And just when I think I can’t, I love him some more.

Somewhere out there is a guy, an Afton Tate type who would make me laugh and come over and bring pizza and we’d have all-night jam sessions and really sweet and enjoyable sex and live happily ever after.

I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in meeting that guy. Ever.

I’ve probably met him a dozen times over already.

It’s this beautiful, tortured man in front of me that I want more than I want air or water or food.

That I will always want.

My heart belongs to his heart. And whether he thinks he deserves me or not, his soul is forever connected to mine.

“I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve you. I can’t give you happily ever after,” Gavin’s eyes tell me.

“You can and you will,” my eyes answer right back. Just in case he’s not picking up the telepathic message, without a word I remove every stitch of clothing I have on.

His eyes widen and his exposed cock jerks suddenly. I take a step forward but he puts his hand out to stop me.

“Blue—”

I cut off what we both know will be a futile attempt at protest and take his hand in mine, guiding him into the now-steamy shower behind me.

There are questions in his gaze as he watches me beneath the spray of water. I move backward enough so that there is room for us both. I grab the bar of soap from the shelf built into the wall and lather it into my hands until they’re covered with a thick, foamy layer of bubbles. Placing my hands on Gavin’s chest, I begin to wash him and finally he closes his probing eyes.

We can have a question-and-answer session after.

I need this.

He needs this.

Sometimes that’s all love is. Giving the other person what they need despite the price, despite the sacrifice or possibly painful outcome.

My hands glide across his chest, stroke up and down the thick bands of muscle on his arms, and linger across his chiseled abdomen.

“You’re beautiful,” I attempt to tell him with my appreciative stare.

He smiles and I know he knows.

I twirl my finger to let him know he needs to turn around and he complies. Leaning forward, he braces his arms on the wall while I scrub his back and legs.

His entire body twitches when I slip a soapy finger between the firm cheeks of his ass and I giggle.

“Easy,” he says under his breath.

I smack his right ass cheek lightly.

“There. All clean.” Next I step out of the line of the shower spray and watch while he rinses off.

I am wet in every way possible right now.

“My turn,” Gavin says evenly, palming the bar of soap I just returned to the tray.

He gives me a much more thorough washing than I gave him, covering every inch of my skin with his strong, soapy hands.

I moan involuntarily when he digs his fingers into the flesh on my thighs and again when he massages my neck and shoulders. I’m practically panting when his fingers begin tracing the taut peaks of my breasts. He’s behind me with his arms around me and I can feel his erection against my backside.

My body goes limp against him when he kneads my nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gavin.”

“Hmm?”

I smile because he’s distracted—by me. By my body. Our connection is so powerful, I can hardly believe we denied it as long as we did.

I need him to make all the pain go away. What happened between us, the ways we’ve destroyed each other over the years, the lies, the images from the attack, the concerns about Liam. For right now, I need to be selfish and I need him to give me what I need.

“I need . . . I need the truth, please. And maybe this isn’t the time or place and maybe there will never be a time and place that feels right but . . . I need it. The other night,” I begin to tell him, feeling unexpectedly desperate for him to know the truth. “I didn’t mind the . . . dirty stuff. I liked it.”

His head snaps up and his eyes meet mine. “I took it too far. I—”

“I can handle it, Gav. If you need a hate fuck or a punishment fuck or a talk-dirty-to-me fuck, I can handle it. As long as it’s not meant to teach me some type of bullshit lesson about how terrible you are.”

I press my mouth to his, enjoying the sensation when he breaches the seam of my lips to sweep his tongue inside.

“I am so sorry, baby,” he says while burying his face in my neck. “You know I didn’t mean any of the—”

“I know, Gavin. I know you better than you think I do. I want all of you. The light and the dark and the broken parts.”

“I am all broken parts,” he says into my ear. “That’s all I am.”

“We are all broken. That’s how the light gets in,” I tell him, quoting something I read years ago in high school. Hemingway, I think it was. I remember reading it and thinking immediately of Gavin, but then I am always thinking of him in one way or another.

Gavin washes and rinses my hair and his own and shuts the water off. I’m vaguely aware when he wraps me in the towel I brought him.

I want to protest when he lifts me off the ground and carries me to my bed like a bride over the threshold but I can’t make my mouth form words. The room blurs and disappears.

“Looks like you’re sleeping in the buff tonight, Bluebird,” he tells me as he tucks me into my bed.

“Stay,” I mumble, growing sleepier by the minute as the last twenty-four hours crashes down on me hard. “Please.”

“I am,” he tells me. But I mean here, in my room, in my bed. I’m too exhausted to verbalize it so I just pull at him until he gets the message and crawls into my bed, naked and damp from the shower, beside me.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Sweeter words were never spoken.

I’m hot. Burning up and sweating.

I try to kick the blankets off me but something is holding them down. The harder I fight, the tighter they seem to pull in around me.

Blinking myself awake, I see Gavin’s body draped around mine. As gently as I can manage, I ease myself out from under his large frame. He makes a small noise of complaint but eventually rolls over so I can get out from under the covers. God, he’s like a human furnace. There is literally heat radiating from his skin.

A gentle pulsating throb alerts me to my never-ending need for the man in my bed so I kiss him softly on the back of his right shoulder.

It’s been such a rough few days, I know he needs his rest. We both do. And yet, he’s here, exposed and, for the time being, all mine. Our time together always feels so rushed, so temporary and frantic. I want to take my time exploring and savoring.

Running my fingers across his back and down his arm, I feel my need for him becoming more and more pronounced. Any physical contact with him whatsoever awakens every cell that makes up my being. I can’t help but wonder if it’s like this for everyone.

I scoot closer to his back, allowing my bare breasts to absorb his warmth. My hand trails lightly to his well-defined hip bones, dipping into the V just before his pelvis. I feel a bit like a pervy creeper, taking advantage of the access I have to him at the moment, but I can’t stop myself.

When I let my wandering hand venture to the patch of hair between his hips, he twitches and groans lightly. Stroking downward, I feel him rousing to meet my hand and then I am encircling him.

He’s already half-hard as it is, but a few slides of my hand and his erection springs to full mast. Being gentle in my ministration of his most important body part is obviously frustrating him, judging from the small exhalations of breath he begins releasing.

“Looking for something, Bluebird?” His voice is groggy but amused.

I duck my head against him when he rolls back slightly. “Nope. Found it.”

“Did you now?”

My mess of hair falls forward as I lean forward to kiss his mouth.

He captures my wrists in his hand and slides me gently to the side. “We should talk first.”