Contents

Copyright

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

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About Cole

HEART BREAKER

Copyright: Cole Saint Jaimes

Published: AUGUST 2015

The right of Cole Saint Jaimes to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.colesaintjaimes.com

PROLOGUE

AIDAN

“No one can fuck you like I can. No one can make you scream like me. Once you’ve accepted this simple truth, I’ll reward you with my tongue.”

Essie Floyd rolls onto her back, her perfect, round ass hiked up in the air, just begging for me to spank it.

She hates me.

She doesn’t want to want me this badly, but she can’t help herself. She leans back even further, lifting her ass higher. I can hear the labored in-and-out of her breathing, the gentle groans of frustration in the back of her throat. I haven’t touched her pussy yet, but I don’t need to. She’s wet for me. I can literally smell how badly she wants me, and nothing has ever smelled so fucking perfect. My dick’s rock hard, aching fiercely, demanding that I sink myself deep inside her, but I don’t. Not yet. There are certain things that need to be said first.

Essie glances over her shoulder at me, her dark, curled hair wild and untamed by the foreplay we’ve already wrestled out of one another. “Just do it, Aidan. Don’t fucking torture me like this. Isn’t it…isn’t already bad enough that…”

“That what?” I won’t touch her again until I’ve heard her say it. I won’t make her come until she’s admitted that she’s letting this go. This awful, dark, evil pain that’s been fuelling her for so many years now has no place within her, and yet she refuses to part with it. Her hands and her heart have been wrapped about the anger for so long that it physically hurts her to let it go now. She doesn’t think she’s capable of it. But she is.

Taking hold of my cock in one hand, I trace the tip of it lightly over the folds of her beautiful pussy. Her whole body shudders, shivering from head to toe with pleasure.

“Aidan!” she gasps.

“Essie,” I reply. We’ve been doing this for weeks. Doing it forever, it feels like. And now, it’s time for it to be over. Time for us both to cut our losses and run, or finally face up to the nasty shit from our past. We will never be happy if this is how we continue to live. Neither one of us will be able to maintain this insane balance. And after what she did, after everything that’s happened between us, who knows if there even is any fixing us. I really hope there is, because like this we are perfect together. Her body responds to mine like no one else’s. When we fuck, it’s like the entire world’s on fire, and we’re just letting it burn, oblivious of the fact that the fire’s consuming us, turning us to ash.

Essie makes a pleading sound in the back of her throat, her back arching, her toes curling. In this position, her pussy is right there for the taking, and I’m desperate to take it. Desperate to lick it, to use my tongue on her. To lick and suck at her clit until she comes. She tastes so goddamn amazing, like candy. Like nothing else I’ve ever tasted before. I’m addicted to her pussy. So much so that I’m a fucking saint to be holding back right now. There was a time not so long ago that I wouldn’t have been able to do it, but I now have no fucking choice.

 She’s beautiful. She’s messed up. She’s broken, and the sad, shitty thing is that I’m not whole enough to fix her. But I digress. Maybe it would be better to start from the beginning, instead of what might be our bitter end.

Here.

Let me tell you how this all began.

ONE

ESSIE

Five Years Earlier

I’m a terrible fucking cook.

The kitchen windows are completely fogged over and I’m in serious danger of burning down the kitchen, but the smell that permeates the tiny apartment we’ve just moved into isn’t so bad. I’m almost unable to believe I’m well on my way to constructing an edible meal for the first time.

I keep an eye on the clock. It’s a little past eight, which means Vaughn should be home soon. He was up before sunrise today, delivering baked goods to various grocery stores and markets in the city, and then, around ten o’clock he headed to the bike shop where he works as a mechanic’s apprentice. His days are long as all hell. He’ll be hungry when he gets home. Usually, I’ll bring us leftovers from Blossom, the restaurant I wait tables at, but tonight I wanted to do something a little special. Given my gross lack of experience as a chef, my brother may get home and wish I’d stuck to restaurant leftovers, but I think he’ll be happy with the spaghetti and salad I’ve cobbled together.

The sound of the boiling water is rhythmic. Soothing. Outside, the wind howls, rattling the glass in the panes. It’s dark and cold, but the kitchen is sweltering, standing under the gentle yellow glow of the oven light. It wasn’t always like this.

Vaughn and I have been living in this little apartment—“cozy” is how the Craigslist ad termed it; “cramped” is probably more accurate—for a few weeks now. You’d think after a while I’d be used to the idea of “coming home” but I still get a little thrill each time I put my key in the lock and the door magically opens. Before this, we stayed with friends or at various shelters, trying to scrape together enough funds to secure our own place, always seeming to run into some sort of obstacle. No rental history. No credit history. No previous landlord references.

Eventually the stars aligned and we scored ourselves a place, though. I always knew we would. Vaughn and I have had to overcome a lot of shit, and somehow here we now are, finally in our own apartment. If our mother could see us, she’d be proud. She’d be glad that we never gave up, that we were determined to make things better for ourselves.

When I hear Vaughn’s key in the door, I’m just serving the food up. Looks like it could be a picture from a magazine, the pasta and the salad, the perfectly golden garlic bread, the tendrils of steam. Fuck yeah.

“Wow, what smells so good?” Vaughn brushes snowflakes from his hair. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright.