Page 62 of Broken Saint
I want to say something, although I have no idea what, because everything he just said is so painfully true it slices straight through my chest, making it hard to even breathe.
“Well, I’m here to tell you that’s bullshit. I—men—fucking love curves, Bombshell.”
Releasing his vise-like hold on me, no longer scared that I’m about to bolt, he slides his palm over my stomach.
“This,” he says, squeezing gently, “these” —he caresses the swell of my thigh— “and these…fuck me, these,” he groans, cupping one of my breasts, “are fucking epic.”
Tears burn red hot at the backs of my eyes.
I fight them as hard as I can. I’ve already cried on him. Those were more tears than he should ever see. I don’t want to give him more.
“These,” he says, finding the scar on my belly and tracing a line over it before tracking the marks on my thigh, “are nothing to be ashamed of. They show your strength, your ability to fight. They show the kind of person you are and the things you’re able to overcome. They’re not ugly, Ella. They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful and so fucking sexy.”
To prove his point, he rolls his hips, grinding his erection against my ass.
“Who are you?” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion.
He chuckles.
“I’m just me, baby.”
“No,” I argue. “I’ve never met this version of you.”
“And I’ve never met this version of you. So consider this us getting to know each other properly.”
“I’m pretty sure we have very good knowledge of each other,” I counter, trying to keep this conversation safe.
“No,” he states, understanding exactly what I’m trying to do and refusing to let me avoid his line of thought. “We know each other’s bodies and what we wanted each other to know.”
Unable to argue with that, I stay silent.
“You showed me your confident side, and I showed you what an asshole I can be. Both of those things are only skin deep, though, aren’t they? There’s so much more hiding beneath.”
“Colton,” I warn, both hating and loving the way he draws me in.
Yes, back in the day, he had all the moves to make any girl fall at his feet. Clearly, he still does. But this…the things he’s saying right now. It’s more than that. It’s him. The real him.
The him I always wanted to dig out from beneath the player he let the world believe he was.
My heart pounds and my trembling fingers curl into fists in an attempt to calm the tremble.
This shouldn’t be so scary. Opening myself up and allowing him to see what I always hide so deep down inside me is scarier than leaving Texas, than turning up at Letty’s door—even more than standing in the stadium last night and waiting for him to see me.
I’m pretty sure it is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced.
And I know why.
He holds the power to rip me apart, to shatter me in a way no one else ever has.
Without permission, Colton stole my heart years ago. And while we might have been apart all this time, and without knowing it, he never gave it back.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
“I’m not doing anything.” He rolls his hips again. “I want to be, though.”
A laugh of disbelief falls from my lips.
“What?” he asks, nuzzling my neck.