Page 83 of Savage Heart

He tastes like salt and tears and cinnamon candy. He pulls me closer, my knees knocking into his, then tugs me into his lap.

This is too soon. It was never said out loud, but still, I think we promised ourselves we’d never touch like this again.

But it’s real and too good to stop.

He breaks away just long enough to rest his forehead against mine, breath ragged. “Iris,” he whispers.

“Don’t,” I say. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

He kisses me again, slower this time, just as deep, and the pain is still there, but it softens around the edges. I feel warm and terrified and awake.

For this moment, there is no past. No accident. No blame.

He pulls away suddenly and stands, holding me against him. My legs wrap around his waist.

“I have always wanted you more than I should,” he says.

He carries me up the stairs like I’m sacred. Each step creaks beneath us, each breath between kisses uneven and gasping. I tug his hair, my forehead pressing to his as he moves quickly to his bedroom.

When he lays me down on his bed, his gaze is reverent.

He hovers over me for a moment, searching my face.

I pull him down. I don’t want sacred. I want him to fill this grief inside me for all the years lost with something that can make me forget, even if just for a few minutes.

His kiss is slow and perfect. His tongue glides down my skin, worshipful, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me. My heart needs this to be quicker between us, but my body is divided, wanting to savor every touch, every glance.

I cling to him, to the weight of him, to the quiet sounds we make together. Our clothes come off, and I can’t believe this is happening.

He pulls back and stares at me, his gaze trailing down my body.

He is chiseled in stone. His shoulders are like powerful boulders, his legs thick and long . . . and so is his cock, pointing right at me. I take him in, feeling out of breath.

“You’re more beautiful than I could’ve imagined,” he says. “You’re perfection, every inch of you.”

He kisses down my body and settles between my legs. His eyes stay on mine as his tongue first makes contact with my center. My head falls back. It feels too good.

“Watch me,” he says, his voice low and husky.

I lean up on my elbows and watch as he devours me, until my legs are shaking and I can’t take it another second. My eyes squeeze shut when I come harder than I ever have, and when I open my eyes again, he wipes his mouth with the back of his fist and kisses his way back up my body.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Come here,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

I have felt alone for so long. There’s never been a connection like this with anyone . . . ever . . . and it feels better than I could have imagined. Too good. I keep reminding myself to not get in my head too much about this.

When he puts a condom on, his eyes are questioning one last time, but I pull him against me again, and when he enters me, tears fall down my face.

Finally. All feels right.

“Is this really happening?” he whispers, his thumbs swiping my tears away.

I nod, and his lips are on mine again, as our bodies move together like they’re finally home.

Our movements become frantic, chasing relief but also trying to prolong this. It’s too perfect to end. I breathe his name as I come again, even harder this time, and he follows right after me with a hoarse cry.

When we finally go still, his forehead rests against mine, and we try to catch our breath. My legs are still wrapped around him, like I’m afraid if I let go, the truth might slip away.