That pain that felt like it defined him.

“And that’s why I didn’t want to tell you. Because I don’t want you to try to fix me. You need to understand that I’m broken, and I know that. I know it. The mistake was getting involved with you at all. And maybe not explaining it then. But I didn’t want it to be... I was pretending. I was pretending that I could be something I wasn’t. I was pretending that it wouldn’t matter. That it could just be for a little while, and I wouldn’t hurt you. I really didn’t want to hurt you.”

He moved toward her, and he put his hand on her cheek. But that was a mistake.

Because he felt it right then. All the anger and pain rising up inside of him, mixing with a desperation that twined around them both.

“Flint,” she whispered.

And that was when he leaned in and tasted her lips for the first time in two years.

Chapter 10

She was living in a riot of pain. Of grief. And she knew that she should turn away from him. She knew that she should stop this. She knew that it was insane. He had just told her...everything. He had bared his soul to her. He had told her what he was, who he was. And it was... It was so painful. It was still spinning around inside of her, and she was trying to grapple with it, and failing.

He had lost his sister.

He and his brother...

And he felt like somehow that made him wrong. Made him beyond redemption.

Made him broken.

But it didn’t. She knew that it didn’t. And she knew she shouldn’t kiss him. But his mouth was on hers, and she couldn’t deny it, not any more now than she had been able to back then. Because he tasted like everything she wanted. Everything she had always wanted. And there was a reason it had been him. Only him.

And there hadn’t been anyone else for him, not since her.

She had been so certain that he had broken her. But maybe they had broken each other a little bit.

“Flint,” she whispered. “I haven’t... There hasn’t been anyone else.”

He growled, his large hand cupping the back of her head as he deepened the kiss.

She knew that this was a mistake, for a variety of reasons. They should probably keep talking. They should probably keep talking instead of this. Because this was always there. And it was too easy. And it was maybe going to cut her open. But she couldn’t stop. Because it was everything she wanted. Because it was maybe the language he spoke.

Or maybe it was just pure, unsquashed hope inside of her; no matter how much she wanted to believe she was immune, no matter how much she wanted to believe she knew better, she just didn’t, never did, never would. Not when it came to him.

And so she kissed him. And kissed him. And there they were in an empty hotel, and there was nobody to walk in on them. Nobody to see.

“I need you,” she said. “Please. Please.”

Except, he didn’t keep her on the couch; he lifted her up into his arms, and began to walk her through the lobby, up the stairs. He carried her away from the direction of her room, down the hall to where she hadn’t been to before. He pushed a door open, and her eyes went wide.

It was amazing. A larger, much more masculine bed was in the center of the room, the large windows open. And she knew where they faced. The mountains. So even with them open, even with the lights on, and the darkness outside, nobody would be able to see them.

He set her down at the center of the bed, and pulled his T-shirt up over his head. His body...

It was so perfect. As perfect as it had ever been. His muscles well-defined and cut, every movement making them ripple and shift.

She began to desperately tear at her own clothes. She didn’t have a bra on, thankfully, so it was just a sweatshirt, and the pants. And she wasn’t embarrassed. Not to be with him. But she never had been. It was right. It felt right. It always did, and it made her want to weep. Because whatever happened, whatever happened when the sun rose, whatever happened when this was all said and done, she was going to be with him again now. And she wanted it. She needed it. Was desperate for it.

“I’m on the pill,” she said, her lips feeling numb as she got up on her knees and went to the edge of the bed, putting her hand on his bare chest, her breath hissing through her teeth as she touched him. “I... After I...”

He put his hand over hers, pressed it more deeply against him. “I get it,” he said. “Because...because I hurt you. Because I changed things for you. Because I... Fuck,” he said. “I’m sorry I said that to you. About being defined by those things. I just hate that I did it. I hate that I did that to you.”

“Well, don’t hate it right now. Because you probably don’t have any condoms, do you?”

He shook his head, a rusty laugh escaping his mouth. “I sure as hell don’t. Because there hasn’t been anyone. Not even a temptation, and I definitely didn’t plan on meeting anyone up here. Least of all you.” He touched her face, skimming the edge of his thumb over her cheekbone. “Least of all you. But then... I never counted on you. Not ever.”

She laughed, the sound almost a sob as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, pressing her naked body against his bare chest.

He growled, moving his hands down her back, to her hips, to her thighs. Then he lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried them both to the center of the bed. He was still wearing his jeans, and she arched against him, his erection, covered in denim, hard still against her body. Rough.

She moaned, rolling her hips against him.

She was so desperate for him. So filled with need, but it wasn’t just physical. She felt like she had been alone for two years. While this person, the one person that had ever got to her in this way, was just out there, away from her. Gone from her. And it had been hell.

Singing about it... All the time. Hearing it over and over again, her own pain, unfiltered and raw, playing in her ears all the time...

It was hell, and this wasn’t heaven. Because it had a time limit on it, like it always did. Like it always would. And it made her want to hide from truth, from reality, from the intensity of what was rioting through her, but she wanted it too much to hide from it. And that, in the end, was the hardest thing. To know that you were running square into the thing that had mortally wounded you before, and to accept that you were making the choice anyway.

That’s what she was doing. She would never know better when it was him. Or maybe she did. Maybe she did, and it would never matter as much as being touched by him.

Maybe it would always be worth the burn to play with his brand of fire. She would despair of it in the morning. Maybe. She would despair of it for years. She knew that already, because she already had.

But now... Now she had him. Now she was with him. And it was everything, and so was he. She skimmed her hands over his chest, down his back. Up to his face again. And she cupped his cheek, and whispered against his mouth, “I want you. I want you so much.”

“Tell me,” he growled, flexing his hips against her again, her internal muscles pulsing as his hardness hit her right where she needed him most, unerringly.

“I’m wet for you,” she said. “Only for you. Only ever for you. I can have anyone. I’m rich and famous. I basically have groupies. Men, women, I could have anyone I want, but I just want you. I just want you. You fucking broke my heart. And look at me, I’m desperate for you. You, Flint Carson.”

He growled, and undid the buckle on his belt. Stripped his jeans off, and her breath caught when she saw him, totally naked. Glorious. Beautiful. She needed him. Needed this. More than anything.

“Take me,” she said. “Make me yours again. Please. Please.” And maybe she said other things, but they were incoherent. Other things, but she didn’t understand them. She didn’t understand anything except him. He was like a map to herself. This desire a guiding star, bringing her home.

And maybe it would never, ever make sense to anyone else, but she didn’t need it to.

She only needed him. Only ever him.

“Take me,” she whispered, and he thrust home.

She gasped, tears forming in her eyes, because it felt so right. To have him in her. So deep, she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. And she didn’t want to. She wanted this. This feeling of being one. This feeling of being his.

And he began to move, and it was like an ignited spark within her soul. She clung to his shoulders, and she kept her eyes open, because she didn’t want to look away.

His name was her every heartbeat.

Flint.