INTHESELASTFEW months, I’ve known Mila, she’s looked at me in all sorts of ways. I want to say I’ve seen every emotion and feeling, but I know that’s not true. She looks at me with bewilderment and slight defeat through her heavy lashes, which is new.
My favorite is when she’s blissed-out, eyes glassy from the eruption of pleasure I’ve brought her, body heavy from exhaustion. It’s the only time I can get her mouth to stop running long enough to fucking feel something.
Not seeing her these past few weeks has been a struggle, the obsession urging me to bust down every door at her apartment building until I find hers and shake some sense into her.
Someone broke her.
Somebody took pieces of her soul and shattered it, leaving her to put it back together. And she did it, but in the process, she erected barriers that are nearly impossible to dismantle. For every inch of foundation I manage to dissolve, she raises three more walls to break through.
The defeated look she gives me when I tell her I’m taking her home with me doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve pushed and pulled to get this girl to look at me, but I don’t want to win because she settles. I want to win this battle because she wants me, and she’s willing to accept it.
Mila leans into my touch as I brush my knuckles across her jaw. Something she wouldn’t do if she were sober. And I want to show her my own pieces so she can see that I’m broken too.
My jagged fragments recognize hers, and just because she’s shattered underneath all the steel and brashness—it doesn’t make her weak.
I would never make her weak.
I thought I’d have more of a fight getting Mila to my car, but she lets me lead her out of the club and help her into the passenger seat. We’re barely on the road before she’s asleep in the seat next to me, leaning against my arm. I steal glances at the relaxed expression on her face as we pass under the streetlamps.
There’s no buried stress or harsh lines furrowed into her forehead like when she’s awake and irritable. There’s a softness I never thought she could hold. And I think I like this layer of Mila as much as the cutthroat one.
She doesn’t stir when we got to my house, so I carry her to my bedroom and lay her on the bed, staying close to make sure she doesn’t throw up and drown in it. I finally change into sweatpants and half expect her to be gone when I came out of the bathroom.
She’s still sound asleep, her mouth slightly parted and her chest rising and falling to the rhythm of her deep, slow breaths. I fight the urge to crawl into bed next to her, figuring that’ll earn me no brownie points, so I settle for the couch I’m too big for outside my bedroom. There are two other bedrooms in my two-story family home, but I feel more comfortable staying close.
I inherited this house when my Nonna died, and it’s got more room than a bachelor needs. At least one who’s grown out of his house-party days. My room is the same one I’ve had since my sister and I moved in after The Omen murdered my parents.
I plan to live in the house until Xana graduates college and moves back home. She asked me not to sell it when I was trying to figure out what to do with it. Upon Nonna’s passing, Bastian and I were living in a shitty apartment, trying to get through college. I know my sister will have a family one day, and this is the only piece of ours we have left. Our mom was raised in this house.
I was too busy getting drunk and tagging pussy to worry about a family. Revenge is the only goal I’ve ever had. One that leaves me knowing my sister is safe from the man who broke our family.
The very man who broke me.
I hear shuffling coming from my bedroom, pulling me from my memories. Mila must’ve woken up. I curse myself for not staying by her longer, in case she doesn’t remember where she is.
“Mila…” The vision in front of me cuts off my words.
There she is, rifling through my closet while bare-ass naked. My cock wakes up and starts to stand at attention. I slip my hand down and adjust myself, then clear my throat.
Mila’s head snaps up too fast, the lingering effects from the alcohol throwing her off balance. I stride over to balance her, but she pulls away.
Well, I guess we’re about to fight.
“It’s fucking cold,” she says, going back to looking through my closet. I raise an eyebrow at her and motion my hand at all her nakedness.
“You were warm in bed, still in clothes when I left you in here,” I say, taking another moment to examine her body.
I’ve seen pieces of her naked—always in halves, never whole. And here she is, showing me the perfect curve to her tits and ass while she sifts through shirts.
Mila waves a dismissive hand, not bothered by the fact she has no clothes on.
“Not comfortable. Where’s the good shit?”
She turns to me, nipples peaked and begging for my mouth. Her hands go to her hips, and she throws out her hip, making her tits bounce. I suppress a groan at the ache in my balls from this woman.
This cock tease is trying to get me to fuck her.
I narrow my eyes, catching onto her little game, and jerk my chin toward my dresser across the room. Mila starts toward the dresser, and I raise my hand to stop her. If her bare ass passes me, willing and inviting, you’d have to snap my neck to tear me away from her. My self-control is plummeting, but I can’t fuck her.