Page 87 of Burn Like An Angel

“You… love me?” I murmur.

He chuckles. “Is that the only part you heard?”

“I mean, it kinda stood out.”

His sigh sweeps across my face. “Yes, Rip. I love you.”

“Can you say it again?”

“I love you so fucking much, I’m willing to give you this because I know you need them too. And hell, they need you. We all do.”

A loose tear trails down my cheek. That single droplet encapsulates a lifetime of grief and loneliness. All the hope for a different life I imprisoned long ago when I realised that love was unrealistic. It dies and life goes on.

I didn’t think I wanted it.

I didn’t think I needed it.

But for the first time, I feel like my heart is beating wholly in my chest. I’m not just the lonely orphan, misunderstood by the world, finding solitude in her oil paints and immoral choices.

I’m loved.

Raine actually loves me.

Slanting my mouth back over his, I pour all that grief into my kiss. Every sleepless night spent sobbing into a pillow. The hole in my heart that formed as I grew up without a parent’s love or touch. The rejection and self-hatred my condition created.

Sometime during those empty years, I stopped waiting for someone to love me. I stopped trying to love myself. It was enough to escape this world through my art, longing for the next life… where someone might love me instead.

Feeling his lips move against mine, I wonder how I made it this far on my own. Sheer determination and will to survive alone, I suppose. For the longest time, it was enough.

Not anymore.

I don’t want to just survive by any means necessary. To live a solitary existence, taking comfort in the inanimate and protecting my heart from any further hurt. I want the whole fucking world. A future. A goddamn life. And they’re all in it.

Fingers fisting in his sandy-blonde hair, I take it all. Every last drop of commitment and devotion his kiss has to offer. He lets me push my tongue into his mouth and taste each dark corner, needing to commit this moment to memory before it floats away.

“Ripley,” he gasps into my lips. “Fuck, babe. I want to touch you so badly, but these walls aren’t exactly soundproof.”

“I don’t care if they hear.”

“The guys?—”

“Can mind their own business,” I finish his sentence.

After pushing him onto his back, I sit up, tugging my baggy shirt over my head. I’m left in panties and the slightly thinner bandage on my thigh that Xander applied last night.

“You’re still hurt.” He worries his lip.

“Not enough to change my mind. I need to feel you inside me.”

“Rip…”

“Just strip.”

Shimmying my panties off, I watch him deliberate before eventually tossing his clothing. He was sleeping in boxers andone of the clean shirts Xander brought back, his jeans nearby in case we need to move fast.

Raine lays back on the bed, a hand pumping his stiff length. For a second, I leisurely watch him. How his muscles clench and pull taut. The smooth curves of his pectorals. Flat stomach and tapered hips.

“I can feel you watching me,” he teases.

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