Tracing Scars (KORT #3)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

RENA

M y sexual experiences have been confined to the dark.

Sneaking and secrets.

Silhouettes of seduction.

Even at that, they aren’t plentiful. Big brothers were always lurking. And most of the guys interested in me were either too terrified to make a move or too stupid and insolent to keep it confidential, so they ended up mysteriously banished.

I never cared much—about the lack of prospects; of course I cared about the unfortunate exile. But there was only one man I truly longed for. Off-limits. Forbidden. Delicious. And, by his own admission, dangerous.

In a word, perfect.

That’s why I inquired about how Ty killed those assholes. I want him to see that his life doesn’t frighten me. He expects me to cower in the shadows, but that’s where I thrive.

In the dark. Where I’m comfortable to be as brazen and greedy as my most obscene fantasies. And cuffed to a pillar, spanking my ass till it stings, teasing me into a soaked mess—that was a good freaking start. Even with the lights on.

But I’d rather venture into whatever salacious outcome sitting on his face will produce in the ambience in which I shine. So, I quietly stroll to the light switch and drench us in nothing but the moonlight trickling in from the glass walls.

He pops off the couch as his authoritative tenor slices into the still moment. “Did I tell you to turn that off?”

“No,” I state firmly. “But I’d prefer—”

“Turn it back on,” he insists. His voice is deep and husky. He’s so commanding tonight. Dominant and slightly unhinged, which I find sexy as hell. But still …

“I am up for anything you want to do to me. Anything .” I bite my lip and bat my lashes with a flirty stance to punctuate my point because even though I’m nervous, I am more than open to exploring. “But the lights stay off,” I affirm.

A smile sails into his dark scruff—a menacing one. “Ahh, Little Moon, that’s not how this works. You need to start listening. We just talked about that, and on the first order I give you, you’re already defying me.”

“I don’t see why it matters,” I contend, holding my chin high, my heart radiating thumps over the whole of me, a frisson of flurries storming my gut. I’ve dreamed of this moment for years, put this experience with him on a pedestal so high that I’m destined to fail. Both to my own fantastical imaginings and his.

He hasn’t moved from his position near the couch—looming there with his hands casually stashed in his pockets—but even ten feet away, he has me pinned with his heated ogle. “It matters because you need to learn to trust me. And I want to see all of you. Everything that’s mine.”

His.

That’s the second time he’s referred to me that way. Hearing him say that is like a departure from reality. Dizzying. When did he change his mind about us and become so staunch in his conviction? Part of me wonders if this is real or if I did fall off that beam and hit my head. This would be one hell of a brain-injury hallucination.

“I am yours,” I assure him because, hallucination or not, I have always been his, “but—”

“I wasn’t done,” he breaks in, prowling toward me with staggering intensity. “But at least we’re clear on that much. You are mine.”

When he reaches me, he sweeps my hair behind my shoulders and wraps his palm around my throat, lingering there for a beat before coiling his hand and skimming his knuckles over the pulse point in my neck. He’s studying me, examining every reaction my body bestows upon him—my flushing skin and the unmistakable tremble he’s evoking. He finally sinks his fingers into the built-in bra cups of my top and yanks them down so that my breasts spill out into the cool air, but they’re instantly warmed by the flicks and caresses he grants.

“It matters most,” he continues, “because I want you to understand that contrary to what your note claimed, I don’t only crave you in the dark. I crave you always. Everywhere.”

Well, okay. How can I argue with that?

My stomach clambers to my throat. This is all so much to digest.

It’s like when he told me he had always been hyperaware of my existence. Or that he couldn’t breathe when he thought I could be hurt or missing. That he’d want to die if something happened to me. I understand that sentiment in a visceral way. Maybe I haven’t been alone in my pining.

He peels the sleeves of my black bodysuit down until the top is pooled around my middle, causing shivers to skitter up my arms and spine. “In the future, I will not be repeating myself. Turn the lights back on, baby girl.”

Gulping down my reservations, I reach over and flip the switch up, abundantly aware of how the off-white glow glints on my nipple piercings—or on one of them. Because in a blink, Ty has the other in his mouth, licking, lapping, devouring .

“So fucking gorgeous,” he mutters against my skin as his fingers knead the other breast.

My breath catches, a lump lodging near the base of my sternum from how good his tongue and lips and fingers feel. From how real this moment with him is. I weave my hands into his hair, and he rips the bodysuit off in a smooth tug down my body, leaving me in my black satin thong.

His mouth descends on the small strip of fabric. Why that is so much hotter than simply baring me, I do not know. But it is. He inhales my clit, soaking the fabric with a determined swish of his tongue while his hands cup and squeeze my tender ass.

Vibrators really can’t mimic this sensation. Who knew?

Unmatched rapture shoots through me, rocketing heat and chills and carnal desire into my veins and muscles and bones, weakening my knees. I balance myself with one hand fisted in his curls and the other grasping his shoulder. After a strained whimper escapes me, he tears the thong off, tapping my thigh so that I step out of the small puddle of clothing.

He’s stooped before me, his cognac eyes skating up and down my naked form. I’ve never felt so exposed. But I’ve also never felt so cherished. The veneration lining his features is something to behold, like he’s worshipping me.

He drags his fingers across his mouth, emotion evident in his gaze while rasping, “Fuck, baby girl. Look at you, so goddamn radiant. Stunning.”

I could detail how my body is responding—the turbulent beats of my pulse in my limbs and stomach and temples; the scorching blaze searing my skin while goose bumps sprout from a quiver; my core throbbing with an eagerness to have him return to his post; and my arousal leaking down my inner thighs—but that would only be half the story. Because this man, on his knees before me, gaping at me as though I’m precious, has restored a part of my identity I didn’t even realize I was missing. My sternum melts into my spine, my lungs too overwhelmed to ingest the air .

He dots kisses across my pubic bone while his hands drift up and down my thighs, dangling my satisfaction just out of reach.

“Ty,” I plead because I’m losing my mind.

He chuckles against me, his breath fanning over my clit like bait reeling me in. My hips buck forward of their own accord, and his tongue briefly laps at my dripping wetness, which nearly has me liquefying to a boneless mess at his feet.

A crooked smile lifts his cheek, crinkling one eye as his focus flicks to my face. But he stills, bemused by what he finds. “You’re nervous. What happened to my brave girl? The one who boldly suggested that I punish her with my cock while I was making her come?”

Yeah, I did that. But again, it was dark. I need to shake off this diffidence. This isn’t me. It’s just years of buildup met with his wishy-washy interest and now his sudden one-eighty. My head is spinning, doubt creeping in.

Before I can form an answer, he stands to his full, towering stature, lifting my chin with one hand while the other teases my opening until finally relenting and dipping in and out.

“No insecurities with me, Rena. Do you have any idea how perfect you are? How exquisite and breathtaking? I should keep you naked all the time.”

Masking the precarious teetering of my heart at the sight of the reverence he’s casting on me, I flash a cheeky grin. “That might amplify the intensity of telling the fam. Don’t you think?”

Ignoring my witty repartee, he lifts his glistening fingers between us, lewdly sucking them with a growl. “Heaven,” he utters. “You’re sopping for me, Little Moon. For me. Only me.”

That rings out like a warning, and I have no doubt it is one. But he’s already proffered those. This is more.

“It’s always only been you,” I admit because it’s true, and if there’s any chance that he’s second-guessing himself like I am, he needs to hear it. I want every part of him—his tortured soul and scary demons and broken past. I want to be the person who shows him that fractured shouldn’t mean forsaken .

He presses his lips to mine, cradling my face as our tongues waltz to a passionate cadence that swarms every cell of my makeup. Tasting myself in his mouth only solidifies the depth of this zealous dance. It’s the out-of-bounds freedom I felt the first time he kissed me—the rush of cliff diving and felonies, an escape from all that’s simple and expected to seize the illicit prize.

Ty is Prohibition in the flesh—the drink of defiance and the spirit that should have never been outlawed. Which is the wild and frenzied rebellion my family business is built upon.

Proof that he was meant to be mine.

Wrapping my arms around his trim waist, I am abundantly aware of my nakedness grazing his fully dressed physique—taut and ripped, but thoroughly clad nonetheless. That filthy visual only elevates this scene though.

He breaks our connection, clutching my chin with a demanding grip as his forehead drops to mine. “I am using every morsel of self-control I have so that I don’t pounce on you like a rabid animal. Yet. But I have never tasted anything so sweet. You’re fucking addictive. I need to feast on this delectable cunt. Now. Understood?”

Good God, that gravelly, controlled delivery, accompanied by his feral expression, shouts how crazed he is. And, fuck, am I here for it. His touch. His voice. His demeanor. It all has me heady. And willing.

“Understood,” I whisper with a cursory nod.

He laces his fingers with mine and silently leads me to the bedroom. Dusty gold light beams through the space as he releases me and plops down on the bed.

“Climb up here, baby girl. You told me yesterday that if I unleashed my monster, you’d grab the headboard like a good girl. So, consider me unleashed. Grab the fucking headboard and drown me in that tasty pussy.”

His words do something to me, frenetic flutters scampering from my stomach to my throat. I’ve heard men talk like that all my life. But not to me. Never to me .

This is hot. And daunting. But I push the latter aside and mount the bed, straddling him and hesitantly moving up toward his head.

He must grow impatient with my snail’s pace because he grips my hips, hauls me over his stomach and chest until I’m hovering above his face, and swats my ass cheek with a resounding crack , producing a tantalizing sting that zips through me. “That’s for not doing as you were told the first time.”

“I’m not gonna lie,” I say as I clasp the headboard. “This is awkward as fuck, but I freaking love this side of you. You can spank me anytime.”

He chuckles and issues another alluring swat on the opposite cheek. “Glad to hear it, Little Moon. There’s a lot more of that in store.”

In a self-conscious moment, I feel the need to tell him I don’t know what I’m doing. The blow job? That I had practiced—on three guys and countless bananas. But there’s never been time for this or a man who suggested it.

So, I murmur, “I’ve never—”

“I’ve got you, baby. Swivel those hips and ride my tongue. Tell me when you’re about to come.” With that, his fingers dig into my skin as he drags me lower, his tongue darting out with soft, languid strokes.

And, holy hell , if I thought the sensation was otherworldly with panties between us, this takes me to a whole new dimension. After a minute, he forcefully smashes me against his mouth until my full weight is smothering him, consuming me with ravenous swills and decadent whirls of my heat until he sucks my clit into his mouth like an enthralling vacuum. He’s everywhere. His growling approval surpasses my core to charge through my limbs and muscles and bones. His scruff scratches the skin on my inner thighs with a branding chafe. A sultry marking.

And a hazy fog envelops me. It’s nearly too much. Aching and mending. Chilled and inflamed. Tender and fierce.

“Oh God,” I pant. “Don’t stop. So good. ”

He swivels my hips for me as his consumption becomes downright voracious, so I adopt a rhythm that beckons me to the edge. Spots dot my vision, and tremors rack through my arms and thighs.

As I prepare to dive off that blissful cliff, I cry out, as instructed to do. “I’m gonna come, Ty.”

In a blink, he lifts me off him and throws me onto my back, instantly planking over me. And a motherfucking grin blasts across his glistening face as he declares, “You didn’t actually believe you’d get to come after—how did you phrase it?—leaving me in the lurch with a stiff dick?”

My ragged breaths billow out between us. I’m partly enraged but otherwise impressed. That sweet side of Ty really is a freaking mask. I mean, it’s there. He’s generous, considerate, and compassionate. He’s the good that turns wicked to gray. But he’s every bit the lethal force he proclaimed to be. And I’m the fool who’s destructive enough to crave more.

Once I center my choppy breathing, I belt out a giggle. “Fair enough. I’ll concede to that.”

“Good,” he praises before nipping at my lips. “That was for me. I have fantasized about eating that pussy for too long to let your transgressions rob me of what’s mine.”

So much about that subtle confession knocks the wind out of me that I’m not even going to tap into the transgressions part of it.

Still hovering above me, he peppers kisses along my neck and jaw, his fingers tangoing over the swollen area between my legs—plunge, feather, dip, circle—until I’m a gooey mess of pants and moans.

“There you go, baby,” he coos. “That’s better, huh?”

My eyes roll back in my head, my thighs quivering uncontrollably, breaths puffing out erratically, pulse ratcheting higher. “So much better,” I purr.

“Still no,” he growls in my ear, withdrawing his decadent touch as a grunt rumbles from my lungs. “Stiff dick. Remember?” He chuckles, relishing my torture far more than seems appropriate .

“I rescind my previous concession,” I quip as he bounces off the bed.

Blowing past my retraction, he barks the order, “Up,” at me, waiting for me to comply. When I wriggle upright and put my feet on the floor, he tacks on the second half of his directive. “On your knees, baby girl. Our night is just beginning. And this time, it’s about me.”

I sink to my knees, not because I have a history of being submissive. God knows that’s never been a word anyone would correlate to my personality. But I’m enamored by the metamorphosis occurring before me. This man, whom I’ve revered and adored and lusted after, wants to make me his. He’s already proven that he’ll prioritize my pleasure by making me come twice the other night without taking anything in return. But Ty’s willingness to use me equates to some sort of commitment; he’d never consider it otherwise. So, as my clit throbs and my heart swells against my sternum, I dutifully await his direction.

He kicks off his shoes, unbuttons his shirt, and steps in front of me, lifting my face to him. “You’re too good to be true, Rena. Like a dream.” Releasing my jaw, he straightens, staring down at me. “This. I could get used to this—you waiting on your knees for me. Naked and needy.”

My chest heaves as I nearly burst out of my skin. It was maddening enough that he drove me to the brink and abandoned me—twice—but the feral glint in his gaze is annihilating me. “Use me, sailor.”

His head tilts to the side while he scans me. “You want that, don’t you? For me to use you, own you.”

Yep, that’s my undoing. As much as I yearn to be his good girl, I long to be his filthy slut a hundred times more—the forbidden I’ve never been permitted to reach for.

“Please.” It’s one airy word that flees from me, but the expression on his face tells me that he understands all I’m saying with that petition .

He smooths his palm over my head. “That’s my girl. Take me out and continue where you left off a few hours ago.”

I eagerly unzip his jeans, fold down his boxers, and unveil his already-steel-hard cock. But the sight stills me.

“What’s wrong, Little Moon?” That question is woven with mirth.

“It’s just … I knew you were … but …” I don’t know the last time I was rendered speechless.

His roaring laughter coils around me while he strokes his huge—seriously huge in length and girth—leaking dick. “See? Lights are important. But you’ve already had me in that talented mouth, so no need to worry for another few minutes. This is a warm-up. Then, I’m going to wreck that virgin cunt.”

That misconception slams into me, but I don’t shy away from setting him straight. “I’m not a virgin, Ty. I told you that once.”

“I know what you told me,” he assures me. “It was the day before Ivy and Wells’s wedding, and you confessed you’d had sex once. Maybe you’ve even had more experiences since then. But either way, that perfect pussy is a virgin to what I’m about to do to it.”

Every part of that—his remembrance of my confession and his promise to decimate me in all new ways—seeps into the depths of my marrow, spurring me forward to be whoever he needs me to be. With one hand massaging his balls, I curl my other hand at the base of his shaft to work it up and down and immediately take him into my mouth. The engorged head pulses against my hollow cheeks, the salty precum coating my tongue.

“Eyes up here.” He fists my hair, jutting his hips forward in punishing thrusts, his piercing hitting the back of my throat as I raise my gaze to his. “There you go, precious girl. So damn gorgeous with my cock in your mouth.”

Tears stream down my cheeks, and frothy saliva oozes out around him. I choke and gag, but maintain my zealousness. It’s pain and privilege, nearly more than I can take and everything I’ve ever wanted. And with his cognacs glued to mine, I’m utterly whole .

“Fuck, baby. You’re a goddamn miracle,” he croons while never lessening his rampant pace. “Touch yourself. Are you drenched for me?”

Removing my hand from his balls, I finger myself, as he ordered, swirling with an insatiable need and mumbling confirmation. It won’t take long for me to reach the precipice.

“My greedy girl. Show me,” he demands, and as I lift my glistening fingers, he lunges forward, sucks them, and growls, “All done, Little Moon. I need to be inside you. Need to fill you up.”

Within a solitary blurry second, I pop off him, and he hooks his palms under my armpits, flinging me back onto the bed. The man moves at some supersonic speed. While I’m rebounding off the mattress in an enlivening buoyancy, he’s disrobing in a frenzy.

God, he’s a masterpiece. It doesn’t matter that I just saw him working out yesterday. I think I’ll be transfixed every time I glimpse the dips and cords and ridges of his chiseled muscles.

He tugs me to the edge of the bed, looming over me with his godlike nakedness. Gone is my calm and controlled Navy man. He’s all wolfish hunger now. And I am more than obliged to let him sink his teeth into me.

Spreading out my legs as though he’s preparing an elaborate meal, he combs his eyes over every inch of me. “I’ve waited too long to sink inside you, so I want my cum dripping out of you for days. No condom. I’m clean.” He drags his hand through the valley of my breasts and over the plane of my stomach, paying homage to my subtle curves. “Fuck, baby girl. I’m gonna paint you with it too.”

That and the wanton set of his jaw spark an inferno inside me, so I counter with ardent consent. “Yeah. Okay. I’ve always liked modern art.”

His shoulders shake, his hands covering his face as he howls his bright and boisterous laughter, but he quickly regains his carnal composure, teasing my opening with another threat of edging, and that is so not happening .

“Enough fun and games, Reynolds. Less lip service. Time to fuck me.”

“Look at that,” he rasps with an arched brow as he flicks my clit, delivering a tortuous prick of coveted friction. “I didn’t even have to tell you to beg. My beautiful brat is a desperate slut.”

My hips buck off the bed, proclaiming the accuracy of that statement.

He dives beside me, capturing my mouth and playing with my pussy until he finally pulls up and pets my head with the compassion that I’ve always associated with Tytan Reynolds. “Nervous?”

My mouth dries, so I push a bit of saliva into my aching throat as I try to tame my thrashing heart. “Ready and nervous.”

He kisses my nose, his eyes frolicking all over my face. “Well, we won’t jump right into a Nine Inch Nails night.”

That’s code for he’s not going to fuck me like an animal tonight. The fact that he chose music to communicate has my anxiety mellowing. He’s freaking perfect. I wouldn’t mind being railed like prey, but since I can still feel his branding on my tonsils, the apprehension about his size is undeniable.

And he reads me like an open book. “It’ll fit. I promise. But the stretch and the piercing might cause a bit of discomfort at first. Use your words. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, and even though he doesn’t ask, I volunteer the necessary information. “I’m clean, too, and on birth control.”

He rolls atop me and swipes the head of his cock up and down, clit to entrance and back again. “Birth control or not, I’ll always be fucking you bare.”

All righty then. Brave. But I’m presently too blissed out to offer any contention to that.

I’m pretty sure the first guy I had sex with ended up dead or relegated to another continent, which was circumstantially confirmed when the second guy disappeared too. So, my purity streak was more about not wanting people to get killed for touching me than about my virtue, but there’s no sense in sharing that now. Ty is already aware of the land mine he’s stepping on.

He nips at my lips before he hikes one of my legs over his bulging bicep and lines himself up at my opening. “Eyes on me, baby girl. I’ve got you, and I want to see every twinge expressed on that beautiful face.”

With that, he thrusts inside me, slow and steady, his gaze locked on mine and brimming with something I can’t name, but it weaves around my heart all the same. It’s only seconds before I’m alarmingly full, my eyes widening in question.

“About halfway. You’re doing so good.” He nibbles at my lips again, kissing the corner of my mouth with a smile. “You’re okay. You can take the rest of me.”

An audaciousness rushes through my veins as I realize that I don’t even care if it hurts. “Don’t hold back, Ty. Not now. Not ever. I want it all.”

A heavy breath pours out from him as he patently understands the deeper meaning to my words. He places his forehead against mine while pushing inside me, up to the hilt. It stings, like a ring of fire spearing my core and splitting me in two. But it’s a glorious burn that sets me ablaze with more hope than I’ve ever felt. A fiery devotion for whatever the hell has been ignited between us.

And when he’s fully seated, he lifts his face, peering down at me with utter adoration and sweeping his thumb over my cheekbone. “Everything I am is yours. Everything.”

“Mine,” I breathe.

No words are needed after that. Not beyond his mutterings of how tight and wet and perfect I am, which feels like a theme song for this encounter with the heavens. It’s lust and carnal cravings and unhinged desire. But it’s more.

He moves inside me, our eyes glued to one another’s, our stilted breaths mingling into one, our tandem heartbeats marching to a unified drumbeat. Our sweat-slicked bodies melding so that there’s no telling where he ends and I begin .

His suede-and-spices-and-secret-desires fragrance cocoons me in safety and belonging. The scent of coming home.

He picks up his pace, growing more feral with each pump. The aggressive thrusts have him grazing my clit with the most sumptuous tempo. And that piercing is already proving its worth, prodding me in a spot that has me seeing stars.

“Jesus, Ty. I’m gonna …”

“That’s it, baby,” he pants, bending my leg further so that my knee kisses my ear as he ramps up his rhythm. His hand is cradling my face as though he’s sheltering me, harboring a treasure while simultaneously ravaging it. “You’re so fucking perfect. Made for me. Come on my cock, Little Moon.”

Nanoseconds pass before I fulfill his request. My back arches as tingles rocket through my limbs and up my spine, curling my extremities. Tense yet loose. A euphoric typhoon of electric shock waves prickling in my pores and core, muscles and bones. It’s all escorted by an untamed scream that rips from my lungs and has me biting his taut shoulder. I’m levitating, spinning, and unraveling at once in the most authentic dose of freedom I’ve ever experienced.

On the run and pinned to the bed in a Vegas mansion.

Blueberry fields and rain.

The room blurs and fades and freckles with dots of ecstasy, but the man wrecking me is as clear as day. Illuminated by the lights we finally left on.

“So beautiful, Rena.” He slams into me a few more times while my aftershocks persevere, relentlessly taking what he wants from me as he continues to watch my face until his body trembles, shaking with his grunts and his exasperated bleat of, “Fuck me.”

Streams of his cum shoot inside me. The sensation of him filling me is warm and wild and messy. Far more than his simple release. It’s the culmination of every fantasy, every brush with an optimistic maybe someday , every reason to keep trudging on when all seemed lost .

It’s Ty, a shot of deliverance, reshaping nothing left to lose into everything I’ve ever wanted .

And when he’s finished, he kisses me with an ardent thirst, staking his claim in a way that seems too impassioned for the after. But it’s as though Ty has been awakened—or at least, I hope that’s what this is.

He rolls us so that he’s on his back and I’m tucked against him, half sprawled atop him and half at his side. “We should’ve done that a long fucking time ago.”

I giggle into his sweat-beaded pecs as my fingers draw trails over him, tracing the outlines of his scars. There are so many, which fractures my heart and makes me wonder about that night terror he had. But it’s only been a couple of days, so I’ll hold off on asking for details.

Instead, I simply gloat. “I could’ve told you that. I’ve always known where I belonged.”

No response. He pecks me on the head and carries me to the bathroom, setting me on the counter to clean me up with soft pats and swipes of a warm washcloth on my swollen core. I resist the urge to prattle on about nothing or make an off-the-cuff remark about the hole he punched in the wall—the impulse to fill the silence—and bask in the devotion he’s extending to care for me, inspecting every inch of skin to assess the health of where he spanked and bit and impaled.

Finally, he gathers my hair into a ponytail, lifts me into his arms, and plods another wordless trek to the hot tub. “This will help,” he says, slipping into the bubbling warmth with me straddling his lap. “To soothe any soreness.”

And once we’re situated with the jets gushing around us, his fingers meander up and down my spine. “You have no idea how long I waited to watch you fall apart like that and scream my name.”

“Really?” The tentative nature of my question is obvious, but I don’t hold back. “I didn’t think I was even on your radar. How long? When? ”

He squeezes me against him. “Not the first time I saw you because you were young. Sixteen, I think. Arguing with Axel about not being allowed to go out with Jax. How unfair that was. And he told you it was because—”

“Jax was an adult, and I wasn’t. I remember that day.” I’ll never forget it because when my attention snagged on Ty through the cracked door, I was enamored. I even made up an excuse to grab something from Axel’s office so I could steal a better glimpse.

“Yeah,” he says, his fingers sploshing through the water in a divine audit of my back and hips and ass. “Your eyes found mine, and you turned this pretty shade of pink. But that was it. I didn’t see you again for a couple of years. And I didn’t think about you after that. You were a kid, and I was a grown man.”

“It wasn’t a couple of years,” I correct him, unashamed of my teenage crush. “Not for me. You came about every six months for a visit, and I’d watch you on the security monitors.”

“Well, I didn’t know that.” He chuckles, dusting his thumb across my cheek so that a waterfall of droplets cascades to my shoulder. “But the second time I saw you, you’d just turned nineteen. And you were … all grown up. You had this black shirt with ribbons and hard lines in the stomach area.” He brushes his knuckles over my belly, so I supply the term he’s searching for.

“Boning.”

A smile blooms on his face. “Okay. Your shirt had boning.” A hushed snicker falls from his lips before he goes on. “You wanted to order sushi and Mexican, and Ryker acted irritated even though it was clear he adored you. You were busy, planning to go hang out with someone. You’d added the pink to your hair, and you wore it down in these big, soft curls. And your eyes were a bright green but had flecks of blue and golden brown floating inside them. You were so animated and vibrant. You lit up the whole room.”

He pauses for a second, but his focus isn’t anchored anywhere. It’s as though he’s lost to that visual. “I’ve never stopped thinking about that day. ”

My chest tightens. Probably because my heart ballooned with each word of that admission. We’ve successfully obliterated any semblance of returning to the little-sister-of-his-friends relationship.

So, I tighten my arms around his neck, nestle my forehead against his shoulder, and squeak out the plea I have for all our sakes. “Please don’t break my heart, Ty.”

He lifts my chin. “I don’t intend to. I’m in this. I’ll spend my life protecting you, Rena. But everything I have to offer is cloaked in pain. That’s why I tried to stay away.”

“Don’t be all gloom and doom tonight.” I rake my hands into his curls, looping one around my index finger. “My brothers will take us there soon enough.”

“I’m sure they will,” he agrees, and his voice grows raspy and distant. “And so will my family in their own way. Things will need to be … settled . But it’s not all gloom and doom. It’s like your blueberry fields.”

“How so?”

He slants his head, studying me and collecting his thoughts at once. “The best crops come after a burn. The lowbush berries can withstand the heat, and a lot of nutrients are underground, so afterward, they flourish.”

My brows furrow because he’s always surprising me. “How do you know that?”

“It’s a good metaphor for the life I’ve built with my family and probably one you can relate to. We’ve been burned a lot, but we’ve adapted. That’s what you’ll get with me—with us—planting gardens on graves.” He waits for a beat, but when I don’t react to that subtle warning, he smiles and continues, “But I know the specifics because I’ve been a lot of people. And one of them grew up near berry farmers.”

“Who are you now?” I ask, my pulse thrumming with a cognizance that there is a lot more to unearth here—so much that lies beneath the surface.

No hesitation as he cups my cheek. “Yours. ”

God, I love the sound of that. “Where do we go from here then?”

A mischievous grin twitches on his lips as he hardens beneath me and tugs me closer, his glistening pecs rising and falling with the foamy water. “I make you come on my tongue, paint you like I promised, and put you to bed.”

Despite his playfulness, the fading moonlight floods one side of his face while the other half remains in the shadows, a battleground for light and dark.

Shaking that off, I bite my lip, pleased with his agenda, but aching for a deeper answer. “Good start. And then?”

He glides his knuckles across my cheekbone with a gentleness that doesn’t match the ominous tenor of his response. “We prepare for the fire.”