All Broke Down (Rusk University 2)

“It’s okay,” I tell him.

“No, baby, it’s not.”

Baby. I have a vague recollection of him calling me that earlier, something he’s only said on a handful of other occasions, all of which involved a certain level of intimacy or teasing. It had felt generic then, like something he probably said to every girl he touched or kissed or flirted with, but it feels different now. Feels like that endearment belongs to me.

He drags a hand through his hair roughly, pausing to clench a handful in his fists. He drops his hand and lowers his chin, his eyes piercing through the floor, and says, “I’m sorry. Incredibly sorry.”

I close the distance between us and kiss him. It’s quick, but that earlier frenzy, that build of feeling that I had assumed was the drugs, comes roaring back to life. It’s nothing more than just a brush of lips, but it feels big. Huge. Like I’ve just calmly walked off a cliff without even glancing down to see how far down it is to the bottom.

“What was that for?”

“I thought that was our thing. I apologize, you kiss me. It’s only fair if it works both ways.”

At first I think he’s going to blow me off. He’s got that air about him that he wants to beat something up, and doing it to himself is his only option. But then one corner of his mouth lifts for a scant second.

“Well, I do like to be fair.”

I take that almost-smile and raise him a full-out grin. “And I like to say I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head to the side and looks at me, his eyes focused. For the first time in a long time, I feel that edge of danger around him again. But it’s a different kind of danger now, and it’s even more potent.

“You’re sure, Dylan? Tonight was . . . a big deal. I don’t want you to pretend like it doesn’t bother you if it does. Don’t do that for me. Don’t ever be what you’re not for me. I’d rather you tell me how you feel up front.”

I’ve made up my mind. It might be a mistake, and I have no clue where it’s going, but maybe it’s time I made a few more of those.

“I’m sorry. Was I not clear enough? Because if I was vague, I apologize. What I should have said is that I’m not sorry it happened. I’m sorry I did it unknowingly, and I’m sorry you spent the night stressing over how I would react, but you took care of me. And I’m not sorry for that. Not even a little bit sorry. But if you need to hear it one more time, I promise I’m not—”

His mouth slams into mine, and we go from zero to oh my God in seconds. He pushes me back on the couch and his big body settles over me. His lips are hard and demanding, and his fingers curl around my neck like he’s scared I’m going to disappear. His tongue strokes every corner of my mouth, and I can’t keep up, so I just bury my hands in his hair and hold on for the ride.

His weight is exquisite on top of me, like he’s pinned me to this moment and neither my body nor my mind will wander while he’s got control. He tugs at my shirt where it’s tucked in until it comes loose, and he can slip his hands underneath to grip my waist. Our legs are tangled together, and one of his thighs rests between mine, pushing down on the perfect spot. I can feel him hard against my hip and I shift, rubbing against him. He pulls back to breathe but doesn’t leave my mouth. I open my eyes, and he’s staring down at me, his breath mingling with mine.

“I can’t f**king—” He shakes his head and starts again, “I can’t describe what you do to me. I don’t have the words or even know them. There are so many things I want to do, so many places on your body I want to touch and taste, and I’m breaking apart just trying to focus on one.”

I trail a hand down from his hair to curve around his neck, mimicking the way he holds me. “We’ve got time.”

“Do we?”

I don’t know how much time he’s asking for or how much he’s willing to give, and I don’t want to have that conversation, not right now. I want to be able to enjoy this without asking questions.

“I don’t have anywhere to be.”

He lifts himself off me and stands next to the couch. When he offers his hand, I take it, and he leads me up the stairs to his room. He closes the door once he has me inside, and a trickle of nerves bubbles up in my chest.

I need something, anything to say. “I didn’t expect your room to be clean.”

He shrugs and reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ears.

“I’ve not had much in my life that is just mine. Makes you determined to take care of what you have while you have it.”

“You take care of me . . . have from the night we met.”

His hand pauses in combing through my hair, gripping tight. “Are you saying you’re mine?”

I swallow. The intensity rolling off him is both intoxicating and overwhelming.

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

“On what exactly that means.”

He cups my breast, lifting it in his hands, and squeezing just enough to make something give way in my belly.

“It means I get to touch you like this.”

“You’ve already touched me like that.”

His hand leaves my breast to smooth down my stomach and dip between my legs. He draws a finger along the seam of my shorts, pushing that hard edge against me. “It means only I can touch you here. Only I touch you, period.”

I bite down on my lip and concentrate on how to say the things I need to say when I want him to keep touching me so badly.

“No one else is going to touch me there.” His wandering fingers push a little harder, and I go a bit light-headed. I fight through the sensation to say what I need to. “But I can’t be yours, Silas. I’ve spent too many years trying to please other people. I need to be my own for a little while.” I don’t know why, but most of my life has felt . . . conditional, like my parents and Henry and everyone else accepted me because I filled these holes in their lives. And I made sure I filled them perfectly because that was how I belonged, how I guaranteed my spot, by never failing to live up to their expectations. As long as I was perfect, they would have no need to cut me loose.

Except Henry did. And for the life of me, I can’t think of anything I did wrong, and maybe that’s why this all started. Because try as I might, perfect doesn’t guarantee me anything. I can’t control whether other people will want me or love me or even like me. I can only control how I feel about myself. And that’s something I’m still discovering day by day.