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He’s not a liability. He’s fucking sad. Since when is that a crime?
It was the last thing I was expecting. No one’s ever been…angry on my behalf before.
Stars dance across my vision, and I think of the tattoo on Nolan’s shoulder. The night sky. If there’s a heaven, I hope that’s where it is. Embedded in his skin.
Nolan saved my life. Literally. Not only did he rescue me from drowning, but he breathed me back to life. How is that not terribly romantic?
It went beyond just basic lust. Beyond desire. It was need in its basest form, the kind of need that sparked a wildfire in our blood, making feral, primal beings of two starved souls on a mission to devour one another.
“I…I trust you, and I don’t give that out easily.” He pauses. “I almost died. Twice. And I’ve never even got to live. I want to live. I want to feel…normal.”
“They’re all idiots,” he says, ensnaring my wide gaze with his. “Every single asshole who’s ever made you doubt yourself, or made you feel less than.”
Given all the permission I needed, I bury my fingers in his long, messy, damp hair, tugging and pulling, riding his face like I can find the gates of Heaven through his throat.
