Read Online Breaking All Her Rules by Maisey Yates - Free Book Online Page A

wanted to run from the memories, he wanted to live in them. And in the end, it had meant she’d needed to run from him. He couldn’t be angry at her for that.
    “Oh...I...I’m sorry. I mean...good for an easy divorce, but...I’m sorry.”
    He looked down at his food, a ball of hard, heavy emotion settling in his chest. The worst thing was, now he felt like he had to talk about it. Because pretending Tally hadn’t been a part of everything was...it wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to act like she didn’t exist. But he didn’t like talking about her, either.
    So he wouldn’t. Not now.
    He set his plate down on the pretty little side table. “Suddenly, I’m not so hungry for food,” he said.
    “But we just...not a half hour ago we...”
    “Come on, Grace. I just told you. Six years.” He picked up his wineglass and knocked back the remaining contents. He needed it. He needed to forget.
    He needed
her
.
    “Where’s your bedroom?” he asked.
    “Down the hall.”
    He stood up and she did, too, then he scooped her up into his arms. She squeaked and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was so small, so light. He kind of liked it. Because it made him feel strong. And because he knew he could lift her up and move her around easily. For sex in interesting ways. He was a simple man. At least, he would prefer to be. Sex and beer. He could deal with that.
    Maybe that had been half his problem for the past few years. Beer and sadness. Not beer and sex. He was changing that.
    He was changing it now.
    He charged down the hall, holding her close to his chest. “That door!” she said, gesturing to the one near the end of the hall.
    He pushed it open with his shoulder and brought them inside, putting her down on the center of the bed. He stripped his clothes off as quickly as possible. “This is becoming a habit when you’re around,” he said. “Why did I even bother to get dressed?”
    “You would have emotionally scarred the delivery guy.”
    “Is my body that hideous?” he asked.
    She laughed. “
Hideous
is not the word I’d use.”
    “What is?” he asked, arching a brow.
    “Jaw-dropping. Sexy. An ode to classic masculinity.”
    “Stop it, Gracie, you’ll make me blush. Now take off your dress.”
    She obeyed, revealing herself to him slowly. Inch by tantalizing inch. “How about, cowboy? What do you see?”
    “I’m an artist, you know,” he said, feeling like a jerk for saying it in even a semiserious manner. “So I’m an expert on art and the like.”
    “Are you?”
    “I am. So I know a little something about fine pieces. About beauty.” He got down on the bed beside her, tracing her curves, shaping her body with the palms of his hands like she was clay. “You are a masterpiece.”
    He pressed a kiss to her stomach, then lower, spreading her thighs and burying his face between them. He would never get enough of this. Of her.
    Grace thought she was headed for an early, pleasure-induced death. Wasn’t that what the French called orgasm anyway? A little death? Clearly, no French person had ever slept with Zack Camden.
    An orgasm from him was destruction. It leveled everything in its path. Had changed everything inside of her. And he was about to do it again. She wanted to stop him. And she wanted to urge him on.
    She gripped his hair, and he gripped her legs, tugging them up over his shoulders as he deepened his tasting of her.
    He changed their positions, moved up her body and kissed her lips. She could taste her own arousal on his lips.
    “Ah, damn. Left the condoms in the kitchen,” he said.
    “I have, like, one or two in the drawer there, I bet. Though, sadly, they aren’t ribbed.”
    “You liked it ribbed?”
    She smiled. “I did.”
    He reached to the left and opened up her bedside drawer. And a somewhat horrifying thought occurred to her.
    “Oh! Wait...” she said.
    And it was too late.
    “Oh...” he said.
    “Sorry. I should...have...gotten them.” She wasn’t going to get blushy