Chapter 13
Heather—Present Day
F lynn’s mouth was still on hers when he elbowed the door shut, carrying her inside. His kiss was hot, insistent, every step up the stairs thrumming in her veins until there was no room left in her chest for anything but him.
He stopped just inside her room, his breath harsh, his body solid around her. He didn’t set her down right away. Just held her: strong arms braced beneath her, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her robe falling loose over his shoulders.
Then he pulled back enough to look at her. Really look at her.
His blue eyes burned into hers, storm-bright, wet at the edges. He didn’t say a word.
And Heather didn’t think, didn’t second-guess, didn’t run. She only felt it, fierce and unshakable, bubbling up until it tore out of her in a whisper.
“I… I love you, Flynn.”
His body jolted, a shudder tearing through him. His mouth broke into a smile so raw, so undone, she almost wept. His eyes shone, tears gathering as if he’d been holding them back for years.
“Heather,” he rasped, voice cracking like stone.
Her name was a prayer.
He pressed his forehead to hers, then kissed her again—slow this time, like he was imprinting the moment into his bones. Between each kiss, his words spilled ragged, fierce.
“I. Love. You.” A kiss, soft and searing all at once.
“You.” Another kiss, deeper now.
“Are. Mine.”
Every syllable struck like a vow.
With a low groan, Flynn staggered forward until his knees hit the mattress. He sank down carefully, laying her back onto the bed without ever breaking the kiss. His body followed, heavy and braced above hers as if she was something precious.
Heather’s chest rose sharp, trembling. She reached up, fingers sliding into his damp hair, tugging him down until his mouth claimed hers again. The kiss was wet, desperate, but steady too, like a storm breaking and sunlight spilling through in the same instant.
Her robe gaped wider, the luxe fabric slipping over her arms, baring her fully to him. Flynn’s gaze dropped, his breath catching. His thumb brushed the slope of her collarbone, down the curve of her breast.
She should’ve felt exposed. But under his hands, under his eyes, she felt nothing but wanted.
Loved.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “ Mo ghràidh… you’re beautiful. ”
Her throat closed. She clung to him, kissing him harder, the words tumbling out in broken gasps. “I love you, Flynn. God, I love you.”
He groaned into her mouth, his body pressing flush with hers. “Say it again,” he rasped, kissing down her jaw, her throat, the damp heat of his breath setting her alight.
“I love you,” she sobbed, her nails raking down his back. “I love you.”
Flynn’s lips traced fire across her skin, his voice breaking between each kiss.
“ Tha—gaol—agam—ort. ” His mouth moved lower, reverent, worshiping each inch.
I—love—you.
She arched beneath him, a cry catching in her throat, the fire between them sparking sharp and undeniable.
His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips, pulling her tighter against him. She felt his hardness through the press of damp denim, and her body answered with a rush of aching need.
Heather’s head tipped back, a broken moan tearing out. “Flynn—”
He stilled, his forehead dropping to hers again, his chest heaving. His voice was guttural, fierce but tender. “Use your words, Heather.” His nose brushed hers, a hair’s breadth apart. “I want to hear you say it.”
Her pulse thundered. She searched his eyes, burning and wet, and the truth slipped free with no walls left to hide behind.
“You,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I just want you.”
“That’s a good girl. That’s it.” Flynn’s lips brushed her shoulder, then lower, his mouth mapping her like he had all night to learn her by heart. Each kiss, each graze of his teeth, coaxed a sound out of her throat she hadn’t even known she could make.
Her body arched, chasing him, trembling with every touch.
She could barely breathe, barely think. “Don’t stop.”
His answering groan vibrated against her chest. “Not if ye begged me to.”
Their mouths crashed again, frantic, desperate, years of grief and silence and fear melting into heat and want.
She felt the scrape of his stubble against her skin, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, the surety of his hands holding her like she might break and he’d never let her fall.
When his jeans brushed against her thigh, the friction sparked white-hot. Heather gasped, clinging tighter. Flynn pulled back just long enough to drag his shirt over his head, the muscles of his chest and arms rippling in the dim light.
Her breath caught.
“You’re staring,” he rasped, a crooked grin breaking through the hunger.
Heather’s lips curved. “I’ve earned the right.”
Flynn growled low, crashing his mouth back to hers, kissing her until she forgot her own name.
His hands swept down her body until they curved around the swell of her ass, pulling her tighter against him.
The rough drag of denim against her bare heat made her gasp into his mouth, her fingers clutching at his shoulders.
His breath tore out ragged, “Christ, Heather…”
He tugged the sash, and the robe gaped open, falling away to reveal every inch of her.
His breath left him in a guttural groan, roughened with hunger.
He didn’t seize—he traced. Calloused fingers glided down the slope of her breast, lingering at the peak before drifting lower, feather-light over her stomach.
Her hips twitched as he skimmed past, lower still, but at the last second he veered, stroking the inside of her thigh instead.
Heather shuddered, her head tipping back against the pillows, the robe slipping further with every touch until there was nothing left between them. “Flynn…”
His mouth curved against her throat, hot breath trailing fire over her skin. “Aye, mo chridhe . I feel ye shakin’ for me.” His hand hovered maddeningly close to where she ached, skimming her skin with touches so light they barely registered—except everywhere her body screamed for more.
Her thighs trembled, parting instinctively, chasing him. Still, he lingered, teasing, drawing his touch up, then down again, circling but never quite giving her what she needed.
By the time his fingers finally brushed her aching center, she arched up with a gasp, a cry tearing from her throat.
Flynn’s gaze pinned her in place—blue fire, hungry but unbearably sure. His voice dropped, low enough to shiver straight through her.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes snapped to his, breath stuttering.
“Good lass.” His thumb brushed her inner thigh in a slow, devastating sweep. “If ye want me to stop, say it. If ye want me to keep going…”
He leaned in, lips ghosting against hers, all restraint and promise.
“Give me the word, and I’ll take ye exactly where ye’re beggin’ to go.”
Heather’s breath trembled, her answer barely a whisper.
“Go.”
Flynn’s exhale broke against her skin, something like a growl, something like a prayer.
“Aye,” he murmured, the command turning molten. “That’s my girl.”
His hands shook where they skimmed her, as though the sheer weight of her trust undid him more than anything else. Flynn’s hand lingered at her inner thigh, his fingers feathering maddening circles closer, closer—then retreating again, teasing her until she wanted to scream.
“Flynn,” she gasped, tugging his hair, her body arching desperately into him. “Please…”
He growled low. “That’s it, lass. Beg me. Let me hear ye.”
She whimpered, “I’m begging.”
That undid him. His fingers finally slid through her slick heat, stroking her with a care that belied the need in his voice. Heather’s head tipped back, a cry ripping out as her hips chased his touch.
Flynn’s eyes locked on her face, watching every flicker, every gasp, his breath ragged. “God above, look at ye…” His thumb pressed just so, circling her tenderly as two fingers dipped inside, stretching her slowly, deliberately, like he wanted her to feel every inch of him.
Heather sobbed his name, nails clawing down his back, her body bowing under the torment of his rhythm. He kissed her temple, her jaw, her open mouth—all the while murmuring against her skin.
“Every sound, every shiver… it’s mine, Heather. All mine.”
The coil inside her snapped, pleasure tearing through her in a flood. She cried out, clinging to him as waves wracked her body, her hips jerking helplessly against his hand.
Flynn groaned like her release wrecked him too, kissing her as she fell apart, swallowing her cries. He didn’t stop until her tremors slowed, until her sobs turned to whimpers and her body sagged, boneless beneath him.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his fingers still glistening, his chest heaving. “Sweet Christ, I could die happy just watchin’ ye come apart for me.”
Heather blinked up at him, dazed, undone, tears streaking her temples. “Flynn…”
His mouth crashed to hers again, hungry and desperate all at once. “You’ve no idea what you do to me, mo nighean ruadh, ” he growled.
And with that, he stripped the last of her robe away, along with his jeans and boxers, lowering himself carefully between her thighs—seamlessly flowing into the claiming heat of what they had made.
“Christ, Heather,” he rasped, kissing her jaw, her throat, the hollow where her pulse fluttered madly. “Do you feel that? What you do to me?”
She could only nod, too undone for words, her hips arching up instinctively, chasing the pressure of him.
His groan ripped out of him. He held still a moment, forehead pressed to hers, fighting for control. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” he rasped, voice thick.
Heather’s hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their mouths nearly brushed. “I want you. I’ve only ever wanted you.”
The dam broke. His mouth claimed hers again, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his hands mapping every inch of her—her ribs, her waist, the curve of her hips—as though committing her to memory.
Flynn swallowed a groan, his voice breaking against her mouth. “Look at you,” he crooned. “So ready for me. So perfect for me,”
Heather’s world spun—storm outside, heat inside, nothing but him. Her body writhed under his hands, every nerve ending alight, every scar and fracture in her soul stitched by his touch.
His hand grazed beneath her thigh, lifting. Guiding.
“Let me in, love. Slow. Just like this.”
A vow. A request. A command wrapped in worship.
When at last he slid into her, it was slow, like he wanted her to feel every inch, every heartbeat, every promise he’d ever made her. Heather gasped, clutching his shoulders, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist.
“Flynn,” she choked out.
His eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched like he was hanging on by a thread.
He moved then—not frantic, but claiming. Each thrust was punctuated with words, rough and ragged against her ear.
“Mine,” he snarled, driving into her with a force that stole her breath. “This body, this heart—every bit of you is mine.”
Her cries caught in his mouth as he kissed her like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
Heather had never felt anything like it—the raw heat, yes, but more than that. It was the way he held her, the way he worshiped her. As though he’d known her brokenness and still chose her.
His thrusts broke apart, ragged, his forehead pressed hard to hers as if he could crawl inside her soul. “Look at me. Look at me while I love you.”
She obeyed, and her body shattered around him at the sight of him being so undone for her—the words striking deep, raw and untranslatable in their hunger. He followed her over the edge with a hoarse cry, collapsing against her, trembling.
He rasped into her hair, voice wrecked. “You feel so fucking good, lass.”
Flynn’s weight pressed her into the mattress, their chests heaving in sync as the storm outside rattled the windows. He didn’t move right away, didn’t let her go. His arms just tightened around her, as though grounding her to the earth.
Heather’s trembling hand found the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair. She could still feel the echo of him inside her, the way he’d claimed her body and her heart in the same breath.
Flynn lifted his head finally, his forehead brushing hers, his breath ragged. His eyes glistened, a storm mirrored in them, but also something deeper. “Heather Campbell,” he whispered, “you undo me.”
She let out a shaky laugh, her thumb sweeping the stubble of his jaw. “You make it feel like I never broke in the first place.”
His lips curved faintly, trembling against hers when he kissed her again—gentle this time, lingering. “I meant what I said. Every word. I’ll love you tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that. Nothing you’ve done, nothing you’ve lost, could ever change that.”
Her throat tightened, but she didn’t argue, not this time. She only whispered back, raw and certain, “I love you too. God help me, I love you.”
The words hung between them, no longer fragile, but solid this time. Unshakable.
Flynn rolled to his side, pulling her with him so she was tucked against his chest, her leg tangled over his. His hand traced slow, soothing lines down her back, the kind of absent, protective touch that said more than vows ever could.
Byrdie’s soft mewl floated from the corner, as if the cat had been witness to it all. Heather buried her face in the warm curve of Flynn’s neck, laughing weakly. He smoothed a damp strand of hair from her face, kissing her temple with aching tenderness.
“Stay,” she whispered, the word torn from some deep place inside her.
His arm tightened instantly, his lips brushing her hair. “Try and make me leave.”
The storm battered Glenoran’s walls, but inside the room was only warmth—the thrum of Flynn’s heartbeat, the steady cadence of his breath, the faint scent of rain lingering in the air.
She was home.