Even though a part of my name is Miracle, there’s nothing miraculous about me.
My body portrays the tales of my life.
Every feeling, every heartbreak, every emotion.
Marked. Inked. Stained.
A walking canvas of my messed up truth.
But there’s one confession I can’t put in a tattoo.
A confession that will kill me to tell, but my best friend died before I had the chance.
Now I’m left with him.
The only one who can hold me in the night and squeeze that spot on my neck that feels like my lifeline between sanity and chaos.
But we don’t work together.
We’re absolute poison for each other.
We’re a stifling, suffocating, sickness of darkness.
But I feel safe…because I’ve made an art of pushing people away.
Now he’s pushing back…
And making me believe…
Making me wonder…
Maybe, just maybe…
I could be the one.
~Not The One is connected to the London Lovers Series but will be released as a complete standalone~
He begins to stalk slowly toward me—his tall, wiry build gliding silently across the white tile floor. I back up until I hit the half wall beside the fridge. “We said we weren’t going to do this anymore, Hayden.” I hold my hand out, pressing it to his firm stomach to stop him from coming any closer. I want to walk away, but a larger part of me wants to stop thinking about Liam. And there’s only one way to do that.
Hayden sighs and grabs a piece of my hair. He brings it to his lips. “You look sexy as fuck, Rey. I like your hair like this.” He rubs the silky, dark strand against his lips.
“Nice key change Hay. But you should take those bedroom eyes elsewhere.”
He hunches over and nuzzles his mouth into my neck, licking and kissing a trail up to my ear. “Now why would I want to do that?” he whispers, his voice husky.
Goose pimples flare out on my neck beneath his warm breath. I ball up a chunk of his T-shirt into my fist for some semblance of control. His hands move to grip tightly around my waist and I could scream at my body as it arches into his embrace.
This is exactly what Hayden does to me. He makes me lose all sense of thought and purpose. It’s part of the draw. He’s a freaking mess just like me and I ache for the pleasure I know he can grant me.
“We say a lot of words,” he mumbles against my neck. “Let’s do less saying. And more fucking.”
His words have an instant shock to all my erogenous zones. Suddenly, he shifts his head and swipes his lips against mine in a painful, biting kiss. The taste of red wine passes back and forth between our lips and tongues and my eyes roll to the back of my head as I let his assault intoxicate me.
His tall frame is at an awkward angle, so he slides his hands down my butt and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he slams me back against the fridge. The cozy press of his hard on against my center instantly has my groin thrusting into his.
“God I fucking love your legs,” Hayden growls and nips my collar bone with his teeth as he carries me over to my rumpled mattress on the floor in my living room.
This is what Hayden and I do best. We fuck to forget. We’re a mess of dysfunctional, codependent, sex-starved garbage together. And it is hot as hell.