But this made him want to do that. She had always made him want to do that, and maybe that was the biggest reason he had let her go. Because she made him wish that things could be different. And he knew that that was an endless trap that you could fall into and never get out of.
But right now, he just wanted the moment. He wanted to surrender to it. To her.
And so he did. He kissed her, with every ounce of desire in his soul. He held her against him, relishing the feel of her curves against his body as he did.
He kissed her. Kissed her like he might die if he didn’t, and he wondered if part of him had. All these years when he’d been without her. All these years when he’d told himself that he didn’t need her. That he had done the right thing. How can anything but this be right?
He cradled her face in his hands, kissed her deep, kissed down the elegant column of her throat, sliding his tongue over the line of her collarbone. At the same time, his hands found the belt on her robe, and undid it slowly, pushing it away from her body. Letting it fall to the ground. She was beautiful. And it was like unwrapping a Christmas present. The only one he’d ever cared about. The only one he could remember ever wanting.
She was famous now. A woman the whole world wanted a piece of.
But she was a woman that he had. A woman whose body he knew better than his own, even though before tonight it had been two years since he’d seen her. Two years since he’d touched her.
Mine.
The word welled up inside of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted anyone or anything this badly.
Maybe he never had. Because he hadn’t let himself.
Because wanting... Wanting like this, it was almost a curse. But he couldn’t turn away from it. Not now. Not when it was like this. So desperate. Her hands went to his belt buckle, undid it slowly, then to his jeans.
And he let himself feel what he hadn’t that first time. The all of it. That she had never let anyone else inside of her, except for him. And he had done what with that?
Why had he taken it if he had known that he couldn’t honor it? Why had he taken her if he had known he couldn’t give her what she deserved?
Maybe because he wasn’t as strong as he liked to think. He was weak. For her. It had always been that way. From moment one.
And right now he just needed her. He hadn’t needed sex in two years. It wasn’t just about that. Wasn’t just about a simple dry spell, because if so, he would have done something about it. If so, he would have found someone else. That was just sex. For him, it was about her.
And he wanted to show that to her.
He laid her down slowly on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, kissed her mouth, kissed her breasts.
Her body was a brilliant gift, something rich and lovely in the firelight. Something that nothing and no one would ever be able to overshadow.
She was his summer. And now she was his winter too.
Or maybe he’d made his own winter these past two years, but she was the reason why. The reason why it felt so dark. The reason why everything in him had changed.
Because it had been an eclipse on anything good when he let her walk out of his life.
He wanted to show her that.
He wanted to give her everything.
He kissed his way down the softness of her body, kissed her inner thigh, then licked a line to her center. She gasped. And he fed off of her. Off of her pleasure. Off of her arousal. Her need.
He let himself disappear into the moment. Into the glory of pleasuring her. The responsibility of it. The honor of it.
To be allowed to taste her like this. To be allowed to touch her like this. Who was he? He was just some dumbass. And she had always been special. Always been singular. And the men in her life, him included, had made her feel like she was second. Had made her feel like she wasn’t good enough. Made her feel like she was a burden. How dare they? And how dare he?
He didn’t deserve this moment. He didn’t deserve her.
But he was taking her. Because he needed it. Because he needed her to know.
He licked her, took her essence as an offering, a gift. Even as it fed his soul.
The taste of her. The sound of her cries. Her desperate arousal, the way that she clawed at his shoulders, the way that she cried out her need when he pushed two fingers inside of her and took her to the heights.
He waited for her to come down, and then he kissed her hip bone, her stomach, back up to her mouth, where he let her taste the evidence of her own desire on his lips.
“You,” he said, “are like no one else. You are like nothing else. You are air. And I hadn’t realized that I’d been suffocating all this time.”
“Flint...”
The way that she said his name, all sweet and tender and questioning, it did something to him.
The way that she looked at him, like he might be something amazing. Something great.
He wanted to be.
He wanted to be more than he’d been. He wanted to be something better. Something right for her.
He wanted that.
He kissed her, deep and long, lost himself in her.
But it was what she did next that he couldn’t handle. It was what she did next that broke him.
