Page 63 of Broken Saint
My entire body erupts with goosebumps as his hands begin wandering again.
“I’m not sure I’ve got it in me to go again.”
“You’re right, you don’t have it in you…yet.”
“Maybe I was wrong,” I gasp as he bites my neck.
“Oh?”
“You haven’t changed all that much.”
“You’d miss me too much if I had.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” I don’t mean for the words to come out loud, and the second they do, he stills.
“You missed me?” he asks hesitantly as if he doesn’t believe it.
“Colt,” I whisper, finding his hand against my stomach and twisting our fingers together. “More than I should confess to.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, his lips brushing my shoulder.“What happened, Ella?” he asks, his thumb brushing over my scar.
Despite the fact he can’t see me, I close my eyes, cutting myself off from reality.
“I had a car accident after graduation.”
He stills behind me.
“I…I was upset after the way we ended things and…shit,” I hiss, not wanting to go down this road.
“You were distracted because of me?” he asks, his voice cold and void of emotion.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Silence falls between us. If it’s possible, his muscles pull even tighter, his grip on me harder.
I need to say something. To shatter the tension, to reduce his guilt. But before I figure out what, he cracks.
“No,” he booms before jumping out of bed like someone just lit his ass on fire. “No. Ella. NO.”
He’s gone before I get a chance to say anything, storming into his adjoining bathroom and slamming the door so hard it makes the bed beneath me rock.
Pushing up so I’m sitting, I clutch the sheets to my chest as tears spill over my lashes.
I stare at the bathroom door before glancing at the one that would allow me to escape.
Running would be the easy option.
I could leave his penthouse, leave Seattle, and return home. Back to my boring life and a man who only wants me to fit in where he deems suitable.
But that isn’t a life I want. I want to be a man’s everything. I want him to want me and love me for the person I am. I don’t want him to make me hide my scars; I want him to embrace them, trace them with his tongue, kiss them and caress them. I want him to tell me that a few extra inches aren’t something to be ashamed of, but instead something to embrace because they’re sexy.
I want someone who is going to make me a better person, not hide me away from the world like I’m something to be embarrassed about.
No, I want more than what I’ve left behind.
I want what I had yesterday.
I want…Colt.