Junkie (Broken Doll 1)

One of Jag’s hands drifted lower, gently stroking, tracing the curve of my spine until his palm rested just above the swell of my ass.

“I shaved for you,” he murmured. The deep rumble of his voice against my ear sent pleasurable vibrations directly to my groin.

“Me?” I tilted my head back from the comfort of his embrace to glance up at the complicated man. “I don’t understand.”

Jag’s eyes shone with something I couldn’t place until his hands moved to cup my face. Oh. My pulse skipped and I swallowed thickly. It was tenderness. Concern. Desire. His thumbs brushed across each of my cheeks and his fingers curved to span the entire nape of my neck, so long they overlapped in the back. I knew what was coming, but it happened so fast, there was no time to think, no time to react. When Jag lowered his mouth to mine, all I could do was sink into his embrace accept what he gave, savor every second of this moment.

The kiss began slow, just soft, sweet brushes of skin on skin. Then Jag’s fingers tightened against the back of my head, threading into my hair and causing my entire body to erupt in flames. Desire pulsed hot and hard, the fire licking at my veins, burning with the overwhelming need to be closer, to get more contact with the source of this incredible pleasure. Gathering my courage, I wrapped my hands around Jag’s waist and pressed forward until our bodies were fused from chest to groin.

After a few minutes, I tore my mouth away, gasping for air. The scent of Jag’s cologne filled my nose and sent my lust skyrocketing from desperate to I might die if I don’t get more right fucking now.

My brain was scrambled and the steady ache between my thighs made it damn near impossible to think, let alone speak, but somehow I managed.

“W-what do you mean you shaved for me?”

Jag dropped his lips to my neck as he licked and bit up and down the sensitive flesh. I shivered when his hot breath swept across the damp skin left in the wake of his talented mouth.

Without answering, Jag brought his face back to mine, devouring my mouth in a deep, messy, hungry kiss. We both moaned as he took control, plunging his tongue in to taste every single surface of my mouth. Never in my life had I been so dominated by a kiss. Jag stopped to catch his breath, our lips close enough to touch. I slid my arms from his sides to lay my palms flat against his incredible chest. The rapid thump of his heart beneath my hands spoke volumes.

“You have red hair and the most beautiful creamy skin I’ve ever seen.” To emphasize his point, Jag put a single finger to my mouth and swept it slowly across my lips and down my chin, then threaded his hand in my hair, letting the long pieces fall from his fingers. “I figured my beard would rub you raw and make your skin sensitive.”

I jerked my head back at his admission. Was he serious? What man was considerate enough to take beard burn into account? More importantly, if Jag shaved for me, it meant he planned this encounter. That he came to the garage specifically to kiss me. But why now after avoiding me for days?

“So you…” I fumbled over my words, blinking in confusion while Jag continued to hold me close, those stunning blue irises flicking between my mouth and my eyes, devouring me with an intensity I’d never experienced before. “You… you arranged this? Thought about kissing me?” A faint blush stained his cheeks but he never dropped his gaze. “But… but you haven’t spoken to me in days. I thought… I mean…”

Jag cut me off with a brush of his lips on mine. “I’m sorry, Miri. I shouldn’t be here. I tried to do the right thing, but I couldn’t stay away any longer.” Jag growled, his mouth pulling into a frown.

He dropped his hands, stepped out of our embrace, and turned his back to me. I nearly cried from the loss of his warmth, his scent, his comforting hold, and it took an amazing amount of willpower to stop from clutching his shoulders and clinging to them, anything to keep Jag from walking away. His head hung and he scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. The muscles in his spine and shoulders visibly tensed under his shirt.

After an awkward moment of silence, the big, handsome, scary as fuck drug lord spun toward me and dragged a hand down his face. This time, I noticed his bright eyes were dull, exhausted, and wrought with guilt. With a loud huff, Jag let out a humorless chuckle.

“I was avoiding you, doll. For your sake. Yet here I am, despite what I know is best. You’ll find I’m a very selfish man and not so good at denyin’ myself. Especially somethin’ I want as much as I want you. In fact,” Jag’s expression changed, the pain flipping to lust, pupils expanding as his gaze raked across my body. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you, Miri.”

This wasn’t the first time Jag’s Texas drawl came out. I noticed it was more obvious whenever he was losing his tightly wound control or he was simply relaxed enough to not care.

He groaned and his head fell back so he could stare at the ceiling. Paralyzed where he left me against the sink, I watched Jag’s smooth, tan throat ripple as he swallowed several times. My eyes dropped to his hands, rough and scarred, clenched at his sides, the veins and cords in his neck bulging. The man was clearly struggling with something. I just didn’t know what it was or how to help.

When Jag finally lifted his head, he pressed his lips together and took a single long step forward, putting him a hairsbreadth away. So damn close, but still denying me the pleasure of his touch. I ached to close the distance, to have his body against mine, to be surrounded by Jag’s scent and heat and the safety of his embrace. But I needed him to make the decision, to be sure of what he wanted. I couldn’t get sucked in by his charms just to be hurt again.

No doubt, Jag was a confusing and somewhat terrifying man. Yet in my eyes, Jag represented home. Asking for nothing in return, he gave me a roof over my head and put food in my belly. Jag protected me from other men, going so far as to threaten his own employees, likely having one killed for attempting to rape me.

Despite those first few awful nights, Jag made me feel comfortable in his sprawling mansion, and allowed me to treat it as my own. Somewhere during my stay, that sense of comfort transferred from the house to the man himself. The house didn’t heal me, Jag did. I owed him so much. My chest tightened and my eyes stung from the rush of gratitude.

Jag dipped his chin until our eyes locked, cobalt blue to emerald green. Even though my vision was blurry with tears, I could see what he hid behind the raw lust. Jag might never admit it, but he cared.

Huge hands wrapped around my arms. The rough skin on his palms scraped along my forearms and sent a wave of goose bumps to my shoulders and across the back of my neck.

“I’m no good for you, doll. I proved that by how I’ve treated you. Besides, you should be afraid of me. You should hate me.” Jag’s voice was a sexy rasp, gravelly and deep. His intense gaze flicked back and forth between my eyes and mouth.

“I’m not afraid of you.” My response, as naive as it may be, was immediate and the absolute truth. “And I don’t hate you. You’ve treated me better than anyone else in my life. You gave me food, a bed, clothes, you don’t hit me or use me… you saved me.”

Jag shifted closer, his palms squeezing my hips, strong fingers digging into my flesh. One quick tug and he jerked me forward. Jag ground his hard cock into my abdomen, shoving a thick, powerful thigh between my legs, and put glorious pressure right where I needed it most. I gasped at the unexpected move, my pulse faltering along with my willpower. Jag leaned down until our lips touched.

“Tell me you want this, doll. You have a choice. I want to take you, own you, make you scream you’re mine. But if you say no, I’ll leave right now.”

I closed my eyes, breathed in his scent, and knew, despite what Jag said, I really had no choice. I wanted this man from the moment I saw him in the shower that first night, all tall, dark, and menacing, the water running over the detailed rose tattoo over his heart, down the

grooves of his abs, to disappear into the waistband of his tight black briefs.