Crushed (Torn #7)(43)

Speaking of which, his dick was getting to be too much to handle sitting idly as my pu**y clenched and drenched, waiting until he would eventually come around to it.

“If you want me so much, why don’t you f*uk me already?” When it came to him and sex, I wasn’t one to be trifled with. “You’ve been hard all this time, so what are you waiting for? f*uk me, Brody.”

He groaned, probably in agreement with me because his hips began to move, slowly rubbing against my clit as he gave small, hard thrusts, making me deliriously wanton for him.

Opening my legs wider, I slid the back of my hands to reach out for my butt cheeks before spreading them apart, preparing for his hungry onslaught. I was standing at the edge of the precipice when I felt the tip of his dick graze the entrance of my channel, my body desperately seeking any sort of relief for the deep, panging ache he had been creating inside of me.

“You want it?” he taunted for the umpteenth time. “How bad do you want it to f*uk you?”

Lord, give me the strength not to kill this f*uker.

“Go on a date with me, and then I’m all yours.”

Not the damn date again… “You’re not serious? You’re holding out to f*uking score a date with me?” I wanted to claw his eyes out, but I held myself in check because he looked too damn serious, and I didn’t want to anger him again. God help me if he got mad; it was hard to resist the combination of him being sexy and untouchable at the same time.

It was a sick obsession I had with him, and I was owning up to the sickness, but Hell was a place on earth, and I was living in it.

“Fine. Let’s go on this stupid, crappy date. Happy now?” I glared at him as I watched his face break into a toe-curling smile.

“f*uk. Yes.” He thrust into me with one stroke, taking all the air out of me as I reeled from his size throbbing inside of me. He then tilted my chin to make sure I didn’t disconnect my gaze from his eyes. “I need you to be with me … all the f*uking way, babe,” he rasped out before penetrating more deeply into my pu**y and into my soul.

I felt him everywhere, owning me, marking me as his own, as if he meant every word like a promise when he declared he didn’t want another man touching me because I was his and his alone. And it couldn’t be denied that I felt special in his arms. Never had he made me feel as he was right then by taking such delicate caution while incorporating passion and limitless beauty as he worked my body to pleasure himself and me.

It was sex at its finest, subtle elements of it making it extraordinary. Those little subtleties took it to another level of intimacy. There was a meaning behind his kiss this time. Gone were the drunken-haze kisses he used to give me that insinuated he wanted to f*uk simply for the hell of it. Though the effect of his touch still seared me, electrified me like it did before, this time there was unhidden strength behind it, as if to state some kind of possession towards me. And the art, the creativity of the way he was thrusting into me, was more than chasing his own pleasurable orgasm. This time, it seemed like each earth-shattering thrust meant a promise, like he was bonding himself with me in more ways than the physical one, and it was as intoxicatingly sublime as it was spiritual. It made me feel raw, stripped bare from any artifice, from any armor I had shielded myself with. Somehow, beneath all of the crap I had layered myself in, he had found me, but more importantly, he had found me beautiful.

“Brody,” I cried out in pure pleasure as my tight, vaginal muscles felt him expand against their capacity, filling every depth and space in me, leaving me passionately breathless.

“I’m going to pull out, and I need you to grip my cock and stroke it. Can you do that for me, babe?” he rushed out, heaving his chest as if he was gulping for air, pleading his last request for the night.

At this stage, I would do anything to make him happy.

As soon as I gave him a slight nod, his body then accelerated the pace as he picked up his thrusting motions into quick, rapid ones, slamming his hips against mine, hitting the most sensitive spots that triggered my body to tighten into another wave of orgasm.

The descent of this combustible experience felt like a bottled champagne being speedily shaken until the cork popped and flew as far as it could reach, and I was that cork, skyrocketing into a different orbit, a dimension that took me to another level of experience when it came to lust and love connected as one united form.

Love. I had been overwhelmed by this emotion ever since this beloved man had made my head spin, my heart rapidly race from one beat to the other, and transported my body to such thrilling heights that it was difficult to encompass. However, it seemed that the candle I had held out for so long wasn’t all for a lost cause, and he intended for the fire to keep burning.

And the blaze between us was even more explosive this time. Would it be enough to fight through the ugly past we had experienced, though? Would it be enough to heal the barely healed scars he had left behind? More importantly, would it be enough for him to let go of Lindsey from his heart and mind?





Chapter Twenty-Three





Waking up the next morning was pure bliss and pure nightmare, all balled up into one. I was more confused than I had been before having sex with Brody last night. Had it been normal sex—the kind I was used to with him, the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am and the drunk dialing for some quick tumble in the sack—I would’ve woken up without any of these second thoughts lingering in the forefront of my mind. However, last night, it had become more than sex.