Broken Girl(57)

“Garrett.” His name rolls across my tongue so freely, beautifully breathlessly I sing it.

“I like the way you say my name while I am f*cking you. Say it again.”

“Garrett,” I repeat.

He moans as his pace quickens. He drags his hand up my back and takes a fist full of my hair, pulling my head back as he buries himself deeper. Our eyes meet, and he watches me in the mirror across the room as he takes me. The way my body moves, and how my tits bounce with every thrust he makes.

“I want to watch your expression when I make you come, be the man who breaks you wide open, Rosebud. I want you to scream my name.”

I clench my * around his cock, knowing it will throw him over the edge.

“Rosebud, you feel so good.” He f*cks me with even more determination.

“Garrett,” I huff his name before throaty, bellowing sounds escape me. “Yes, please,” I continue.

“Rosebud, damn, you’re so good, I want to f*ck you every day, every night, right here, forever.”

Our words to one another, promises in the heat of the moment become nothing more than primal moans as we both detonate at the same time. Loud beastly calls hum across my back, sweat beads trickle down my hairline as my eyes roll up in the back of my head and I scream his name.

He pulls me up into the bed, wrapping up in each other, I feel safe, needed, wanted and finally important.

“I want to keep you to myself. Will you let me . . . keep you?” His words are filled with contentment.

I don’t want to say anything, I want to just hum or moan my answer, but, I know from before that he’s someone who likes me to communicate with my words, use language in a beautiful manner.

“That depends.”

“Oh really? On what?” he asks as he tangles his fingers in the random loose strands of my hair clearing them out of my eyes.

“On where you live,” I answer as I prop myself up on my elbows and caress my fingers against his chest. I’m safe, comfortable, I see myself getting used to waking up next to him.

“Why would that matter?”

“Because as much as I hate Southern California, if you move me there, then I’d have to adjust. But on the other hand if you move me to New York—”

“Who said you’d leave San Francisco?” He adjusts himself out from under me.

“You did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Oh, so wait, you’re relocating to the city?”

“No,” he snaps.

“Wait, I’m totally confused. If you’re asking me to go with you . . .”

His expression shifts, and at that moment I realize what he’s saying.

He gets up off the bed.

“Look, Rose, I really enjoy this, I want to keep, this. I want to help you. Get you off the street, keep you safe.” Nerves are exploding and captivating every move, every reaction as he shifts his hands back and forth between us.

“Oh, f*ck me. Holy shit. Ohmigod! I’m soooo f*cking stupid,” I howl. I spring up, wrapping the loose sheet around my naked body. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want me to be with him. He really wants to just keep me.

My mom’s voice plays over and over in my head.

‘It’s your fault your father hits me. You were never wanted, I was forced to keep you. Forced to marry him. It’s all your fault, Rosalie. You weren’t supposed to be born!’

Shredded.

Torn.

Apart.

In seconds . . .



“Wait, wait, Rosebud.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Hold on, what did you think I meant? I want to get you off the streets, pay for an apartment for you, and give you money so you don’t have to—”

“Fuck other men for money? Whore myself out? What is it, Garrett? You’ll keep me for yourself, but only as your own personal piece of ass when you’re in town?”

“What did you think this was, Rose?”

“Don’t worry, I get it. Three days, that’s about all I’m worth.”

Mister reaches for me. I pull away.

“Rose, stop it. I’m trying to help you.”

Frantically I’m looking for clothes so I can get the hell out. I stop at his words; my heart is breaking with every word out of his mouth.

“Please, stop. You don’t have to help me. I’m capable. I’ve lived perfectly fine without you before these last three days. This was my fault. Stupid, thinking that you’d want this.” I swing my hand up and down my body.

“I don’t want you to go. Not like this. All I wanted to do was keep you safe.”

“For what, Mr. C’s pleasure? Or for Mister’s twisted needs? Oh, no, wait, maybe I was gonna be for Garrett Chadwick? Who the f*ck are you? Huh? Who are you? You wanna keep me for a f*ck, but not for all the other parts? I’m not good enough to take home and love, be something more than a f*cking convenience or entertainment? Fuck you Mister-Garrett-Mr.C-f*cking-Chadwick.”

My heart’s crashing into my chest, the only thing I can think of doing is hitting him, and so I pick up the alarm clock next to the bed and chuck it at him. Everything pressing down on me, everything lost, nothing’s safe, my body and mind twisting up to a complete knotted mess.

“It didn’t have to end this way. I care about you, Rose. But this is your choice, not mine.” He walks over to the safe, opens it and pulls out two rolls of hundred dollar bills. “Here. It’s eight grand. What we agreed on. I wish it didn’t have to end this way.”