Page 78 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

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.

His hand moved from my arm, circling my shoulders. His fingers trailed down my chest, tentative at first, then bolder. When they brushed across my nipple, pleasant rushes of liquid fire shot through me. The monster within stirred—savage, demanding—flooding my mind with images of how easy it would be to twist, to pin his writhing body beneath mine, to sink my fangs into that perfect throat while he gasped my name.

“Flynn.” I caught his wrist.

He made a soft chuckle of disappointment. After a moment’s hesitation, his voice came again, small. “Can I… stroke your hair?”

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