And with that, he stripped the last of her robe away, along with his jeans and boxers, lowering himself carefully between her thighs—seamlessly flowing into the claiming heat of what they had made.
“Christ, Heather,” he rasped, kissing her jaw, her throat, the hollow where her pulse fluttered madly. “Do you feel that? What you do to me?”
She could only nod, too undone for words, her hips arching up instinctively, chasing the pressure of him.
His groan ripped out of him. He held still a moment, forehead pressed to hers, fighting for control. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” he rasped, voice thick.
Heather’s hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their mouths nearly brushed. “I want you. I’ve only ever wanted you.”
The dam broke. His mouth claimed hers again, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his hands mapping every inch of her—her ribs, her waist, the curve of her hips—as though committing her to memory.
Flynn swallowed a groan, his voice breaking against her mouth. “Look at you,” he crooned. “So ready for me. So perfect for me,”
Heather’s world spun—storm outside, heat inside, nothing but him. Her body writhed under his hands, every nerve ending alight, every scar and fracture in her soul stitched by his touch.
His hand grazed beneath her thigh, lifting. Guiding.
“Let me in, love. Slow. Just like this.”
A vow. A request. A command wrapped in worship.
When at last he slid into her, it was slow, like he wanted her to feel every inch, every heartbeat, every promise he’d ever madeher. Heather gasped, clutching his shoulders, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist.
“Flynn,” she choked out.
His eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched like he was hanging on by a thread.
He moved then—not frantic, but claiming. Each thrust was punctuated with words, rough and ragged against her ear.
“Mine,” he snarled, driving into her with a force that stole her breath. “This body, this heart—every bit of you is mine.”
Her cries caught in his mouth as he kissed her like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
Heather had never felt anything like it—the raw heat, yes, but more than that. It was the way he held her, the way he worshiped her. As though he’d known her brokenness and still chose her.
His thrusts broke apart, ragged, his forehead pressed hard to hers as if he could crawl inside her soul. “Look at me. Look at me while I love you.”
She obeyed, and her body shattered around him at the sight of him being so undone for her—the words striking deep, raw and untranslatable in their hunger. He followed her over the edge with a hoarse cry, collapsing against her, trembling.
He rasped into her hair, voice wrecked. “You feel so fucking good, lass.”
Flynn’s weight pressed her into the mattress, their chests heaving in sync as the storm outside rattled the windows. He didn’t move right away, didn’t let her go. His arms just tightened around her, as though grounding her to the earth.
Heather’s trembling hand found the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair. She could still feel the echo of him inside her, the way he’d claimed her body and her heart in the same breath.
Flynn lifted his head finally, his forehead brushing hers, his breath ragged. His eyes glistened, a storm mirrored in them, butalso something deeper. “Heather Campbell,” he whispered, “you undo me.”
She let out a shaky laugh, her thumb sweeping the stubble of his jaw. “You make it feel like I never broke in the first place.”
His lips curved faintly, trembling against hers when he kissed her again—gentle this time, lingering. “I meant what I said. Every word. I’ll love you tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that. Nothing you’ve done, nothing you’ve lost, could ever change that.”
Her throat tightened, but she didn’t argue, not this time. She only whispered back, raw and certain, “I love you too. God help me, I love you.”
The words hung between them, no longer fragile, but solid this time. Unshakable.
Flynn rolled to his side, pulling her with him so she was tucked against his chest, her leg tangled over his. His hand traced slow, soothing lines down her back, the kind of absent, protective touch that said more than vows ever could.
Byrdie’s soft mewl floated from the corner, as if the cat had been witness to it all. Heather buried her face in the warm curve of Flynn’s neck, laughing weakly. He smoothed a damp strand of hair from her face, kissing her temple with aching tenderness.
