Broken Hearts : New-Adult Angsty College Romance (Silverbrook University Book 2)
Broken Hearts: Chapter 13

Surprise floods me as I step into her apartment, the door left carelessly ajar. I half expect her James Dean on steroids to lurk in the shadows, ready to pounce, but there’s only Eva, looking like a contradiction wrapped in an enigma. Her attire is modest, almost librarian-esque, but it doesn’t mask the fiery spirit beneath.

“Your violin,” I say as I put it carefully on the floor.

Looking at the violin, I see more than an instrument – it’s Eva’s, her way of speaking without words. I never intended to burn it; that was just talk. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy something she cherishes so deeply. I hope she understood that, and maybe that’s why she called my bluff. The thought of her actually letting go of something so precious, as if she’s letting go of a part of herself, it just doesn’t sit right with me.

Seeing her pawn it really shook me. That violin was her passion, a part of her that’s always drawn me in, even when everything else was a mess. My plan to push her, to somehow win her back, only backfired. She parted with something so integral to who she is, like she was cutting away a piece of herself. I never wanted that.

Getting the violin back wasn’t easy. The pawnshop owner sensed my desperation and milked it for all it was worth, charging me an exorbitant ten thousand dollars. I paid it. Not just out of guilt but because I didn’t want that part of her to fade away—the part I still care about more than I’ve let on.

Now, standing here in her apartment, I can’t help but wonder if I’m trying to fix something irreparably broken. It’s not about the violin anymore. It’s about us, about everything that’s happened. And that realization is harder to face than I thought.

“What is it you want, Cole? Seriously. What would it take for you to forget I exist?” Her voice is laced with weariness, and it grates on my nerves.

Pausing, her question echoes in my head. For a moment, the mask of confidence and bravado slips, and I’m left facing the raw truth of my actions. Did I push her too far? The thought unnerves me. All this time, my focus was on winning her back, on possessing her completely, but at what cost? Maybe I’m not the hero in this story after all. Maybe I’m the villain who’s too blinded by his own desires to see the damage he’s caused.

“What do you think I want?” I retort, the tension between us palpable.

“To fuck me?”

“What if I do?”

“Fine.”

She says “fine” too quickly, too easily. A muscle twitches in my jaw as suspicion and desire clash within me. The flicker of nervousness in her eyes doesn’t match her casual tone.

“Fine? What game are you playing, Angel?”

There must be a trick. It can’t be that easy, not with her, but my dick doesn’t seem to care as it starts to harden.

“Do you have a condom?” she asks, a practical edge to her voice.

“We never bothered before. Why now?” I challenge, feeling the heat rising between us.

“Because of the consequences,” she replies, her tone firm.

In a heartbeat, I’m on her, my hands cradling her face as I kiss her deeply. Her lips part under the pressure of my teeth, yielding to the dominance of my tongue. She tastes of coffee and chocolate, a familiar flavor that I’ve missed more than I care to admit. At this moment, I don’t care if it’s a trap, if I’m marching straight into the fiery pits of hell. The sensation of her, here, now, under my touch, is all that matters.

Her response is hesitant at first, but there’s an undercurrent of something more, a complexity in her surrender. It’s Eva, through and through—a paradox that keeps pulling me back in. As our bodies press closer, I can’t help but think about the twisted path that led us here, about the pain and desire that intertwine so seamlessly between us. This moment, charged with unresolved tension and aching need, feels like the precipice of something inevitable.

Grabbing her long skirt in my hand, I pull it up. I expect her to put a stop to whatever game she’s playing at any moment, but I will enjoy every second she plays along.

Reaching the hem of her panties, I slide my hand in without hesitation. I break our kiss as I rub her slit, looking into her beautiful face. She’s not as wet as I would like her to be, not enough for my eight inches not to hurt, and definitely not as wet as my passionate kissing used to get her.

Her eyes look as hungry as I feel. Whatever scheme she’s planning, it’s slipping. She’s getting pulled in, just like me. There’s no denying the heat between us, something raw and real. And I know despite whatever lie she’s telling herself, there’s still something between us, underneath all the mess.

I rub her gently and press on her clit, getting the little gasp I crave. She grabs her bottom lip between her teeth as I start to rub faster, and I brush my nose against hers as wetness starts to coat my fingers.

A satisfied grin spreads on my lips at the obvious arousal coating my fingers, and she lets out a groan as she rests her forehead against my chest.

I keep going for a while and then enter her slowly with one finger, going in and out a couple of times before adding a second one. She lets out a throaty moan that goes straight to my cock, hardening it to the point of pain.

I need her now. In the heat of the moment, my hands act before my mind can catch up. I rip the side of her panties, the fabric giving way under my rough grip. She gasps, the sound stirring something primal in me. I know it’ll leave a mark on her skin—I’d done it before in the heat of the moment when I was more animal than man, and she used to like it… love it even. My Eva loved to have my marks on her.

Crashing my lips onto hers, I’m lost in the familiar taste and warmth of her. It’s a possession, a claiming, as I wrap an arm around her waist, intending to steer her toward the bedroom.

“No,” she mumbles against my lips, her breath hitching.

Her resistance throws me off. I brace myself for the rejection I’ve grown too familiar with. But then she surprises me. “The table will do.” Her voice is a mix of desire and determination.

She wants to fuck? Fine, let’s fuck. I lift her skirt, setting her on the cold surface. Her sharp intake of breath sends a thrill through me.

“Condom,” she insists, nodding toward a drawer near the stove.

Grunting with annoyance, I comply. My hand pauses as I reach for the condom, a surge of bile rising in my throat. The drawer’s location, so oddly convenient, plants a seed of doubt. Images of her with that stupid James Dean trying to fill my shoes flash in my mind, igniting a wildfire of jealousy.

I go back to the table and settle between her legs. I pause, taking a moment to lock eyes with her as I run my hands from her face down to her shoulders, easing her down onto the table. She lies there… my offering.

Bunching her skirt around her waist, I lick my lips, looking at her glistening pussy. She’s so wet and ready for me no matter what game she plays, what lies she’s telling herself; she wants me. Maybe not as obsessively as I want her, but she wants me nonetheless.

I want to eat her, relish her wetness, but I want to be inside her so bad, and I’m sure that if I start licking her now, I’ll come in my pants like a boy.

Pulling her top up, I undo her front-opening bra, her big breasts exposed to my gaze. My mouth waters, knowing I’m merely seconds from having them in my mouth.

Unzipping my jeans, I let out a little moan as I free my hard cock from its restraint. I put the stupid condom on before rubbing the head of my cock on her slit. She lets out a breath as I enter her slowly, relishing how her walls tighten around my length. She’s made for me. Being inside her is even better than I remember. I’ve never felt anything like this.

As she wraps her legs around my waist, our rhythm intensifies, each thrust met with her increasingly fervent moans. They resonate through me, fueling a deeper desire. Her legs tighten around me, urging me on, and I lean down to capture a nipple with my lips, drawing it into my mouth.

The moment she utters my name, a surge of possessive satisfaction courses through me. I let go of her nipple, my hand trailing up her body, a path of heat in its wake until it wraps around her neck. A slight pressure, a familiar edge to our intimacy, and her response is immediate—her walls clench around me, heightening the sensation.

“You love it when I fuck you hard, don’t you, Angel?” I ask, and I can’t stop looking at my hand around her neck as I thrust harder inside her.

“Yes,” she breathes, arching her back, and I see how tightly she holds the edge of the table, stopping herself from reaching for me when all I want is for her to hold me, caress me.

“Touch me,” I growl, but she shakes her head and tightens her hold on the table.

I bury my face in her neck and bite. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to leave my mark on her milky skin. It was something I loved doing back then… leaving my marks in intimate places. Inside her plush thighs, on her round hip, on her breast.

Mine, mine, only mine, my mind roars as my thrusts turn uncoordinated, my balls tightening, announcing my upcoming orgasm. I can’t stop it; I won’t stop, not after I’ve got her again. I pinch her nipple and start rubbing her clit the way I know will take her over the edge. And then she makes that noise I’m addicted to, and her walls tighten almost painfully around me as she comes. I let go, too, coming hard as I call her name before falling heavily on top of her and licking the mark I left there.

Closing my eyes, I enjoy being against her, smelling her, feeling my softening cock in her tight, warm heat.

As Eva’s hands finally replace me, resting on my shoulders, a small smile forms against her skin. This touch, this connection, used to be one of my favorite parts of being with her. Whether we made love or had raw, passionate sex, she always had this way of wrapping herself around me afterward. Her kisses, her gentle caresses, they spoke of love, making me feel cherished.

This time, it’s different. Her touch isn’t tender or loving. Instead, her hands tighten and suddenly push me away. I’m caught off guard, not by the act itself but by the unexpected strength behind it. I stumble backward, unprepared, the distance between us growing in more ways than one. The warmth of her body is suddenly gone, leaving a cold space that’s about more than just physical separation.

In a fluid motion, she’s up and adjusting her clothes. She bends down to pick up the ripped panties from the floor, her movements quick and efficient, so unlike the lingering touches we used to share.

Keeping my eyes on her, trying to gauge her mood, I remove my condom and put my dick back in my pants.

I step toward her, my voice low. “Let’s go to bed.” The first time was rushed, but now I crave more—I want to worship her body, erase the memory of our petty conflicts with pure pleasure.

She spins around, laughter escaping her lips, and I’m taken aback. “No. That was it—one time. Now, I have leverage. Threaten me or my family again, and Jenny will know all about us.”

So that was her angle?! Blackmail? Clever, but she’s misjudged. I can’t help but smirk, thinking of her misplaced triumph. Oh, what a delicious fail!

She frowns as my smile broadens. She was the only one I’ve ever been faithful to. She was the only person I committed to.

I shrug. “Tell her then. I’m not with Jenny. She’s nothing to me since high school.”

Doubt flickers in her eyes, and I press on. “And what about your new guy? The one trying to be James Dean? What will he think of us?”

Her frown deepens, and then her eyes widen with realization. I grit my teeth; I hate that she’s somehow confirming my worst fears. She’s dating that guy. He is enjoying what is mine, and that won’t do.

She sighs, waving her hand dismissively. “Go tell him, he won’t care.”

I take another step forward. “So you are not with him?” I can’t hide the hope in my voice.

“I am, but he doesn’t mind sharing.”

Incredulity prompts a scoff. “A man willing to share you?” I don’t believe it for a second.

Her gaze hardens. “You had no problem passing me to Derek, did you?”

“Share you?” That accusation hits a nerve. I never would have shared her. The thought alone makes me want to murder someone.

She dismisses the conversation with another wave of her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” I insist, but she’s already turning away.

“Goodbye, Cole.”

Except that I’m not ready for this to end. I can’t let her go, not yet. “Why did you cheat on that math test?” It’s a question that haunts me, a mystery I need to solve.

“I didn’t,” she replies, her patience wearing thin. “Leave. Now.”

I stand my ground, arms crossed. I’m not leaving, not without answers, not without her being mine again. I will spend my night with Eva.

““You did,” I counter, as she turns back towards me. The tiredness in her eyes is more telling than words could ever be.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she says, her voice heavy with finality.

The exhaustion in her gaze and the definitive tone of her voice cause something within me to crack, leaving me feeling raw and emotional in a way that only Eva Sinclair can provoke.

“Why did you tell her?” My voice is low.

“Tell who about what?” Even the irritation in her voice doesn’t manage to take me out of this weird funk.

“Jenny. Why did you tell her about my… condition?” I can’t say it.

She seems confused; it only lasts one second, but it’s enough for me to realize that she didn’t say a thing.

Before I can add anything, her face closes, and it carries so much anger and even a hint of hate that I take a step back.

“Is that why you destroyed my life? Because you thought I spilled your little secret to your one and only?”

I want to correct her. Jenny is not my one and only; she is. But something clicks in her words. “How did I destroy your life?” I ask instead, closing the distance between us.

She raises a finger, taking a few steps back.

“One fuck! It was just one fuck,” she replies stubbornly.

I shake my head. “No. It could never be just one fuck, Angel, and you know it. It’s you and me.”

She grabs her phone, and I am about to ask her who she’s calling. She can call James Dean. I don’t even care. I’ll fight him for her if that’s what she wants.

“Campus security?” she speaks into the phone, and I feel a cold shock. She’s really calling them on me. “I’m being harassed. There’s a man in my apartment who’s refusing to leave.”

Eyes narrowing, I consider the implications. They will not keep me long, not with my name and status, but if that gets back to my father…

“Yes, I’m at—”

Raising my hands in surrender, I step back. “Well played,” I mutter, conceding this round to her.

I’ll leave, but this isn’t over. I’ll uncover the truth, fix whatever I’ve messed up, and Eva will be mine again. She has to be.