My nails raking into his skin. His abdomen. His shoulders. Dragging over the broken clock he had tattooed in the middle of his chest. And I refused to let it hurt. Refused the old pain. Instead, I stared down into those molten eyes. Believed in what they said. And it gathered like a swirling storm. Swooping in. Pleasure. A rapture I knew I could only find in Ryder.
