Page 27 of Fractured Heart

“Or me?” Charles turns my barstool back, facing him, and cups my face. Before I can protest, he kisses me again. His lips are rough and demanding, and after a futile, momentary struggle, I kiss him back. I start to get lost in his lips—in him—when my barstool starts to spin.

I’m pulled out of Charles’s arms and find myself facing Tate. Again. I kissed Charles in front of him. Again.

My chest rises and falls quickly as I try to catch my breath. My lips feel swollen from the Beast’s assault. Swollen and wanting more. Tate’s gaze locks on them, and I bite my lower lip nervously when he starts to lean in. He can’t possibly want to kiss me again, not after I just kissed Charles, but then he covers my throbbing lips with his. It’s a soft, gentle caress that leaves me wanting more. When he pulls back, I whimper and lean forward.

With a triumphant smile, Tate cups my face and complies. I expect him to kiss me again, full-on, but he tugs on my lower lip gently instead. I gasp. When he sucks it into his mouth, I whimper with a mix of pleasure and surprise.

Tate groans and does it again, this time focusing his attention on my upper lip. He sucks it into his mouth and gives it a soft tug. I moan, loudly, and Tate pulls back, leaving a hair’s breadth between us.

“I made her moan,” he says, his words directed at Charles while his breath caresses my lips. “Do you want me to kiss you again, Roonie?”

“Oh, yes.” I whimper and start to lean closer before I fully realize what I’ve said. I pull back quickly and shake my head, feeling another wave of panic.

“Should I kiss you then?” Charles suggests, his breath fanning my ear.

I swear my heart nearly stops even as my body ignites. All I want is for them to kiss me again, both of them. At the same time, or one after the other, I don’t really care. All that matters is that I can have them both. Wait, both?

The thought of being with both Charles and Tate sends my body into overdrive. My pulse races a mile a minute, every part of me burns for them and I forget to breathe. If I was freaked out about being with just Tate—or just Charles—the thought of taking this further with both of them is too much.

“I can’t do this,” I cry.

“Do what?” Charles growls.

“Are you alright, Roonie?” Tate asks.

He leans closer and so does Charles, both of them crowding me, trapping me, as they wait for an answer. Sandwiching me between their rock hard bodies and the bar, they leave me nowhere to go.

“I’ve never been kissed before. Before today. Before you!”

The moment those words leave my mouth I cover it in horror. Did I really just say that aloud?

“I was your first kiss?” Tate looks shocked, and no wonder. I’m probably the only virgin on the entire college campus, let alone one who’s never been kissed. He must think I’m so immature.

“We were her first kiss,” Charles growls. Unlike Tate, he doesn’t sound surprised. Does he realize that no guy has ever wanted me? And if so, why did he kiss me?

“Technically, I kissed her first…” Tate trails off. His eyes widen and he turns to an equally wide-eyed Charles. The two of them hold some sort of silent conversation. I think they come to a wordless agreement, because they share a nod before turning to me.

“W-why are you looking at me like that?” I swallow nervously, looking back and forth between them.

Tate’s light brown, soulful, eyes bore into me, as do Charles’s dark, piercing ones. Both guys are close—too close—and the desire to kiss Tate, or Charles, or both Tate and Charles, grows. I want them, both of them, and if either of them were to kiss me again, I wouldn’t be able to resist.

“We should finish this food before it gets cold,” Tate announces suddenly.

My lips part in confusion as he turns away from me. He grabs a slice of pizza, takes a huge bite, and focuses all his attention on chewing. He’s obviously ignoring me, and my eyes dart to Charles in question.

“Tate’s right,” Charles says. He reaches out for a slice of baguette and casually dips it in the pâté. “Let’s eat.”

Chapter 15

Partway through the meal, the cleaners make their way into the living room. They push back the couch and surrounding furniture and vacuum up the remaining water. It makes it way too loud for us to talk, but I guess it doesn’t matter. No one’s said a word since my unfortunate confession.

Admitting that I’ve never been kissed wasn’t just embarrassing; it’s made Tate and Charles completely lose interest. They were probably looking for a one-night stand or whatever it is college guys do. Now that they know I have zero experience, it’s no wonder both of them lost interest.

I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest, but the guys only make things harder. They stop hand feeding me food and they pretend like I’m not even there. Why are they acting like the magical, scalding-hot kisses between us never happened? They may hook up with girls so often that a measly kiss means nothing to them, but it means everything to me.

Both kisses meant everything to me.

I look from Tate to Charles and back again. How can I be interested in both of them, when I know neither one is interested in me? How can I long to be devoured by the Beast even as my body betrays me every time I look at Prince Charming?