Unbroken Rules (Rules 3)

“You don’t,” I disagree. “You don’t need me. You made that clear.” I brush off his lies before they dig their claws any deeper into my heart. Without a care given, he presses his broad and sculpted body to mine, leaving no room to escape—I’m not sure I would if I could—and I quickly realize his muscles aren’t the only hard parts on his body.

“I thought I could do this… I thought I could force you to stay away, but I can’t,” he rambles on, running his thumb across my lower lip. I desperately try and convince myself that he doesn’t affect me.

It’s fine. I’m good. I don’t feel anything.

“Not even for something so important. I tried. I really fucking tried, but I’m losing my goddamn mind.” He buries his head into the hollow of my neck, standing still for a few unbearable seconds until he starts to feather hot kisses up and down my jawline.

Okay. Fuck. I felt that.

“I can’t live without you, Winter.” He sounds so desperate I almost let myself believe him. Almost.

My throat closes up.

“Then why did you break my heart?”

I hate how vulnerable I sound, how fragile I feel when he stands this close to me. My walls are made of glass. And I’m terrified if he just looked closer, he’d notice. If he just blew on them, they’d shatter.

He gently cups my cheek, the lust in his gaze shifting into regret. “I never wanted to. I would never hurt you.”

What on earth does that mean?

I’m about to ask him a thousand questions, but his touch shuts me up. The way his hands explore my body… it’s precise, determined—like he designed every curve himself. His fingers dig into my hip bone, my tiny towel the only thing keeping him from my soaked skin. When he leans forward, my heart thunders so loud I’m surprised we haven’t gotten a noise complaint from the neighbors yet. Me? Exaggerating? Never.

There will be no going back if we cross this line. No matter how mad I am at him, no matter how much he hurt me, if I let him kiss me… I’ll let him do everything.

“You said you don’t love me anymore,” I remind him.

He looks conflicted. Like he’s fighting an endless war within himself. Then, his eyes jerk up, their intensity telling me a part of him won the battle. But which one?

“Want to know a secret?” His gravelly voice cuts me to the bone. He stops barely a few inches away from the disaster masquerading as a harmless kiss.

His breath hits my mouth when he says it.

“I lied.”

The itsy bit of self-control I thought was left in my body ditches me the second he kisses me. Don’t kiss him back!

Annnd I’m kissing him back.

His tongue slides past my lips, tangling with mine until I’m completely at his mercy. He holds me flat against the wall, continuously working my mouth like a pro, and I can’t, for the life of me, tell him to stop. God, I missed this. Any remnant of my reluctance turns to dust when he wraps my wet hair around his fist and releases my mouth. My body takes the reins, and my head falls back of its own accord, giving him clear access to my neck. He’s quick to make me squirm, focusing all his attention on my collarbone, then the soft spot below my ear. I moan as quietly as I can, yet too loud for my liking, and I feel him grin in satisfaction. When he tugs at my towel, I’m worried he might feel my thundering heart. Even drunk out of his mind, he looks up at me, waiting for my approval. This is one of the things I always loved about him. Haze would never do something I wasn’t comfortable with. He always needed more than the absence of objection. He needs a yes. Always wait for the yes.

I don’t even realize how quickly I whisper the word he seeks. He grins and pulls on my towel, watching carefully as it hits the ground. Then like he needs a second to fully revel in it, he steps backward for a front-row view. His eyes blatantly rake over my naked body, and to my greatest surprise, I don’t feel shy. Nor do I feel embarrassed. I feel empowered.

Sucking in a breath, he grunts. “You’re going to kill me, Kingston.”

Then his mouth is back on mine. But this time, we’re doing way more than kissing. Now, he’s coming for all I have. Cupping my breasts with both hands, he twirls his thumbs around my nipples so slightly I have to keep myself from pushing into his palm. Before I know it, his hands are everywhere: my waist, my stomach, my ass, until finally he slips downward and…

I gasp when he pushes a finger inside me.

Well, that escalated quickly.

I moan against his mouth, my eyes closing when he begins to curl one finger in and out of me. My body is already overloaded with sensations, but it’s when he adds a second finger effortlessly that I know…

I’m his.

Entirely, undeniably, and completely his.

“Fucking hell.” He withdraws his fingers completely before diving back him. “Always ready for me, aren’t we?” His thumb finds my clit and begins the sweet, torturous circles he mastered from day one. Shit, he knows me. This guy knows me, and his knowledge is dangerous. How can I be mad at him when he does this? When he can make me come undone with just the touch of a finger? How can I ever get over him when the only place I want to be is under him?