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I’d let it out and he wasn’t prepared for it.
It came with more bruises. His fingers digging into my hips and my ass as he thrust up inside me. I left behind some of my own. My nails raced down his back and my teeth locked on his shoulder as he hit the spot deep inside me no other man had ever found.
I twisted and arched above him as I rode him hard and fast. As I wrung him dry with every trick I knew about what he loved and needed to go over fast and dirty. I didn’t want this to last forever.
I wouldn’t survive it.
Ian could last for hours if I let him.
But there was no way I’d be able to say goodbye if that were the case.
His name was a keening cry as I arched and threw my head back. He clamped his arms around me and held me down around him as he came.
I could feel the warmth flooding me.
The protection we hadn’t bothered with.
This one last time would be skin to skin in all ways.
One last boundary seared to ash.
He held onto me as his thrusts slowed and his cock slowly slid from me. He buried his face in my neck and I heard the hoarse shudder of my name as a chant.
I allowed myself another moment. Another breath full of him and us together. The scent that I could never name, but dreamed of like a palette of rainbow paints in every color I could ever imagine or combine.
But then I had to climb off of him.
Even though my whole body and heart tried to convince me otherwise, I knew it was what I needed.
What he needed.
I left him in my bed and stumbled away before he could see my tears. Before he could try to soothe me with the magical poetry of his voice.
I stopped at the threshold of my bathroom, but I didn’t turn back to him. I couldn’t. If I did, then I’d run to him.
“I love you, Ian. You’ve finally gotten a second chance to start over. Please don’t waste it.”
I closed the door and whipped back the curtain before turning the water as hot as I could stand. The tears didn’t come until the water ran cold.
Then I was so afraid they’d never stop.
But once there wasn’t a single emotion left inside of me, I dragged myself out and found my studio empty.
Resolute, I tugged on jeans and a T-shirt and started packing up my canvases. There was nothing left for me here.
Maybe we both had a second chance to start over.
Fourteen
I was in the middle of the bloody forest.
By my own hand, worst of all. I’d asked to come here. In fact, I’d almost begged.
I needed to get out of my own head. Away from the memories and the tantalizing glimpses of all I’d almost had.
On the plane here, I’d started scribbling a song I’d titled “Exile.” Only to find there was a famous Warning Sign song by the same name. Different concept, but still.
Even in my misery, I wasn’t unique.
