Connected Read Online A.E. Murphy (Broken #2)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, College, Dark, Drama, New Adult, Romance, Young Adult Tags Authors: Series: Broken Series by A.E. Murphy
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Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
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Do I smell? Maybe I smell or something.

I hope not.

I don’t feel so good right now. That glow most people get after having sex just vanished and I suddenly feel dirty.

I quickly get dressed, almost getting tangled in my long dress in my haste to look for Nathan. He still hasn’t returned and it has been almost ten minutes.

Where is he?

“Nathan?” I shout, leaning over the hole in the ground. I can’t see him. Damn it. “NATHAN!”

He steps into my line of sight. I notice him pulling the zipper of his trousers up. He must have gone to urinate.

Smiling nervously, he climbs up the ladder with ease. I marvel at the sight of his arm muscles tightening against the fabric of his shirt.

Holy crap. We just had sex.

I blush, avoiding his eyes as I stand and move out of his way, my hands twisting in front of me.

“Hey.” He catches my wrist and places his finger under my chin to tilt my head back. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head, albeit a little frantically, and go to step into him. I need holding right now.

My heart aches when he steps back and crouches down by the bag he brought. He knew my intention then, I know he did.

Oh god. Is this all he wanted? To see if I was any good?

Was I not?

I did just kind of lie there, but in my defence I was trying to give him the space he seemed to need.

He pulls out two bottles of water and hands one to me. I carefully twist the lid off and take a few small sips.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Gwen?” Nathan says quietly as he sits back on the pillows.

“Hmm?”

He pats the cushions beside him. “Come here.”

Still blushing slightly, I clear my throat and sink down onto the pillows beside him.

My body moves and suddenly I’m on my back with Nathan towering over me. I don’t get the chance to yelp as it happens too fast. He grins mischievously; it’s a look that is so different in contrast to how he was a few months ago. It suits him.

“What are you thinking?” I ask the typical question that most men hate.

He runs his nose along my jaw, his body sinking onto mine more. “I’m thinking,” he moves up and kisses me gently before pulling away a fraction, “that I…” He dips down and runs his nose along the curve of my neck. “Am most likely…” I giggle when he nips at my over sensitised skin. “The luckiest man…” His mouth comes back to mine and his eyes stare deeply into my own. “Alive.”

I feel his tongue press against my own and shudder before greeting it. Moan.

“You didn’t orgasm,” I say and instantly regret it. Ground, swallow me whole.

“I did,” he lies, nibbling on my bottom lip.

“Didn’t.” Why would he lie?

“Yes I did.” He smiles, moving from my lips to the lobe of my ear. His hand slides under my dress and grips my hip.

That’s definitely not a gun I feel in his pocket.

“You didn’t; I’ve seen the condom.” I place my fingers in the back of his hair and gently pull his face up to meet mine.

“Hmm.” This is all he says before he presses his lips to mine again. “Would you like to go again?” He grinds his hips into mine.

Definitely not a gun.

“Umm…” Shiver.

“Later,” he responds for me, although my thoughts weren’t saying later, that’s for sure.

I watch as he stacks pillows against the wall and leans against them.

“Go to that trunk for me,” he says politely. I do as I’m told and rest my hand on top of the curved lid. “Open it.”

I do so, expecting to find toys, magazines and junk. Instead I find it to be full of neatly stacked books. In the right hand corner are a few bottles of disinfectant and packaged wipes. I smile and roll my eyes at these.

“Peter Pan should be on the top.”

I see it immediately and run my hand over the tatty cover that has definitely seen better days. “Peter Pan?”

He shrugs, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “It used to be my favourite. I can’t tell you how many times I read it growing up.”

This breaks my heart. Shatters it. Destroys it.

The thought of Nathan, a young boy witnessing such torture finding a friend in a boy who doesn’t have family and never wants to grow up, absolutely moves me yet shatters me all at once.

“Read it to me.”

I immediately comply.

Being careful not to damage the book further in any way, I crawl over to Nathan and rest my head on his lap. Bending my legs at the knees, I use them as a resting place for the book as my fingers turn the pages.

I start reading and his hand starts stroking through my hair. “All children, except one, grow up…”


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