Shattered by You (Tear Asunder 3)

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Yeah,” I said again to make certain he heard me.

“You need me to stop. Don’t ride it out. Tell me.”

“Will you make me have that again?”

His brows lowered questioningly. “What?”

“In the classroom. I want that again.”

He grinned then yanked off his shirt and threw it aside. My eyes trailed down his muscled chest and abdomen. I’d seen it before but now . . . now I got to touch it and my eyes flicked to his before I placed my palms on his chest. In a slow tantalizing glide, I traced the tips of my fingers over every hard contour.

When I reached the cusp of his jeans, I glanced back up at him. His eyes were closed and his head tilted slightly back. He inhaled deep ragged breaths matching my own.

“You’re beautiful,” I said.

He met my eyes and there was a deep intense look to them as if he’d just realized something, but I didn’t know what. Whatever it was, I knew it was good because he slowly smiled then grabbed my wrist, the one with the brand, and lifted it to his mouth.

His tongue darted out and he traced the scar. Our eyes never left one another as he did it. My heart pounded so hard that it hurt and I swear the pieces of me that had been scattered after Gerard, were sliding back into me.

It was like a magnetic pull as he trailed kisses up my arm, then leaned forward and continued along my neck, collarbone, between my breasts then down my abdomen to my jeans. His fingers undid the buttons and they popped open. He kept kissing me, the heat from his breath sending waves of pleasure through me.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to taste you. Lift up.” I raised my butt and he dragged my jeans off and tossed them on the floor. His hands slid up over my calves. “The best fuckin’ legs.” He caressed and stroked with his hands, then shuffled down the bed and lowered. “Going to give you what you want now, baby. Bend your knees.”

I did. And he lowered his head between my legs. I’d never had a guy go down on me. At the club, the men fucked me, shoved their fingers inside me, pinched my nipples, but this had nothing to do with that.

I arched as his tongue flicked over me like his finger had, but softer, warmer—wet.

“Oh, God.”

His heated breath was enough to make me moan. I was so sensitive, probably from the months of wanting him. From denying this.

“Vincent. Please.” His tongue played, his mouth suckled and then his finger . . . oh, God, his finger trailed through my slick wetness up to my clit where he tapped over the sensitive nub that relentlessly throbbed.

His voice vibrated against me and I swear it was why he spoke. “Please won’t work this time, Ice. Melting is a slow process.”

I gasped as his finger pushed inside me at the same time as his mouth sucked on my clit. My butt left the bed as I pushed upward, the sheets clenched in my fists on either side of me. God, I never knew. I’d gotten myself off a few times, but it was always a struggle, and frustrating because as soon as the buried emotions began to surface, I stopped.

But now. Now, that everything had surfaced, it was like it didn’t have to be a part of me anymore. I could push it away instead of letting it hold onto me.

“Fuck, you’re wet.”

“I’ve been wet for months.”

He lifted his head and grinned. “Yeah?”

I nodded.

“Good. I’ve been hard for months.” He pushed his finger into me slowly and I suspected he knew that was what I needed. I closed my eyes and moaned, legs clenching around him. “You good?”

And he was sweet. “I’m good.”

He pushed in and out of me slowly and gently while his tongue and mouth danced across my pulsing sex.

“Oh, God. Oh, God,” I cried, trying to keep myself from moving and yet wanting to get closer to him. I grabbed his hair and pulled, he groaned.

The pressure increased on my sex. Faster. Harder.

“Vincent,” I screamed as it hit me and my body tensed then quivered under his fingers and tongue.

His fingers withdrew and his tongue licked every part of my sex before he climbed up on top of me. His hands slid up my arms and latched onto my wrists. Then he kissed me and I tasted myself on his lips, his tongue.

“Puddle.”

“Hmmm?” he murmured against my lips. It was as if he didn’t want to stop kissing me, so instead, he mumbled as he continued to roam my mouth.

“I’m melted.”

That drew him away from kissing me, but it was only so he could meet my eyes. “I love your ice, too, Haven.”

He leaned forward and kissed the top of my head before he climbed off the bed. My eyes widened and I sat up holding the sheet to my chest.

“Where are you going?”

“Shower.” He walked toward the bathroom.

“Shower? Now?” Then I realized he wasn’t going to have sex with me. “You’re worried.”

He paused, hand on the light switch. It clicked on, along with the fan making a low rumbling sound as it started up.

“Vincent.” He didn’t turn, but he also didn’t disappear into the bathroom. “Vincent,” I repeated. God, he was stubborn when he wanted to be. “I’ve had sex. I’m not scared of it and I’m not worried.”

He abruptly turned, the familiar crease between his eyes. “You were raped, you mean. For years.”

“Does that disgust you? Is that why you don’t want to sleep with me?” Oh, that pissed him off. Vincent rarely got pissed, but he was now, with his hands curled into fists at his side and his jaw clenched.

“No. Fuck, no. Jesus, I want to be the one to erase all that. I want to be the one to give you what you deserve.” He ran his trembling hand through his hair and lowered his head. “I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you. If I saw that look in your eyes like when you screamed . . . Fuck, that would kill me.”