Page 43 of Shattered In Darkness

He’s not smiling. He means it.

Blood hammers at the inside of my ribs and heat rolls down my spine. I force a laugh, but it comes out all wrong. “I mean, I’ve seen worse.”

A pause. It aches. I can’t stop drinking him in. The way his collarbones stand out. The thickness of his neck. Those hands. Veined and brutal and perfect. I imagine them pinning me. I imagine them around my throat. The thought makes my thighs press together.

Brody’s mouth twitches. It’s like he knows. Or maybe he just wants to.

The space collapses between us. He rolls his shoulders, and the muscles in his chest bunch and flex. My eyes follow, greedy. I’m not even pretending to not look now.

He notices. He cracks his neck like he’s about to snap. “You’re staring.”

“So are you,” I fire back.

He pushes off the door frame, inching closer. Not predatory, not exactly. More like he can’t help it. Like I’m pulling him in. My heart stutters, so loud, I’m sure he hears it.

He stops just within arm’s reach and flexes his hands at his sides, pulse jumping in his throat. The silence is thick. I want to fill it. I want to ruin it.

I reach up slowly, hand trembling even though I try to act smooth, and tuck a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. His hair is short, but it flops over his forehead. I have been itching to do that for some time now. My knuckle grazes his temple.

His whole body goes rigid. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.

“Your hair’s in your eyes,” I murmur.

He grabs my wrist, not hard, but enough to make me gasp. His fingers are warm and rough, and I think about them on my skin, on my hips, digging into me. My mouth floods with want.

He lets go, but not completely, trailing his fingertips down my arm. “You’re not scared?”

I blink. “Of you?” He nods once. Steely, unreadable, but the hunger is there. The need. Like he’ll die if I say no. I shake my head. “Not even a little.”

Our faces are close now. Too close. I can see every pore, every slash of his cheekbones. His lips twitch.

I don’t wait. I close the distance, tiptoe if I have to, and press my mouth to his.

He groans. His hands are on my waist, yanking me closer, our bodies tight together. The kiss is clumsy, desperate, teeth and tongue, and too much. It’s not sweet at all. It’s like drowning.

I whimper into his mouth. He shudders, and for a second I think he might break me in half. We pull apart, panting. I can’t think, can’t breathe. My whole body is shaking.

Brody’s pupils are blown wide. I can feel him wanting. He hesitates, still holding me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. I lean in again, kissing him softer this time while my hands roam up his chest. His skin is hot. Damp. Muscles jump under my touch. His lips find the corner of my mouth, my jaw, down my neck. I gasp again, clinging to his shoulders. I want him to bite me. Mark me. Make me his.

His hands slide up under my shirt, just the barest brush against my ribs. That’s all. That’s fucking all and I’m already melting.

And then⁠—

Sophie’s voice echoes down the hall. “Sorry, Lola! I’m ready now, I’m coming.”

Instantly, we jerk apart like guilty kids. I wipe my mouth, stagger back a step, but my heart still bucks.

Brody scrubs a hand over his face. He looks dazed, almost angry. Like he hates needing me this much.

Sophie bursts in, not even glancing at the tension in the room. “Brody, you coming?”

He doesn’t look at her. He looks at me. “Nah. I’m good.”

Sophie shrugs. “Suit yourself, moody.”

She heads for the door, waving me along, and I follow. My legs are jelly, everything inside is scrambled. Brody doesn’t speak again. He just stands there, watching me leave. Watching like he owns me already.

We step out into the hallway. I know I’m flushed, lips swollen, hair a mess. Sophie doesn’t notice. We slip out the front door; dusk clings to the street like a mist. Lights blink on in other houses. The air is wet, heavy. We walk through the neighborhood, down cracked sidewalks, shoes slapping uneven pavement. The world feels quieter now, like everything else has faded.