Page 37

A single tear traced down my cheek, catching me entirely off guard. I brushed it away with trembling fingers. After decades of control, how had this single moment managed to crack me open so thoroughly?

“You taste like salvation,” I breathed, the words carrying the weight of truth. “Perfect beyond measure. Beyond anything I’ve known in all my years.”

The soft rhythm of Flynn’s inhales and exhales whispered through the line, deliberate as a metronome.

“Flynn?” Cold terror swept through me—had I gone too far? “Please, tell me you’re well.” The silence stretched like a blade between us, and for a moment I was certain I’d ruined everything.

Then finally, the tiniest of tentative voices. “Please come here. I need you. I need to hold you. I promise I won’t ask for more than that.” Thick emotion coloured his words, and he inhaled sharply. “I need it so badly.”

A deafening quiet replaced his plea as my mind raced. The rules I’d made, the boundaries I’d set—they all seemed to crumble in the face of his words. His vulnerability. The promise in his voice of something I’d denied myself for so very long: connection.

I hung up, forcing my body—still trembling with pleasant aftershocks—to its feet.

My rules didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. I had to see him. I had to touch him. I had to have him in my arms.

I knew, as sure as all the stars in the sky, that he’d be safe with me. His blood might sing to me, but his trust meant more. His warmth. His light. After an eternity of darkness, I’d been caught by his gravity, unable—unwilling—to break free from his orbit.

Though simply to be entirely sure of his safety, I swiped the cask off the side and took as large a gulp as I dared, to keep any lingering hunger at bay for a couple more hours.

Energy surged through me, unlike anything before. Usually after feeding, a pleasant lethargy would settle in my limbs, but tonight every nerve ending crackled. My muscles coiled with untapped strength, as if I could run for miles without tiring.

I yanked off my ruined shirt before snatching up a fresh one from a drawer.

The corridor stretched before me, and each step carried the weight of anticipation. The brass numbers on door 208 gleamed in the dim light.

I knocked, and the door opened immediately.

Flynn stood there, bare aside from a towel around his waist, skin wet from what must have been a very hasty shower.

A small bandage was wrapped above his elbow.

Droplets traced paths down a defined torso—his shoulders and arms bore the subtle definition of someone who’d spent countless hours wrestling with sails and fighting tides.

Flynn’s ocean-deep eyes widened, filled with a mix of… hope and disbelief?

“You came.” The words tumbled from his lips, soft and wondering.

The scent of his recent pleasure hung in the air—intoxicating as hell, especially combined with the smell of Flynn’s soap.

“You asked me to.” I kept my voice steady, though every inch of me sang with awareness of the proximity of his almost naked body.

I stepped into the room, and he shut the door behind me.

“I thought you would say no.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, raw honesty carving itself onto his face.

The admission stung.

“Come here.”

I’d craved another chance to hold him since that night in the kitchen.

I opened my arms, and Flynn stepped into my embrace without hesitation.

His head tucked perfectly beneath my chin, and I breathed in the citrus scent of his damp hair.

My arms encircled him, one hand splaying across his bare back while the other curled around his waist.

His slightly smaller frame fit against mine as if crafted for this purpose, and a deep contentment settled inside me. Like the first moment of silence after the tolling of cathedral bells. Though beneath my palms, I felt tiny tremors running through his body.

“You’re shaking,” I murmured into his hair.

“I’m fine,” he said, muffled against my chest.

I guided him towards the bed, snatching up his pyjama bottoms and a blanket from the nearby chair. “Here.” I pressed them into his hands.

“I’m not cold,” Flynn protested, though his skin had broken out in gooseflesh.

“I can’t join you in that bed unless you’re wearing trousers.” The words came out firmer than I’d intended.

Boundaries . I still had them. Even if they got murkier by the second.

Flynn’s eyes met mine for a long moment before he nodded, stepping back to pull on the pyjamas.

He left his chest bare, and my gaze traced the constellation of the few water droplets still clinging to his skin.

The thought of touching him, of feeling his lovely warmth beneath my palms, sent a thrill through me.

“You don’t want a shirt?” I asked. “I’m afraid I’m not the warmest bed companion.” Just one of the many, many ways I was wrong for Flynn, right underneath my intolerance of sunlight, and the fact that my hands had spilled enough blood to fill the Thames.

“Nah. I always run hot. I’ll probably sleep way better with you cooling me down.” He smiled at me as if it was such a simple thing.

Eyeing his bandage, I beckoned him closer with two fingers. “Show me.”

He offered me his arm. “Honestly, this is overkill. It barely needed a plaster.”

I unwrapped it carefully, inspecting Priya’s handiwork. The cut was small, precise. If I were to lick it, I could speed up the healing process .

But that would be too much temptation.

I rewrapped the bandage, letting my touch linger longer than necessary. “Don’t do that again.” It almost pained me to say it. “I mean it, Flynn. It was… incredibly kind of you. But not again.”

Flynn nodded, then moved towards the queen-sized bed. He slipped under the covers, then patted the empty space beside him. “Come on. You’re making me nervous just standing there.”

My feet felt like lead as I approached the bed. I lowered myself onto the mattress with all the grace of a statue learning to move, sliding beneath the covers while maintaining a careful distance.

A laugh bubbled up from Flynn’s throat. “You look like you’re being tortured. Relax.” His eyes sparkled with amusement in the dim light. “And take off your shirt.”

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.” The words came out stiff.

“Please?” His voice softened in a way that made my resolve waver.

I gave a slight nod, my fingers moving to the top button of my shirt. Before I could undo it, Flynn’s hand caught mine, stopping the motion. The warmth of his touch made me sharply inhale a breath of air.

He shifted closer, replacing my fingers with his own at my collar.

The first button slipped free under his touch.

His breath ghosted across my neck as he worked his way down, each movement deliberate, careful.

The brush of his knuckles against my chest with each button felt like sparks dancing across my skin.

I remained perfectly still. The air between us grew thick, and I counted his heartbeats instead of the buttons being undone.

When he was finished, he finally looked up, and we shared a look that crackled like lightning trapped in a bottle. That perpetually wayward strand of his hair had broken free again, falling across his forehead. I reached up to smooth it back, my fingers lingering perhaps a moment too long.

His gaze dropped to my mouth, and I mirrored the action, studying the soft curve of his lower lip. The space between us seemed to shrink, charged with possibility. It would be so easy to close that distance, to taste that blessed warmth I could feel radiating from his skin.

Breaking the spell, Flynn reached over and switched off the lamp. The room plunged into near darkness, though my eyes adjusted instantly, allowing me to see his silhouette.

“Turn around,” Flynn said.

“What?”

“I want to be the big spoon.”

“What?” The word came out again, this time bewildered.

Flynn let out an exasperated sigh. Before I could process what was happening, his hands were on my shoulders, gently but firmly turning me onto my side.

He pressed himself against my back, moulding his body to mine until we touched from shoulder to ankle.

His arm draped over my waist, pulling me closer.

The sensation overwhelmed me, my brain short-circuiting.

Twenty years. Twenty years since anyone had held me like this.

The simple intimacy of it struck me deeply, and I felt my throat constrict.

A hot, sharp ache built behind my eyes as Flynn’s warmth seeped into my cold skin.

His breath tickled the nape of my neck, steady and reassuring.

My chest tightened with an emotion I couldn’t name. Something between grief and joy, between longing and finding. A tear slipped free before I could stop it, trailing silently down my cheek and onto the pillow.

I had forgotten what this felt like. To be held. To be touched with such innocent tenderness. To feel anchored to another, tethered to safety. To feel human.

Like darkness wasn’t all I had to offer.

My body betrayed me, trembling beneath Flynn’s touch. The shaking started in my hands, spreading through my limbs until I couldn’t control it. Panic clawed at my throat at this loss of control.

“Shh.” Flynn’s voice was barely a whisper as he stroked up and down my arm, his palm leaving trails of warmth .

How strange, to allow myself to be comforted like this. To let someone else take control, even for a moment.

Muscle by muscle, my body began to surrender. The tension in my shoulders melted away first, followed by the rigid set of my spine. The knot in my jaw loosened, then my clenched fists relaxed. Eventually, I became as pliant as clay beneath a sculptor’s hands.

Flynn radiated heat like a furnace against my back, his warmth seeping into my perpetually cold flesh. The contrast between us was stark—he was so incredibly, deliciously warm. I was surely stealing all his warmth, like a leech drawn to living flesh.