Page 72 of Flint’s Strike

“It stiffens up on me. Doesn’t fuss much unless I’m kneelin’.” I huff out a laugh. “Makes workin’ a scene difficult sometimes. But I deserve that.”

“Eliot—”

I guide her hand to the ridge of scar tissue below my collarbone. Easier to talk about the physical than the reason I won’t complain about my body failing me. “Feel that?”

Sparks of pain shoot along my shoulder as she touches me. “Yes.”

“That’s a graft margin. Where the new skin meets the old. Nerves regrew wrong there—too many of ‘em all tangled up with each other. Doesn’t take much to set it off. A shirt seam can do it on a bad day.” Our fingers are laced together now over a flatter plane of scar tissue covering my ribs. “Grafted skin is…unpredictable. Some places I wouldn’t feel it if you jabbed me with a needle. Others…you could breathe on wrong and it’d be like a live wire.”

“So, I ask.”

“Ask. Listen. Adjust. The places that ain’t burnt will want a whole lot of attention.” I grin, and one corner of Parker’s mouth quirks up briefly.

“Noted.” She brings my wrist to her lips. “Like here?”

She kisses a trail halfway up my forearm, and my God. I had no idea how much I’d missed being touched.

“Like there.” My heart’s starting to race, but there’s one more thing she needs to know before this goes any further. “My back’s worse than my front. Nothin’ much feels good there. Doesn’t mean you can’t touch it, but don’t take it personal if I react…badly.”

“I won’t.”

“Last thing you need to know. Grafted skin can’t stretch much at all. Reachin’ with my left arm ain’t easy, and the right’s only a little better. I haven’t tried—haven’t been with a woman since before the fire. I don’t know what’s gonna work and what won’t.”

“We’ll take it slow,” she says, her voice so full of understanding, my eyes water. “I want this, Eliot. You. However it works. And if it doesn’t…we’ll get creative.”

Her acceptance is the most precious gift anyone’s ever handed me, made even sweeter by how easily she gives it. I cup the back of her neck, pull her against me, and show her with my lips, teeth, and tongue how much I want her.

Parker

My core aches, and the need to touch him—to taste him—has my hands moving too quickly. I brush a spot on his ribs with my thumb, and Eliot’s entire body locks up.

“Eliot? Oh, God. What⁠—”

“Give me a second.” He forces a deep breath through clenched teeth, drops his forehead to the curve of my neck, and shudders. “That spot’s…an asshole…some days.”

The desire is back in his eyes when he raises his head, but before he can reach for me, I press my hand flat against his sternum, where he said the nerves were mostly dead. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anythin’ wrong.” After a beat, he swallows hard. “But…if you want to stop, we can.”

For a moment, I’m tempted to say yes. To find a way to hold him that doesn’t hurt, and let him fall asleep in my arms. Or fall asleep in his. But he’s a grown-ass man who doesn’t need me to protect him. And dammit, I want this.

I slide my fingers into his hair and brush my lips to his. “I’m just gettin’ started, Flint. Now show me a spot that’s less ornery.”

He tilts his head, tracing a line down the curve of his neck with his index finger. “Anywhere along here is downright agreeable.”

Leaning in again, I trail kisses from his shoulder up to the pulse point below his jaw. He shudders, and a low groan rumbles in his throat. “More than agreeable,” I whisper against his skin, my body humming with desire as liquid heat pools in my core.

His hand finds the nape of my neck, fingers twisting around locks of hair. “You’re holdin’ back on me. Ain’t no need…”

I rise to the challenge, scoring my teeth over the shell of his ear.

“God, Parker. Clothes off. Now.”

I shimmy off the bed, only far enough to ease the linen pants to the floor and tug off my blouse. The moment it clears my head, Eliot grabs my hips, holding me between his legs as he kisses a line from my bra down to the top of my panties. Goosebumps race along my skin. The bulge in his black jeans presses against my thigh.

“I want to taste you,” he grits out, and guides me back to the mattress. “But I’m riskin’ permanent damage here.”

I chuckle, reaching for his belt. The buckle gives quickly, as does the button. But he stills my hands before I touch his zipper.