Best Kind of Broken

29 Pixie

I woke up this morning determined to be pleasant, but the moment I saw Levi enter the bathroom, my emotional barometer cracked. And suddenly I wanted to fight. Badly. I wanted to kick and scream and yell and get all kinds of angry.

Because he was right.

Fighting doesn’t hurt.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” I wave my finger in the air as I barge into the small bathroom with him, setting my stuff on the counter and staking my claim to the shower. “My ass is taking a shower first.”

He looks at said ass, then shakes his head. “Your ass is leaving.”

He moves to pick me up and I skirt past his hands and duck under his arm, climbing into the dry shower with my clothes on.

“You want to get wet, Pixie?” He’s got his wicked smile on, and I hate that I like it. “Because I can help you with that.”

Of course my dirty head is going all sorts of naughty places with his words, and I fail to see his hand reach into the shower.

“What I want is a hot shower.”

He turns on the water and the spray begins to douse the tank top and gym shorts I have on. I purse my lips as he grins at my slowly soaking pajamas. “Wet enough for you yet?”

Our eyes meet and the air around us begins to sizzle.

Because now we’re both thinking about a whole different kind of wet, and the heat filling the small bathroom isn’t coming from the steamy water running down my body.

I refuse to break our gaze, so I wait him out. His eyes flicker briefly, like maybe he’s scared or nervous, but then they wander to my chest.

The wet tank top is hardly working as any kind of cover, so the exact shape and size and tightness of my nipples is very, very apparent.

I let him look. If he wants to be an ass, he can be an ass.

He lifts his gaze to mine, but then his cocky-as-sin expression falters for a moment. Like he forgot this was me, Pixie Marshall, standing pretty much naked before him. And the realization does something deep to his eyes and funny things to my stomach.

I suddenly want to cover my face.

Not my boobs.

Not my white shorts that easily show off how I’m not wearing panties.

I want to cover my face.

Because what he sees reminds of him of everything he can’t erase.

He stares into my eyes, and now I’m trapped in a deep blue sea of rage and regret and hurt and loss. And I don’t want to be there. I want to be anywhere else. Because the deep blue sea is filled with a million things I can’t bring myself to admit.

It hurts to think about his pain. It hurts to look at it. And it sure as hell hurts to swim in it.

But here I am. Swimming in Levi’s deep blue broken sea, and I’m drowning right alongside him, just as hopeless and helpless as he is. Two castaways in an ocean of pain, and we’re not even clinging to each other for dear life. We’re just watching each other drift to the ocean floor, where silence and blackness might swallow us whole and take away the sorrow.

For long seconds we stand there, staring at each other as water beats down on me. And then his eyes fall to my mouth.

Oh crap.

My eyes fall to his mouth as well, and the atmosphere ignites. Now we’re in this steamy, tense standoff—half in, half out of the shower—heads tilted toward each other and eyes locked on mouths. And I know I’ve already surrendered.

I know I’m mad at him, hurt by him, but when it comes down to it, I trust Levi with everything I am.

And he has me.

He has me when I’m seven years old and scared of monsters. He has me when I’m brokenhearted in the eighth grade because Tommy Marchim won’t take me to the Valentine’s dance. And he has me when I’m nineteen and in the shower with my pajamas on, searching his eyes for my hero.

He has me.

He’s always had me.

And I’ve never wanted to be had by anyone else.

He leans closer, and the steam from the shower surrounds us like we’re in our own private cloud. Right here, right now, yesterday, tomorrow—whenever he’s near—I feel safe. Safe and loved. Because that’s exactly what I am, even if he doesn’t know it. Even if I don’t deserve it.

I lean in closer too, not seeing anything other than Levi’s body and a swirling cloud of hot fog.

Our faces are so close together I can feel each of his exhales sweeping over my cheeks. The silver flecks in his eyes glisten in the droplets falling all around us, reflecting off the white shower walls. The spray drowns out all other noise and makes it seem as though we’re enclosed in our own little white rainstorm.

I trace my eyes along his scruffy face, taking in the small dark hairs that dust his jawline and match the color of his long eyelashes. Then my gaze roves over his full lips, and I absently lick my own.

And then he kisses me.

Like he was born to do it, like everything about him knows exactly how to kiss me. His lips fit to mine perfectly, and it’s nothing like our first kiss.

It’s desperate and starving, and blindly passionate, as we crush our mouths together in the white downpour.

I kiss him back like he’s my very last breath, like I’d die without him—and maybe I would. I part my lips and our tongues meet, sliding over slick textured surfaces, as they dance and wiggle and taste and lick. And it’s just… so… perfect.

I rise up on my tiptoes, trying to pull his mouth into mine because he’s too far away. His tongue glides along the soft flesh inside my mouth. He’s still too far away. I bring my hand to the back of his neck and tangle my fingers in his hair, tugging and making a noise of protest because I’m so damn short and can’t reach him the way I want.

He grabs my hips and steps into the shower with me. Running his large hands down the back of my body, he lifts me up and presses me against the cool shower wall. I wrap my legs around his waist, my butt sitting in his hands as our hips push against one another.

And oh. God. Yes.

I’m eager and feisty and suddenly I’m like a kissing machine, just all hungry and frantic, and I’m making these moaning noises that would probably be embarrassing if I wasn’t so freaking turned on.

He pulls back and tilts his head to the other side before bringing his mouth back to mine, sucking on my lower lip before giving his tongue back to me.

My hands are gripping his white T-shirt, which is now completely soaked, and I’m pulling at the collar for no reason other than I just need to pull something. But the collar of the shirt is wet and loose and my clenched fist has yanked it down so Levi’s collarbone and top pec muscle are completely exposed, and there’s this dirty little piece of me that wants to sink my teeth into the bare patch of skin.

My God. I must be part vampire.

And when the hell did I get so horny?

And then I realize. It’s not that I’m suddenly horny; it’s that I’m with Levi. And here in his arms I can be Pixie, damaged and flawed, wet and dirty, and it’s okay. We’re okay.

One of his hands leaves my butt and runs up my rib cage, his thumb pressing into the indentations between each rib, my skin soft and giving. His hand moves higher and cups my breast over the thin wet cotton of my shirt, gently squeezing. I move my hips against him, desperate for more of his touch, and he responds by brushing his thumb over the hard tip of my nipple. Back and forth. Back and forth.

I moan with each swipe of his thumb, and muscles low in my belly tighten in response. He palms my breast again and shifts against me. God, he’s hard. And thick. And hot. And so many things I want to feel inside my now-aching body.

His palm moves down to my leg. His fingertips burn a trail of want into my skin as he runs his hand up the back of my thigh to where my butt cheek is completely exposed—because my white shorts have ridden up and are now acting more like a thong than running shorts—and grabs my naked ass, pressing harder against me.

And he’s kissing me—God, he’s kissing me—like he’s starving, and I’m just kissing and rocking and rubbing and, hell, everything my body wants to do against his.

I move my hands to his back and under the hem of his shirt. His back muscles are hard and thick beneath my fingertips, rippling with his movement, as I start to pull his shirt up. He shifts against me, and I’ve never been more excited in my life. For real.

The wet shower has nothing on me.

His mouth moves to my jaw—yes—and then my neck—oh God—and then he has his teeth running along my collarbone while his hand rounds my leg and glides up the inside of my thigh and—holy hell! This boy knows his way around my body.

He slides his hand up under my shorts until he’s cupping the naked V between my legs with his warm palm. I whimper in ecstasy as my body responds to his hot touch and grows more slippery as he begins to slide his fingers along parts of my body that really, really like being touched.

He kisses and sucks at my throat and chest as he slowly eases a finger inside my tight body while that clever thumb of his continues to slip and slide over my most sensitive spot. I squirm against him because I want more—need more—so much more. He slowly withdraws his finger and I whine and gasp in protest until he pushes it back in, all the while working his thumb against my hot, wet flesh.

I wiggle, I moan, I gasp, I beg as Levi kisses me and groans hot breaths of desire against my skin. He adds a second finger to the first and fills me thickly, pushing in and out of me as he increases the heavenly movement of his thumb.

My body begins to tighten and shake, my thighs quivering around his hips as he works me to the brink of sweet death, and I tip my head back, completely blind to everything but the white rainstorm. Then I cry out with pleasure as my body completely unravels and gives in to the magic of Levi’s hand.

My insides pulse as Levi brings his lips to mine and kisses me deeply. I whimper against his mouth, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands from falling off as I struggle to claw my way down his shirt and to the waistband of his shorts. I want to rip them off and fill my body with his until this blissful yet wanting hollow inside me purrs with satisfaction.

He kisses along my collarbone. I yank on his waistband. He pulls at my tank top—

And then the fire alarm goes off.

We both freeze. The drill.

The fire drill is today.

For a moment, we stay pressed together, breathing heavily against each other in the steam, our wet clothes warming between us.

But reality moves in fast, pushing through the haze. I’ve already made my decision. I am irrevocably and shamelessly interested in having Levi’s body inside mine. Levi, on the other hand, has pulled his head back from my collarbone and is looking into my eyes.

Not my eyes. Don’t look at my eyes.

If he sees me, he’ll remember, and if he remembers—

“Shit.” He pulls back, remorse and hatred in his eyes, and I want to scream.

But I don’t. I stay where I am, pushed up against the wall with Levi’s erection pressing against the still-quaking center of my body, and act like this is all just run-of-the-mill for me.

What’s that now? Oh, no. I do this all the time. I’m always humping guys in the shower with my pj’s on.

He gently lowers me to my feet; then he turns away.

He leaves the bathroom, the fire alarm still blaring, and I sink down to the shower floor, letting the water spray down on me as a shiver runs through my body.

It’s the first hot shower I’ve had in days and I’m in my clothes, out of breath, and cold as hell.