All the Broken Pieces: (Broken Series Book 3)

by Anna Paige

  There was just the barest sensation of his tongue brushing against my folds, nudging, seeking. And those damn soft moans in the back of his throat.

  “You don’t play fair.” I muttered, fighting the urge to press myself harder against his mouth.

  “Would you like to get in the game, gorgeous?” He lapped at me again, finding and latching onto my clit, sucking it between his teeth and giving it the little nip he knew drove me crazy.

  “Yes,” I breathed, voice thick with arousal.

  He reached out and tugged my leggings all the way off, tossing them over his shoulder as he moved to stand, dragging my shirt up and off as he did. He admired my breasts through my lacy bra for a moment, his gaze intent as he reached around and flicked the clasp open with one hand. The bra joined the rest of my clothes on the floor and his mouth was instantly latched onto my nipple, tugging it hard and grazing it with his teeth.

  Finally surrendering in a battle I was always destined to lose, I tugged his shirt off and went to work on his jeans, making quick work of getting him undressed. I was desperate for him, needing his touch, the feel of his mouth on me, his cock in me. I wanted it all so much that I was momentarily overwhelmed trying to decide what I wanted first.

  Brant made the decision for me a moment later when he pressed a searing kiss to my lips and backed me toward the bed. The edge of the mattress hit the back of my knees and I was forced to sit, placing me at the perfect level to take his thick, gorgeous cock into my mouth.

  I looked up at him, marveling at the intense look in his hooded eyes. His desire was easy to see, I needed only glance at the rock-hard evidence before me, but his love was just as apparent. When he looked at me like that, the two emotions mingling in his expression, I wanted so much more than his body, more than his heart.

  I wanted his forever.

  With trembling hands and an overflowing heart, I reached for him… And I wasn’t ever letting him go.

  •••

  Later, we lay quietly in the double bed of his childhood, listening to each other’s soft breathing between moments of hushed conversation. I was stretched alongside him, head resting on his outstretched arm, one arm draped across his ribcage as my fingers absently traced over the hardened ridges. I glanced around the room, still able to make out most of its contents in the brightness of the winter moonlight streaming through the thin curtains. Awards lined shelves that spanned the length of the far wall. Some of the trophies had beakers and engraved atoms, indicating science accomplishments. Others were draped with ribbons and photos that I wasn’t quite able to make out from a distance. “All of those awards…” I marveled. “Clay and Spencer always talk about you being a genius but seeing all of those,” I pointed, indicating the long line of gleaming proof of his intelligence, “Is pretty intimidating, to be honest. It kind of makes me wonder what such a brilliant mind could possibly see in someone like me.”

  His hand had been gripping my shoulder, thumb lazily grazing my skin, but now it halted. “Someone like you?” There was something in his tone, something that bordered on anger. “Are you implying that you are somehow substandard by comparison? That you’re not worthy? Because, if you are, I think we are about to have our first fight.”

  I bristled. “You can’t lie there and pretend that you don’t see the differences between us.” I reached across him to poke the mattress at his side. “This, this bed. You probably slept on it for most of your childhood, didn’t you? Your parents probably tucked you in and read you stories when you were little, bought you adorable pajamas with superheroes on them and extra blankets to keep you nice and warm.” I gestured toward the trophy shelves again. “You’re thirty-fucking-two and they still keep this room just the way you left it. They loved you well, and love you still.” His mouth opened to speak and I caught his chin in my hand, lifting myself up on my elbow to look down at him. “Because you’re amazing. Perfect. So goddamn easy to love that even a broken, jaded mess like me fell for your charm.”

  He reached for my hand, tugging it to his lips and placing kisses on the backs of my fingers. Saying nothing, letting me have my irrational meltdown.

  I watched his lips against my fingers and palm as I continued, the warmth of his breath giving me gooseflesh. “You’re worthy. You matter to people—they flock to you and you don’t even realize it. Teach was that way, too. Not me. My own mother didn’t care if I lived or died, so how the hell could I expect anyone else to give a damn? The few people I’ve ever been close to, it wasn’t easy or effortless like it is with normal people. Like it is with you. You say you’re awkward but you’re not. You’re perfect. And we both know you deserve better than someone like…”

  His hand was suddenly there, covering my mouth with surprisingly light pressure as he rose up to mirror my position, his dark blue eyes pinning me with quiet intensity. “That’s enough,” he growled.

  His stern words and the dark look in his eyes were startling. Not that I was afraid of him; I knew better than that. But he’d never taken that tone with me or looked at me with such thinly-veiled anger before.

  “Don’t ever talk shit about the woman I love. Ever.”

  I tried for a smile but he didn’t return it. He wasn’t joking. The moonlight played across his face, shadows from shifting tree limbs giving his brooding expression a hard edge. I hated that I’d pissed him off, it wasn’t my intention. “I’m not talking shit. I’m being honest.”

  “No, you’re regressing. You’re still the same girl who burned that awful note from her piece of shit mother, you’re still the girl who shredded Isaac like a fucking ninja, and you’re still the girl who found a way to awaken my long-dead heart without even trying. You, more than anyone I know, deserve to be loved, adored, fucking worshiped. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.” His eyes softened and he reached for my hand, taking it in his and pressing it against his chest. “I know seeing this house, my parents, and how normal my upbringing was hits a nerve for you, and I’m sorry. I should have thought of that before bringing you here. I know my mom is the polar opposite of what you had, and lying here in the bed I grew up sleeping in has to feel odd, but you can’t do this to yourself. Just because I had it better doesn’t mean I was more deserving. And you suffering so much for so long wasn’t because you deserved that, either. You can’t let yourself feel like less because someone else has more.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I just got so emotional taking it all in.” My voice was small, shaky. “Your mom is everything I always dreamed of when I was little. I guess I was a little jealous of you today and that’s not fair.”

  The smile I’d been so desperately wanting to see finally crept across his face. “She’s not perfect.” He leaned close, whispering. “I’ll give you a prime example… Once, she decided to sew my costume for Halloween. It was supposed to be the Hulk but she kept accidentally sewing the damn arm holes shut by accident whenever she tried to attach the padded sleeves. Did it like five times in a row. In the end, she got pissed off and cut a hole in her good sheets to make me a ‘ghost’ costume. It was the first truly epic fail I ever witnessed.” He was chuckling now. “Dad came home just as I was headed out to trick-or-treat in my floral patterned ghost sheet. I met him on the front lawn. He was scratching his head and looking at the sewing machine that was partially buried in the dirt from being spiked there by my colossally pissed-off mother. He looked at it, looked at my costume, and started laughing his ass off.”

  “See? Your family is perfect even when they screw up,” I laughed, feeling suddenly better.

  “I don’t know about that, but I got lots of extra sympathy candy that year. I made a killing in Snickers bars, as I recall.”

  After our laughter faded, we settled down, resuming our original snuggling positions before either of us spoke again.

  “I love your mom’s hugs. You know, I bet she hugged me five times today. There’s only one time I ever remember my mom even touching me without inflicting pain. One single, solitary time. I’ll
never forget it.” I didn’t know where the admission came from but the memory was just so damn vivid in my mind that I couldn’t help myself. Brant went still beside me, the only sound was his soft breathing as he waited for me to continue. “I was six or seven, I think. I’d had a horrible cold for nearly a week and was heating up some soup I’d snagged the day before from the food bank. My back was to her when she walked in, but I could smell the alcohol on her as she passed by. I was standing at the stove so she had to walk by to get another bottle from the cabinet. I could barely see over the stove to stir my soup, and my arm was getting tired from reaching so high for so long.”

  I actually felt the numbness and muscle fatigue in my arm as I spoke. “When she got her bottle, she walked back by me and reached out, stroking my hair in one long pass before leaning down to nuzzle the top of my head. She muttered something about the soup smelling good as I stood there frozen in utter shock. Then she was gone again, shuffling back down the short hallway without looking back, the door to her room clicking shut behind her as she left me all alone, and sick. I remember crying as I ate the damn chicken noodle soup and crawled back under my dirty sheets. I’ve never forgotten that one fleeting moment of kindness from her.”

  “It’s good that you have one good memory, I guess. I wish like fuck that you had a lot more.” His voice was tight, controlled as he fought not to let me see his anger.

  “Good? That’s hardly a good memory. Not in my book. She didn’t do me any favors by being motherly for that five second span. All she did was show me that she was capable of showing affection, capable of being kind. Before that, I thought she was broken, that the mothering part of her just didn’t work, and that meant it wasn’t her fault. But when she showed me she was capable of it, it made me think there was something wrong with me. I was unlovable. I was broken. I was worthless because my mother couldn’t find the desire to care about me.” I shook my head, blinking back tears. “It would have been better if she never showed me any kindness at all.”

  Brant’s arms tightened around my shoulders, pulling me into his side protectively. “You’re not broken or worthless, and you’re certainly not unlovable.” He kissed the top of my head as I huddled into his side and rested it on his chest, the steady thrum of his heart loud in my ear. “I absolutely adore you, baby. You’re the single most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You deserve kindness. You deserve all those hugs my mom gave you, and the thousands still to come—because she meant it when she said she was a hugger. You deserve love. And you have it, every bit I have to offer, for as long as you can stand putting up with my perpetual weirdness.”

  “I think I’ll keep you around for a while then, because I absolutely adore you, too.” I kissed his chest softly. “Besides, you’re not so weird. And I rather enjoy knowing I can make you blush whenever I want.” I looked up at him and winked, digging my fingers into his ribs playfully, latching onto the opportunity for a subject change. The bed creaked softly beneath us and I had to shift back an inch or two to avoid a wayward spring. “So, you really had this same bed when you were a kid?” I asked, wincing as I perused my side with my fingers. Damn spring got me good. I was just thankful it didn’t make an appearance earlier, when we were doing much more than lying there talking. Talk about a mood killer. A spring in the ass would definitely do it.

  “Yep. I think I went from a twin size to this one when I was around eight years old. It’s been the same bed,” he watched me rubbing my sore ribs. “probably the same mattress ever since then. My parents won’t let me refurnish this room with nicer things. Stubborn as mules, both of them.”

  “Hmm…” I muttered.

  “What?”

  I shrugged one shoulder, the one not digging into the mattress. “I was just wondering if a lot of girls joined you in this bed over the years.”

  “You heard my mom, I didn’t really bring girls home.”

  I shook my head wryly. “Uh huh. I didn’t ask how many came home to meet the parents, though. Did I, Weirdo?”

  He took a long breath, rubbing my shoulder. “The answer is the same. Just one, aside from you.”

  “Zoey?” It was one of those questions that wasn’t really a question because the answer was obvious. I kind of regretted asking, though. I’d only been trying to tease him because I half-expected him to blush.

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “Does that bother you?”

  “Not at all,” I admitted, surprising myself with my honesty. “I actually kind of like the idea of her here. I’m sure being in this house made her as happy back then as it makes me now. This place, there’s something about it that feels like a constant hug. It’s comforting. From what you’ve described, I’m sure her home life wasn’t easy, but I bet your mom gave her lots of hugs and made her feel at home here just like she has with me. I’m glad Zoey had that.”

  He looked over at me for a minute, studying my face. “You’re fucking amazing, do you know that?”

  “Huh?” I frowned, not understanding what he meant.

  “The way you said that about Zoey… the compassion you feel for someone you never even got a chance to meet… you blow me away. Your capacity for empathy. It’s something really special. I saw it at Kade’s when Lenn was upset that he’d insulted you, instead of being—rightfully—pissed, you comforted him. And just now, the way you talked about Zoey’s happiness like you had a personal stake in it…” He shook his head, smiling at me with total adoration. “I fucking love you so much right now I can’t even find words strong enough to tell you.”

  I skimmed my hand down his torso, across his abdomen toward that glorious V that led to the true happiest place on earth, teasing him with my fingertips. “If you’re having trouble finding the words, perhaps there are some actions you can try.” I gave him a saucy wink, taking his swelling cock in my hand.

  The arm I’d been laying on suddenly gripped me and crushed my body against him as he rolled over on top of me. I giggled softly and removed my hand, leaving him perfectly lined-up to enter my waiting body.

  “If you’re looking for action, I’m definitely your man.” He pressed against my opening but withdrew slightly, teasing.

  I gripped his ass with both hands and pulled him down until he was seated all the way inside me, groaning at the exquisite feel of that first hot thrust. “Damn right, you are.”

  •••

  “I’ve never eaten so much in my entire life.” I groaned, my fork clattering to my empty plate. It was nearing two o’clock the next day. Dinner had been cooked, served, and devoured in record time. I was so full I could barely breathe and still I kept looking at the gorgeous coconut cake sitting on the counter.

  Jennie must have noticed my lustful gaze because she nodded toward it and winked. “I hope the birthday girl saved room for cake.” She tossed disparaging looks at her son and husband, clucking her disapproval. “Those with less than warm feelings about coconut will be settling for store bought apple pie this year and will kindly keep the bitching to a minimum. I made the traditional pumpkin and sweet potato, but I just didn’t have the time or desire to mess with all those apples. I finally have a fellow coconut lover in this house and that takes priority.” She stuck her tongue out at Brant who just shook his head, clearing the last bite of turkey from his plate.

  “Fine, but remember what we talked about.” He eyed his mom, a conspiratorial look on his face. “Lauren and I have to head out in a couple hours.”

  “We do?” I asked, confused.

  “Yep.” He leaned in, dropping a chaste kiss on my lips. “We do. And no questions, birthday girl. Just trust me.”

  There was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes that made me laugh even as my heart fluttered with nervousness. Why was he looking at me like that?

  I wasn’t sure whether to be excited or afraid.

  But with Brant, excitement always won out.

  He made me brave.

  Fifteen

  Leaving the Matthews’ house in the rearview mirror—Jennie stil
l standing in the driveway waving—I turned to Brant and flashed my most pitiful expression. “Not even a little clue?”

  He flicked a glance at me and quickly returned his eyes to the road, avoiding the persuasive power of my pouty mouth. “Nope. You’ll just have to wait.”

  “But it’s my birthday,” I whined, using every tactic I could think of.

  “Yes, it is. And your presents… well, aren’t going to come any faster if you nag. Just relax and let me do my thing here. Okay, gorgeous? You won’t be disappointed.”

  “Presents? Plural? How many?” I frowned. “I told you I didn’t want anything. And I already had an amazing dinner with your folks, so that should count as my present, if you insist on my getting one.” My hand flew to my mouth. “Shit. Your mom had all that food packed up for you and you forgot it. She’ll be so upset.”

  He chuckled. “No, I didn’t forget. We’ll grab it tomorrow before we head back to Denson.”

  “What? We’re already on the way back to Denson.”

  “Actually, we’re not. Not until tomorrow.”

  I motioned at the road, the scenery whipping by. “Um… then what the hell are we in the truck for? Seriously, you’re making my eye twitch. Will you just tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “We’re on the way to the airport. It’s about thirty miles from here.” He didn’t look my way but I could see the smirk on his face. He was giving me just enough information to make me want to throttle him.

  “The airport? Why?”

  “Because your first present is too far away for us to drive there.”

  I threw my head back and groaned loudly, talking to myself as I fought not to strangle him. “If this man doesn’t just tell me what the hell is going on, I’ll scream.”

  “I like making you scream…” he laughed “Please, be sure to follow it up with ‘harder, faster, oh God, you fuck me so good, Brant!’” His voice is high and breathy, imitating me.