All Chapters of My Bruised Heart: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

DOM I was silent for several seconds, trying to process what the hell this woman was telling me. Not even the sight of her delicious legs under that skirt I told her not to wear could distract me. My entire focus was on her words, the weight of them, the implications. She was insinuating that her mother had murdered a man. I swallowed. Carefully. Slowly. "Is that not how he died?" I asked, keeping my voice even. I needed to be cautious—Miles believed this, but my mind worked differently. I needed facts, evidence—I needed to be sure. Her eyes locked onto mine, burning like a storm. "That man was as healthy as a horse. He was thirty-seven and constantly bragged about his fat percentage. His death didn’t make sense. But I knew my mother worked at the hospital. She knows how to make things look a certain way." A sharp, twisting dread curled in my stomach. "You’re saying she—" I stopped myself. "How do you know it was her?" "I heard her." I blinked. "Heard her... what?"

*WARNING EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT DOM Fuck, I missed her. It had only been a day, but it felt like weeks since she last looked at me, spoke to me, let me touch her. I’d told her not to care about me, and she’d listened. Too well. It drove me fucking insane. And now? Now she was everywhere—in my bed, in my head, under my skin. Miles Valentine had invaded everything, and I was fucking helpless to stop it. I was weak for her. I had no control when it came to her. And then she kissed me—kissed me like she needed me, like she’d die if she didn’t. And I let her take what she wanted. Because fuck it, I wanted to be needed by her. "Fuck," I breathed between open-mouthed kisses, gripping her tighter as she rocked into me. She knew exactly what she was doing to me. Her fingers twisted in my hair, her lips claiming me like I was already hers. She climbed onto my lap, and a fresh wave of her scent wrapped around me—fuck, she was wet already. My hands slid up her thighs, slipping under th

DOMI was fucked.Absolutely fucked.Because this woman—this reckless, starved, frustrating, perfect fucking woman—was driving me insane.I thought I was stronger than this. I thought I could hold back, that I could pretend I wasn’t unraveling every time she was near me.But now?Now, I was sitting in the library, gripping my phone like it was the only thing keeping me from walking over there and taking what was mine.I found her.Not waiting outside like she usually did when I pulled up after practice.Not half-asleep with her head buried in a book.No—she was here. At a table for two, sitting across from him.The fucking skyscraper.And she was smiling.Giggling.Her eyes lit up as she leaned forward, touching his arm, letting out soft little hee hee’s like he was the funniest guy she’d ever met.I gritted my teeth, barely keeping myself in my fucking chair.Because what the fuck was this?This had to be a joke. A test. She wasn’t seriously letting this bastard hover around her like

MILESThe ride home was uncomfortable. Not in a bad way, either. My body was buzzing, wound so tight I could barely breathe.I didn’t know what came over me.After rushing out of Room R45, leaving Dom hard and aching, I hadn't been able to think of anything else. The way he got on his knees, the way he looked at me right before he ducked under my skirt—like he’d just found his goddamn salvation.And fuck, the way he drank from me.I was still wet.I clenched my thighs together, pressing so tight my knees ached. But it wasn’t enough. The ache between my legs was still there, and no amount of squeezing could get rid of the throb still echoing in my bones.Worse? He had gained another pair of my underwear. I had to take my last class and sit in the library while Dom and Marcus practiced, probably leaving traces of myself everywhere!I was wrecked. Completely, utterly ruined.A shiver ran down my spine."You look a little flushed, baby sis," Marcus teased from the front seat, turning in h

DOM "But you won't." What the fuck was happening? I was just about to feast on her, to have her writhing under me, and she stopped me. She’s never stopped me. Not once. Not when she was clawing at me. Not when her body was singing for me. Not when she was shaking, desperate, needing me. And yet— Here she was. Pushing me away. A sick, twisting feeling coiled in my stomach—something foreign, wrong. A raw, suffocating pressure squeezed my chest, making it hard to breathe. Is this what rejection feels like? No. No, this was different. This was worse. Rejection was Maria picking Marcus’s crayons over mine in the third grade. This was Miles choosing to take control—choosing to deny me. I clenched her thighs, weakly protesting. If she wanted me to stop, I’d— A small shove. Just enough for me to feel the command in it. Her hand stayed pressed to my chest as she followed me off the bed, her body moving like liquid fire, slow and lethal. Her nails scraped do