More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

He rolled off her to sprawl out on the cramped double bed beside her, while she sat up, her wild mane of hair falling forward into her face. He took up most of the space as he glared up at the ceiling, his rampant, throbbing penis arching angrily up over his abdomen.

Despite her twenty-eight years, she hadn’t seen too many penises in her lifetime. In fact, Harris’s was the only one she had any experience with, and ten years ago she hadn’t seen very much of it. Now she tried hard to keep her curious gaze averted, but she couldn’t stop herself from sneaking glances. It looked angry, swollen, and huge. Of course, she had nothing to compare it with. It could be perfectly average, but she didn’t have much frame of reference, so by default it was the biggest penis she’d ever seen.

She bit back a groan at her rambling thoughts. She tended to focus on boring minutiae, since it kept the mind from dwelling on more disturbing thoughts. Yet another one of her coping mechanisms.

Not that his penis was boring . . . it totally wasn’t. It was fascinating and—

“Stop staring at my dick,” he suddenly grumbled, interrupting her crazy train of thought, and she flushed bright red, knowing that the current color of her skin was clashing horribly with her hair. “You’re making matters worse.”

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I’m sorry I left you like . . . like that, but you know it would be a mistake to have sex.”

“Right now, I’m finding it hard to agree with that sentiment,” he said emphatically, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Maybe if you covered it up or something?” she suggested, hoping he would tuck it out of sight. “It’s very distracting.”

“This is a weird fucking conversation,” he suddenly said with an amused snort, reaching behind his head for a pillow and thankfully—disappointingly?—covering his groin with it.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. He snorted again and turned his head on the remaining pillow to stare at her. Tina self-consciously dragged the two sides of her top together, buttoning it up hastily.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice curt and gravelly.

“Yes,” she said with a small nod and pushed her hair out of her face, meeting his gaze full on, hoping to convince him of her sincerity.

“You had a nightmare,” he said. “It looked bad. What did you dream about?”

“I don’t remember,” she lied. He held her gaze for a moment before chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You scared me,” he admitted. “It sounded like you were being attacked.”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.

He exhaled, the sound long and weary, before sitting up. He crossed his long, powerful legs and repositioned the pillow over his lap. His chest, which had seemed to be the pinnacle of masculine perfection ten years ago, now looked even more massive and hewn from rock. The sight of him sitting almost completely naked on her bed didn’t feel entirely real, and part of her wondered if she was still dreaming.

“How did you get into my house?” The thought hadn’t occurred to her before. Now she found herself wondering how the hell he had managed to get into her bedroom with the front and back doors locked.

“The living room window was open,” he said, his brow lowering in displeasure. “You should be more careful with security, Tina. You could have been burgled, or murdered in your sleep. Check all windows and doors next time.”

“Lesson learned,” she said pointedly.

His lips lifted in an unrepentant grin. “You were screaming bloody murder—nothing would have kept me out. In fact, I tried to break down the door before it occurred to me to have a quick look around the house.”

“Break down the door?” she repeated, appalled. “It’s solid oak. You could have broken your arm.”

“More like bruised my ego,” he said wryly, wincing as he massaged and squeezed his left bicep. Tina gasped and reached over to switch on her bedside lamp to get a better look at the massive bruise forming there.

“You idiot,” she chastised, barely curbing the impulse to punch him on the same bruised shoulder. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that you were screaming, and I would have moved mountains to get to you.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t entirely sure what else to say about that. His smile took on a hint of sadness, and he hesitantly reached out to cup the side of her face in one of his large palms.

“I wish you wouldn’t hate me.” The words were soft and wistful. Tina placed a hand over his and shook her head helplessly.

“I don’t hate you, Harris. Not really. I just . . . it’s very hard for me to be around you. It brings back too many heartbreaking memories.”

“I can’t remember exactly what was said that night, but I remember the gist of it, and I do know that I would never intentionally have hurt you, Tina. I honestly liked you . . . I liked everything about you. But before seeing you that night, I lacked the courage to approach you.”