But I don't. I suck it up and rap my knuckles against the smooth wood.
There's a long pause after I knock. My heart pounds as I strain to hear any sound from inside. Just as I'm about to give up and slink away in embarrassment, the door swings open.
Thorne stands there, looking slightly rumpled but still impossibly handsome. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees me.
"Linnea! You came." His deep voice causes a shiver down my spine.
I open my mouth to explain, but the words catch in my throat. Now that I'm here, face to face with him, I'm not sure what to say. How do I explain this inexplicable pull I feel towards him?
"I... I needed to see you," I somehow manage to stammer out.
He studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, he steps aside and gestures for me to enter.
I hesitate for a split second before stepping over the threshold. The familiar scent of his home - a heady blend of leather and something distinctly masculine - envelops me. It feels both comforting and dangerous, like coming home to a tiger's den.
"I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late,” I say awkwardly, wiping my sweaty palms down my thighs as I cast around for something to say.
“Linnea…” Thorne growls.
“Thorne…” It occurs to me, even after everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve shared, this is the first time we’ve used each other’s names. How nuts is that?
Then, there’s no more room for thoughts, because Thorne is pulling me into his arms, his mouth crashing down on mine. The kiss is hungry, desperate, as if he's been waiting for this moment as much as I have. I melt against him, my fingers clutching at his shirt as I absorb the taste of him.
When we break apart, both breathless, I look up into his clear blue eyes. Why did I ever think they were cold? There's a storm of emotions swirling in their depths - desire, certainly, but also something else. Confusion? Uncertainty? It's strange to see such vulnerability on his usually composed face.
"Why did you come back?" he asks, his voice husky. His hands still on my waist, holding me close.
"I- I..." I stutter, trying to find the right words. "I don't know, exactly. I needed to see you. I couldn't stay away…"
That seems to be a good enough answer, because he sweeps me into his arms, bridal style and marches down the hall to the bedroom.
“Last chance to say you don’t want this, Linnea.”
"I want this," I tell him, because it’s true. "I want you." Whatever happens between us after this, there’s no way I can deny him.
Thorne's eyes darken with desire as he sets me down next to the bed, his hands lingering on my waist. There's a tenderness in his caress I've never felt before, so different from our previous encounters.
"Are you sure?" he asks, searching my face.
I nod, unable to find my voice. My body tingles where his fingers brush against it.
Slowly, reverently, Thorne begins to undress me. His movements are unhurried, almost worshipful. Each newly exposed inch of skin is met with a soft kiss or caress. It's nothing like the frenzied, demanding, and often painful experiences I've endured in the past. This feels... special.
When I'm finally bare, Thorne steps back, staring, his eyes so intense I feel myself blushing, even though he’s already been intimately acquainted with every inch of my body.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, and for once, I believe him without question.
I reach for him, tugging at his shirt. "You're overdressed." The atmosphere encourages me to do and say things I never would have dared to before.
Thorne smiles softly and allows me to undress him. I run my hands over his muscular frame, marveling at the warmth of his skin. When we're both naked, he pulls me close, our bodies fitting together perfectly.
His lips find mine again, but this time the kiss is slow, deep, and achingly tender. I feel myself melting into him, all my doubts and fears dissolving in the heat between us. His fingers roam my body, but there's no urgency in his actions - just a gentle exploration.
He picks me up and lays me on the bed. No demands, no orders. Then he kneels over me, his eyes alight with something unexpected and beautiful. Something I’m scared to define in case I’m wrong.
His hands settle on either side of my face. “Linnea,” he says, and it spills from his lips like prayer, not command. The sound is so raw, so unguarded, I feel a knot in my chest loosen and unravel. Gone is the calculated, cold-eyed predator; in his place is a man stripped of armor and trembling with want.
He lowers his mouth to my neck as if seeking permission or maybe forgiveness. His lips brush the hollow where my pulse flutters, lingering, tasting my skin like it’s water in a desert. I can’t move. I don’t want to. My body is weightless and anchored at the same time, pinned by the gravity of his attention.
