“You.” Another kiss, deeper now.
“Are. Mine.”
Every syllable struck like a vow.
With a low groan, Flynn staggered forward until his knees hit the mattress. He sank down carefully, laying her back onto the bed without ever breaking the kiss. His body followed, heavy and braced above hers as if she was something precious.
Heather’s chest rose sharp, trembling. She reached up, fingers sliding into his damp hair, tugging him down until his mouth claimed hers again. The kiss was wet, desperate, but steady too, like a storm breaking and sunlight spilling through in the same instant.
Her robe gaped wider, the luxe fabric slipping over her arms, baring her fully to him. Flynn’s gaze dropped, his breath catching. His thumb brushed the slope of her collarbone, down the curve of her breast.
She should’ve felt exposed. But under his hands, under his eyes, she felt nothing but wanted.
Loved.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Mo ghràidh… you’re beautiful.”
Her throat closed. She clung to him, kissing him harder, the words tumbling out in broken gasps. “I love you, Flynn. God, I love you.”
He groaned into her mouth, his body pressing flush with hers. “Say it again,” he rasped, kissing down her jaw, her throat, the damp heat of his breath setting her alight.
“I love you,” she sobbed, her nails raking down his back. “I love you.”
Flynn’s lips traced fire across her skin, his voice breaking between each kiss.
“Tha—gaol—agam—ort.” His mouth moved lower, reverent, worshiping each inch.
I—love—you.
She arched beneath him, a cry catching in her throat, the fire between them sparking sharp and undeniable.
His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips, pulling her tighter against him. She felt his hardness through the press of damp denim, and her body answered with a rush of aching need.
Heather’s head tipped back, a broken moan tearing out. “Flynn—”
He stilled, his forehead dropping to hers again, his chest heaving. His voice was guttural, fierce but tender. “Use your words, Heather.” His nose brushed hers, a hair’s breadth apart. “I want to hear you say it.”
Her pulse thundered. She searched his eyes, burning and wet, and the truth slipped free with no walls left to hide behind.
“You,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I just want you.”
“That’s a good girl. That’s it.” Flynn’s lips brushed her shoulder, then lower, his mouth mapping her like he had all night to learn her by heart. Each kiss, each graze of his teeth,coaxed a sound out of her throat she hadn’t even known she could make.
Her body arched, chasing him, trembling with every touch.
She could barely breathe, barely think. “Don’t stop.”
His answering groan vibrated against her chest. “Not if ye begged me to.”
Their mouths crashed again, frantic, desperate, years of grief and silence and fear melting into heat and want. She felt the scrape of his stubble against her skin, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, the surety of his hands holding her like she might break and he’d never let her fall.
When his jeans brushed against her thigh, the friction sparked white-hot. Heather gasped, clinging tighter. Flynn pulled back just long enough to drag his shirt over his head, the muscles of his chest and arms rippling in the dim light.
Her breath caught.
“You’re staring,” he rasped, a crooked grin breaking through the hunger.
Heather’s lips curved. “I’ve earned the right.”
