoos jumping out against the white of his flesh. I'm staring at him with just... nothing in my brain, and everything in my heart.