18
Saige
Flynn’s lips intoxicated. I knew I would want to taste him for the rest of my life.
He’d kissed and wrecked me far beyond what his father’s slap had done the day before. Thank God his hit hadn’t caused bruising or left a mark after the redness faded. Flynn would have killed him for sure. The berry brambles had been my escape from Callan, but I wouldn’t be able to head up the hill again without being haunted by the first brush of Flynn’s lips. The softness of his whiskers on my skin, the scent of the wilderness clinging to him as sharply as I’d done with my hands on his back.
Thinking of him had always brought arousal, hot and wet, but his touch brought life to the empty heart inside my chest. Hope had sprung up like a geyser, filling me to near bursting.
One pause for breath
