Page 33 of Keeping Skylar (Fractured Hearts #1)

Skylar

It’s been a month since Heath moved in, and we’ve slowly settled into a comfortable rhythm—juggling work, catching up with Hannah and Nate, and enjoying quiet moments at home.

Sharing a space with a roommate has turned out to be surprisingly easy.

Then again, it probably depends on who you’re sharing it with.

Over the past few weeks, Heath and I have uncovered more about each other’s interests, goals, and even fears.

It’s amazing how living in close proximity can strip away the usual masks, making room for something more honest, more real.

And through it all, I’ve come to truly value Heath’s unwavering patience—his respect for my boundaries, and his quiet willingness to let our friendship unfold at its own pace.

Little by little, he’s been helping me rediscover trust, slowly breaking down the walls I built around myself.

It feels like a lifetime ago when Heath left with those two beautiful women at the pub.

I knew I had no right to feel jealous—he’s a gorgeous, single guy, free to do whatever he wants with whomever he chooses.

Still, that didn’t soften the sting of watching him lay on the charm with that smug Casanova smile of his.

That night, I came home in a sour mood, unable to shake the image of him fucking those girls in some hotel room—like he was some world-class pornstar.

Meanwhile, I was at home, feeling drunk, horny, and all alone.

I passed out not long after climbing into bed, and when I woke up the next morning, Heath still hadn’t come home.

It wasn’t until two days later, while sitting in the staffroom with Hannah, that she casually dropped the bomb I never saw coming—Heath hadn’t slept with the two women after all.

He’d supposedly backed out just before things could go any further, unable to get in the mood.

Instead, he came straight home and hit the gym early the next morning to work off all the tension from the night before.

I’m not going to lie—I was quietly dancing with happiness when I heard the news.

Since that night, there hasn’t been a single mention of other women in Heath’s life. I only know this because Hannah keeps me in the loop—she always seems to be in the know when it comes to her one and only brother.

It’s Wednesday night, and Heath is over at Hannah and Nate’s house for some family bonding time. As for me, I’m planning to unwind in front of the TV, eating leftover lemon garlic shrimp pasta Heath brought home last night from his restaurant.

The moment I open the door to the apartment I immediately hear the sound of a familiar song being played on the guitar. Huh? Heath’s home?

I step inside, cautiously glancing around, half-expecting another surprise to jump out at me.

Instead, I find my roommate in his room, sitting on the floor beside his bed with an AirPod in one ear and a guitar propped up on his lap.

His eyes flick to the doorway the minute he senses me, and a slow, irresistible smile spreads across his face.

“Hey, you,” he says, pulling out his AirPod and resting his arm on top of his guitar.

“Hey. You’re home tonight?”

He nods. “I am. Nate currently has the man flu, so Hannah warned me to stay away this week.”

I huff out a laugh, fully aware there’s nothing worse than dealing with a man-baby with the flu. “Ahh ... I see. Poor Hannah,” I tease with a smirk. He chuckles under his breath. “Were you just playing Mesmerised by The Byron Poets?” I ask.

He nods and pats the empty spot beside him. I walk over and ease down, settling comfortably at his side. As soon as we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, he shifts the guitar on the opposite thigh and begins playing the song from the start.

A few minutes later, the final notes fade, and Heath gently sets his guitar down beside him. When he glances over at me, I can’t help but shake my head in awe.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you playing.”

He offers a bashful smile. “Thanks. I enjoy playing their songs. They’re one of my favourite Aussie bands.”

“They’re mine too!” I say a little too enthusiastically.

“Yeah? What’s your favourite song?”

“I love most of their songs from the first album, but when Dear Melody came out, it instantly became my all-time favourite.”

When I heard the song for the first time, I was on my way home from work—and I practically sprinted through the door just to play it another five hundred times. Safe to say, that was the beginning of my obsession with the local band.

The song was inspired by the turbulent love story of lead singer Zane and his wife, Melody—a gifted concert violinist. It’s set in the aftermath of Zane’s painful and highly public breakup with his long-term girlfriend, who had an affair with his father—the band’s manager.

The lyrics follow their emotional journey towards healing, with Melody becoming Zane’s steady anchor.

Through her unwavering strength and compassion, she mends his fractured heart and helps him rediscover what it means to trust and love again.

“How did I know you were going to say that particular song?” Heath says, his lips curling into an amused smirk.

“It’s just such a beautiful song. Not the cheating part, obviously—but the love story behind it.

It’s about compassion, rediscovery, hope, and learning to love again after betrayal.

” I pause, giving a small shrug before adding, “I guess it resonates with me more now than it used to. It was my favourite song to sing in front of people.”

Heath’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—you sing?” he says in disbelief.

I nod. “Used to. Not anymore. I haven’t felt inspired to sing in front of anyone lately.

” It’s been almost seven years since I sang in front of an audience.

I used to love performing for family and friends, even taking requests to sing at weddings and birthdays.

But after I married Kaden, something shifted—my passion for singing faded.

And to this day, I still haven’t been able to find my voice.

Heath’s gaze lingers longer than necessary, as if he’s almost too enthralled to look away. “What would it take for me to hear you sing?”

Caught off guard, I quickly shake my head, feeling heat rise in my neck and face.

“Oh, Heath, I don’t know. It’s been such a long time. I’ll probably sound like a broken record,” I say with a nervous chuckle.

He doesn’t laugh; instead, he narrows his eyes at me. “If I play Dear Melody on the guitar, will you sing it for me?”

I glance around the room, desperately searching for a way out of this, but come up empty. “Umm ...” I shrug, unsure of what to say.

He picks up on my nervousness and readjusts the guitar on his lap. Then, without saying a word or waiting for my cue, he starts playing the intro. Oh crap!

I sit anxiously as he works the strings with practiced ease, grateful that his eyes stay focused on the guitar and not on me.

My gaze drops to my hands in my lap, fingers curling and uncurling as I try to summon the courage to sing.

The intro loops again, seamless and steady—his quiet way of telling me he’s in no rush, that he’ll wait as long as I need.

After his fifth attempt, my eyes close instinctively, and I finally find the courage to open my mouth and sing.

And I sing.

With every fibre of my being.

I pour my heart and soul into each note, weaving the heartache and pain I’ve endured in the past five and a half months into the lyrics of the song.

My voice cracks with the raw desperation of heartbreak, steadies with the cautious steps of rediscovery, and gradually rises—strong and sure—with the blossoming strength of hope.

A few minutes later, as the final notes of the song dissolve into silence, something stirs inside me—a flicker of a spark I haven’t felt in years.

When I finally open my eyes, they’re met with Heath’s deep and intense ones.

It’s as if he’s unable to look away ...

like he’s seeing the real me for the very first time.

We’re locked in each other’s gaze, neither of us daring to move or speak. A silent charge passes between us—desire, electricity, or perhaps something more?

Before I can even utter another word, Heath crashes his lips hard against mine.

The shock hits me for a brief moment, but I quickly regain my composure, matching his intensity with my own.

With his lips still pressed against mine, he tosses his guitar aside and gently lowers me to the floor.

My arms instinctively wrap around his neck as he settles his body over mine.

Our kiss deepens, growing more urgent and desperate. Our tongues tangle, eagerly exploring and devouring as we swallow each other’s moans. I part my legs, and he gently eases himself between them, feeling the unmistakable sensation of his hard cock as he slowly moves his hips against my core.

My hands tug at his hair as he slowly kisses and licks his way down my jaw and neck.

“Heath.” I moan, desperately seeking more friction.

He begins to grind harder, making me soak through my lacey underwear.

Desperate to feel his bare skin on mine, I grab the hem of his shirt, and in one swift motion, it’s off and tossed on the carpet.

He feels warm and solid beneath my palms, his muscles flexing with every subtle movement. The way his mouth and hands explore me—gentle and unrushed—makes me feel worshipped and adored, like I’m something sacred in his arms.

He sits up on his knees, and helps me wriggle out of my jeans and underwear, leaving me naked from the waist down.

His starving eyes hungrily take in my smooth bare legs and pussy as I lay on the floor panting.

He bites his bottom lip, his expression raw and primal, making me instantly flush with heat. I open my legs wider.

“Fuck, Skylar!” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe his own eyes. “You are perfection! So fucking beautiful.” He growls.

“Heath, please,” I groan. “I need more!”

After one final look, he slowly slides down, until his head is nestled between my legs—in line with my aching core.

I rise up on my elbows and watch with anticipation as he spreads my legs further apart and inhales my scent. He closes his eyes, licking his lips as if savouring my essence. “God. You smell fucking divine!” He groans.

Curling his arms around the top of my thighs, he pulls me closer towards his face. He breathes me in one last time before his mouth clamps down on my pussy. I let out a loud gasp, my head falling backwards, as his tongue swipes along my slit, circling my throbbing clit.

The sensation is warm and slippery, making my skin tingle all over. He definitely knows what he’s doing and how to drive me crazy. His tongue is doing all sorts of magical tricks, causing me to whimper and writhe beneath him.

Just as I’m about to thread my fingers through his hair, he suddenly pulls back, a teasing grin spreading across his face. Then, he slowly thrusts a finger inside me, making my back arch off the ground.

Not a minute later, he adds another, his fingers sliding in easily from how wet I’ve become. My pussy clenches around him in a tight grip as he slams his mouth on my clit again, swirling his tongue and feasting on me like a man deprived of food.

I feel my orgasm rise as Heath fucks me vigorously with his fingers, his mouth lapping up all my juices. The moment he hits my g-spot, my body shudders and my eyes roll to the back of my head as the most intense orgasm explodes through me.

Once my pleasure subsides, Heath gently pulls his fingers out of me and sits up, wiping my arousal from his lips with the back of his hand. He flashes a devious, almost cocky grin, and the sight alone sends a fresh wave of heat pulsing low in my belly.

As he leans back on his haunches, I quickly sit up and eagerly reach for his belt—but his hands catches my wrists before I can go any further. He gives a subtle shake of his head, silently halting me. “Uh-uh, duchess. Not today.” He smirks.

My jaw drops in shock. Is he serious right now? “What do you mean, not today?” I ask, fixing him with a sharp, narrowed stare.

His chuckles, the sound low and raspy. “It means we have all the time in the world for this. There’s no rush, baby.”

I glance down at my bare thighs, suddenly overcome with self-consciousness.

He notices right away and gently lifts my chin, his gaze tender and kind. “I would love nothing more than to fuck you nine ways to Sunday, but I’d rather take my time with you, okay?”

I nod slowly, realising he’s absolutely right. It’s still too soon. I’d gotten so caught up in the moment with him that I hadn’t stopped to think about how I might feel afterward.

He leans down, his lips brushing mine in soft, tender kisses. After gently helping me into my clothes, he presses one last lingering kiss to my lips before guiding me to my feet.

As we sit on the edge of his bed, he asks me if I’d like something to eat. After that mind-blowing orgasm, he must’ve sensed I was starving—either that, or he heard my stomach rumble. When I nod, he stands up immediately and tells me to wait on the bed while he prepares something for us to eat.

The moment he steps out of the room, I bury my face in my hands, hiding the smile tugging at my lips from everything that just transpired not too long ago.

I was surprised by how comfortable and safe I felt with him, how there wasn’t a single moment where I wanted to stop or slow down.

Honestly, if he hadn’t stopped me, I think I would’ve gladly gone all the way.

After that steamy little episode, there’s no denying it anymore—I’m catching feelings for my roommate. And for once, the thought doesn’t scare me.

There’s a strange excitement bubbling within me as I think about opening myself up to new possibilities.

Who knows what will come after tonight? Maybe we’ll choose to forget it ever happened—or maybe we’ll embrace whatever is quietly blooming between us.

Either way, I know one thing for sure: this time, I’ll be ready.