Flawlessly Broken: (Broken Series Book 2) (29 page)

I had gone from annoyed and defensive at his accusations, to a weeping, shuddering mess on the bathroom floor.

Just thinking about it made my heart rate quicken. A panic attack was the most terrifying feeling in the world.

It fell somewhere between a heart attack, being electrocuted, and suffocating, all at once. Everything hurt, every inch of my body, even the air that I managed to drag into my lungs burned like acid. It felt like death was taking me, one molecule at a time, dragging me into hell’s fire inch by inch until all I could hear in my head was the sound of my own screams.

It had been one of the worst attacks to ever hit me. Just remembering it made my stomach clench. As I’d sat there on the bathroom floor fighting to breathe, black spots had started to overtake my vision and as soon as everything was blacked out, the darkness gave way to images of that night. It was so real I could still feel his breath on my neck and his hands pinning my shoulders down.

No need to muss the sheets, right?

He’d foregone the bed and tossed me onto the disgusting floor of his dorm room like a piece of garbage. I’d landed on top of a pile of dirty laundry and discarded shoes that dug into my ribs when his weight pressed me harder into the floor. I could actually smell the sweaty football uniform under me as he held me down and mocked me through the drug-induced haze. A drug I hadn’t known I was taking. Silly me, I’d trusted the broad smile and easy-going demeanor he used as a front. I’d been stupid enough to think he was my friend, someone who understood how hard it was to be in a long-distance relationship, because he was dealing with the same thing.

What he’d really been was a predator stalking his prey. I’d even told him about the annoying nickname Derek often called me by. More ammunition to use against me.

Do you like that, Natty?

Does Derek do you this good, Natty?

Crying won’t help you. You know you want it.

Shit.

I squeezed my eyes closed and forced the memories—both from college and last night—from my mind.

I refused to give it power over me again. It was bad enough I’d lost to it last night. The only thing that had helped pull me back was focusing on the soft swishing sound that Spencer’s hand made as it gently stroked over the fabric of my shirt. The more I honed in on it, the easier it became to breathe. The most basic and innocent of gestures, a comforting touch to ward off the memory of those vicious thrusts.

It had been the warmth of his touch that freed me from that mental prison and I was so damn grateful for that.

I hated that Spencer had seen me in such a state at all. Sure, it served him right to have to witness it, but that didn’t lessen the feeling of mortification. Just another thing to add to the list of embarrassing moments he’d witnessed, I supposed.

Falling bare-assed naked in the shower floor—check.

Fainting like a heroine in a bad fifties drama—check.

Vomiting uncontrollably with snot all down my face—check.

Jesus, I could only imagine what would be next.

I cringed when I recalled how relieved he’d been that I didn’t throw him out. After that list of atrocities, why the hell would he want to stay in the first place? It kind of made me wonder what was wrong with him that he would want to stick with someone so messed up.

When I remembered the fury and hurt on his face last night, I realized why.

Because he was just as much of a mess as I was, he was just better at hiding it.

Last night wasn’t as much about me as it was about his own insecurities. And Ivey. The gorgeous blonde viper who had done so much damage to his heart that he was just waiting for it to happen again. If anyone could understand that, it was me. At least he hadn’t waited ten years to try again.

Me? I’d avoided men like the plague for years, not even dating. During the entirety of her little life, Amelia never once saw me with a man, not holding hands or smiling, not sharing a meal or spending a day in the park with us pushing her on the swings. She asked about daddies once or twice, but I evaded her, not knowing what to say. I never intended to speak of her biological father, obviously, and as far as other men, I’d been afraid.

My fear of getting hurt had robbed my daughter of the chance to know the comfort of a strong hug or a kind word from a father figure. My own father had been the only one to come close to that for her. It made me sad.

After I lost her and spent months in limbo, I decided to try and numb the pain with cheap alcohol and even cheaper sex.

It never got that far. I barely knew the guy, having met him once or twice at the restaurant when he came in to have a drink at the bar—always alone, always polite, never very talkative. He was hurting, like me. I could see it on his face. So, when he quietly asked me out one evening, I said yes.

Two unremarkable dates later, we were at his apartment. His shirt was hanging open and mine was tossed somewhere on the floor. He’d moved to unbutton my jeans, kissing his way across my collar bone as he fumbled with it. I was marginally into it, mostly doing inward inventory of sensation to see if any of it was enough to distract me from the constant feeling of drowning that had plagued me since the funeral.

Nope. Still slowly sinking, still hollow.

The guy—Nick? Nathan? I couldn’t recall—was still struggling with the button and suddenly snatched at it in frustration, jerking me to the side and grunting in annoyance.

That movement, coupled with the grunt, was all it took to trigger a flashback and before I knew it, I was bawling like an idiot and rushing out of the apartment with my shirt clutched to my chest. I’d stopped at the curb to put my shirt back on, between dry heaves and shivers that were so strong they made me look like a junkie in the throes of withdrawal.

That was the last time I saw what’s-his-name and I never let another man touch me again.

Until Spencer.

Right up until the first stinging thrust of his body into mine I’d expected the panic attack to take hold, but it never came. There was no one except the two of us in that moment, my awareness attuned to him and nowhere else. Being with him felt right from the very first kiss and that was huge.

The slow rise and fall of his sculpted chest beneath my head was like being rocked, comforting and warm. It had been like that from the start with him. Dangerous and safe, sweet and assertive. He wasn’t perfect, and I found myself loving him even more because of it. Before last night, I’d felt like the broken one, the one with all the emotional scars. It made me self-conscious that he was so together, so in control. Even though he’d hurt my feelings and pissed me off, it was good to see him as a real person with baggage and flaws.

It almost made us even.

There was still one flaw of mine that might bring this whole thing to a screeching halt, one that he might not be able to overlook. One that I was helpless to correct.

I found myself pulling tighter against him at the thought, pressing my head to his chest and counting off his heartbeats to distract myself from my worries.

“Good morning, precious.”

The deep rumble of his voice vibrated through my ear from inside his chest and made me instantly smile. “I thought you were still sleeping.”

He kissed my forehead and brushed a few strands of my hair from his face. “I’ve been awake for a while now.”

“You could have gotten up, silly. It’s not like I would have been that hard to move.”

His hand curved around my waist possessively. “I didn’t want to move you. I wanted to hold you.”

“Oh,” I sighed into his skin, nuzzling him with my cheek. “Well, glad it worked out for you then.”

He reached out and touched my chin, tilting my head back until I was looking at him. “How about you? Did it work for you too, sweetheart?” His eyes searched mine anxiously, guiltily.

“Slept like a baby,” I told him softly. “I always do when you’re here.”

He tipped his head down to meet my lips, brushing them lightly with his own. “Happy to be of service.”

After several scorching kisses, I retook my position on his chest. “It’s strange to feel that way after all these years of sleeping alone, but it’s true. Just a few nights with you in my bed and the damn thing feels empty without you in it. I toss and turn.”

“I know the feeling. My bed back home feels cold now, and you’ve never even spent an entire night there. Just a few hours of you in my bed was enough to make it seem empty without you,” he mused.

I pulled myself up and straddled his hips, leaning down with a grin. “We’ll just have to fix that, now won’t we?”

He nodded while giving my t-shirt and panty-clad body a hungry look. “Absolutely. I seem to recall something about needing to put permanent ass prints on my expensive, king-size mattress. Those few hours last time weren’t enough.”

“It’s on my list,” I told him, grinding against his erection. “But first...”

Spencer’s eyes were hooded as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip in anticipation. “I do believe I’m turning you into a morning person. In the saddle before your morning coffee?” He arched his brow suggestively. “I’ve got to say, I like it.”

I reached behind my head to snag my shirt and pulled it off, giving him a moment to visually devour my naked breasts, which were already aching and heavy with desire. “How about you do that panty-ripping thing you love so much and I’ll take you from liking it to loving it really fast?”

The material was shredding before I’d even gotten the last word out.

The problems still unresolved could wait until later. Right now, I wanted him inside me so deep that I couldn’t tell where I stopped and he began.

I leaned over him and put my weight on the palms I’d placed on either side of his head, feeling his erection jump as if seeking me out. I loved that he slept nude, it made things so much easier in times like this. Instead of pushing myself down onto him, I reached between us and positioned him at my entrance, leaning back just enough to press the tip inside of me but nothing more.

He groaned and lifted his hips, trying to cheat.

I wagged a finger at him. “Uh-uh-uh. If you’re letting me take the lead, you don’t get to do that. Just lay back and enjoy the ride, okay?”

He held my gaze, his eyes dark pools of desire that warned not to make him wait too long. “I’m all yours, Talia. Show me what you’ve got.” He raised his arms above his head and gripped the headboard, winking.

I couldn’t help my smirk. “Gladly.”

I inched myself down a fraction, reveling in every shuddered breath from his chest before lifting back up until just the head of his cock was inside me. His eyes flashed and I could tell he was fighting the urge to move, so I pressed my mouth to his and used my lips and tongue to provide a distraction.

As our mouths moved together, I dipped up and down lightly on the tip of him, stopping when I felt the beginnings of the sweet stretch I craved. I was teasing us both.

When I had him so worked up his entire body was wrought with tension, I gave him one last peck on the lips and slammed myself down onto his cock, moaning in tandem with him and loving the way he filled me to the point of pain—not quite over the line, but almost.

My God he was big.

I sat all the way up and ran my hands over his chest, my hips stationary as I adjusted to the feel of him inside me. It was a trick I’d gotten from Spencer, letting my body stretch to accommodate him so that I wouldn’t feel any pain from his thrusts.

His hands flew to my hips and his fingers dug into my flesh, pleading with me to move.

Once again, he was trying to run the show.

Not happening.

I stayed where I was, giving him a defiant look that made him loosen his grip a bit, the closest he would come to admitting he’d been trying to take over.

Instead of moving my hips, I tensed my pelvic muscles as tightly as I could and was rewarded with a sharp hiss from his gorgeous mouth.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight,” he ground out, jaw flexing. “Do it again.”

I released the tension in my muscles for a moment and clamped down again, instantly rewarded with Spencer’s moan and a quick jerk from the cock buried inside me. “Like this?” I asked sweetly, repeating the motion.

“Yes!” He growled, fingers gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks.

I decided I liked this little game, wanted to see how far I could take it. I gripped him again and his hips jerked off the bed of their own volition. He looked at me with an apology in his eyes but I just shook my head and continued gripping him, milking him with my pussy until he was ready to explode.

Just watching his reaction had me drenched and nearing orgasm myself.

Seeing what I was able to do to him was a huge turn on, and I found myself getting closer and closer to coming with every squeeze.

His hands drifted all over my body as I teased him. One hand cupped my breast, kneading the flesh between moments of tweaking my hardened nipple, while the other grazed the base of my neck, concentrating on the dip above my collar bone—a highly sensitive area that had me moaning in encouragement.

Still, my hips stayed locked against his without moving.

I clenched him tight and released, over and over until he was gasping beneath me. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” he growled. “That cocky look on your face while you work me over with your pussy makes me want to flip you over and pound you so hard you scream the whole time you’re coming all over my cock.”

Damn him, the dirty talk did it.

Fucking cheater.

Suddenly I was clenching him again, but this time it was the uncontrollable spasms tearing through me as I came. “Oh, God! Spencer!”

He gripped my ass, his hands slid down to pull me open wide, and pushed himself impossibly deep as his own orgasm took hold. “Fuck!” He ground himself into me so hard I screamed from the combination of pleasure and pain, feeling every spurt that accompanied his release.

The feel of him coming inside me, the hard pulsing of his cock, caused another orgasm to well and erupt, piggy-backing on the first one and wringing the last bit of energy from my body before I collapsed to his chest with a contented sigh.