Glitch (Next Level, #1)

by Briana Michaels

I don’t want anyone else getting a piece of her. Not her laugh. Her time. Her attention. She’s mine. I can’t explain why I feel the way I do, but now that she’s here, she’s real. And she’s fucking mine.

“You’re trying to take care of me.” Did she need someone to take care of her? I volunteer. Did she want someone to make sure all her needs were met? I. Vol. Un. Teer.

He’s learning my body. My likes and dislikes. What makes me detonate. I think I’m struggling to grasp this concept because no one’s ever bothered to be thorough and generous with me before.

“The hell I can’t.” He spins my chair and plants his hands on the armrests. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I took so long to get to you. I’m sorry you had to ever be around an asshole who couldn’t appreciate what he had. I’m sorry you don’t see your beauty like I do, or that you can’t grasp how truly insanely amazing you are.” He jerks the chair, making my heart leap in surprise. “I’ll spend all day, every day, telling you the truth. I’ll growl them in your ear, carve them into your dreams. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met. You’re funny and talented and built like a goddamn wet dream.”

“I can’t stand the idea of someone else getting a glimpse of your magnificent body.” He palms my tits, roughly, tentatively. When he pinches my nipples, I cry out. “And if you gain weight, lose weight, dye your hair, shave your head, or change in anyway, I want a portrait of it. I want all of you. All your phases, all your transitions.” He bites down on my shoulder, making my toes curl. “I want to see your belly round with my baby. I want to kiss your stretch marks. I want to take care of you when you’re exhausted and even when you’re full of energy and life. I want to pop into your studio whenever I want and watch you be deadlocked on your paintings, so lost with your muse you can’t even see me standing there admiring what you are and what you create.”