Page 87 of Yearn

I felt wrung out, emptied and full at the same time, a balloon deflated yet glowing. My lungs stuttered some more, hiccupping through the last gasps of release. My skin prickled with cold now that the warm water wasn’t streaming over us.

Dominic kept his strong arms around my waist.

Thank God, because my legs refused to hold me. My belly still quivered with fading pulses, each one softer but still enough to make me whimper.

Dominic kissed my left cheek, then my right. “Teyonah.”

My throat locked.

More tears spilled before I could stop them. They were hot trails against my already burning skin.

It was ridiculous. Mortifying.

This wasn’t how I wanted to look—slack-mouthed, shaking, crying in a man’s arms.

For a second, shame bubbled up, trying to crowd out the softness of this moment. I’d spent years building armor, teaching myself not to break where anyone could see. And here I was—falling apart, messy and loud, no mask left.

I attempted to pull back and tried to swipe at my face.

But Dominic whispered, “No.”

I tensed in his hold.

“It’s okay.” He wiped a tear away with his thumb, and then to my shock, he lifted the thumb to his lips and tasted it. “Mmmm.”

My breath hitched. “Dominic. . .”

Another tear slipped down my cheek, leaving a glistening path across my flushed skin.

“Mmmm.” With a wicked smile, he leaned over and chased the tear with his tongue.

Oh my!

His tongue caught the droplet just before it could fall from my jawline. Next, his tongue traced the wet trail upward as if it were the finest champagne.

When he pulled back, his eyes were half-closed. “Your tears are mine, Teyonah. They’re beautiful. Do you understand?”

A shiver rolled through me.

God help me.

He was insane.

Who does that?

Who licks tears like they’re holy water?

Who drinks down shame and calls it beautiful?

Only a man completely unhinged, a man who had crossed the line from lover to worshiper, from partner to captor of my very soul.

And the worst part—the most terrifying, breathtaking part—was that I loved it.

Every ounce of me, every jagged corner I’d tried to hide, Dominic wanted. He didn’t just want my body slick with desire, he wanted the broken, embarrassing parts too—the sobs, the cracks, the stretchmarks, the places no one had ever dared to touch.

No man had ever looked at me like that, like even my tears belonged to him.

It should have horrified me.