He had loved watching her grow in confidence in her body as well.
Her curves were slender but perfect. Her breasts high and firm.
Her nipples were pert and pink and tight, begging for his touch. Begging for his tongue. He lowered his head and sucked one tightened bud into his mouth.
She was leaving. And he was starting over, and it just felt bleak. The sun going behind the mountain.
He accepted that it had to be that way. He did.
And hell, he didn’t want to take anything to dull the pain. In fact, he wanted to live in it. Wallow in it. Because at least he had felt something.
If there was one damned broken thing he could give thanks for in the middle of all this, it was that she made him feel something.
But she was leaving.
And he was glad for her.
But it might kill him.
He stripped the rest of her clothes off her, all the way bare, and lifted her up, setting her down on the table and laying her down like the feast that she was.
She blushed, all over her body, and he relished it. Welcomed it.
There was something so beautiful about that.
That she could do all these things, be this bold and also still blush.
He got down on his knees and put her legs over his shoulders, pulling her toward the edge of the table, holding her prisoner as he began to lick that tender place between her legs.
Just like she liked.
He knew exactly how to do it. Knew the way that she cried out inside, how she signaled the rise of her desire.
He knew all that.
It was beautiful.
And so was she.
There was nothing more incredible than watching her come. Knowing it was about to happen. Tasting the evidence of her desire.
There was nothing better. And when he felt lonely in the middle of the night, he would comfort himself with this memory. The memory of what Rory Sullivan tasted like on his tongue.
Because it was truly glorious.
And so was she.
And this was the beginning of their goodbyes.
He knew it.
So he feasted on her with all the desire inside of him. Because if he could make her understand one thing, it would be this.
How much he wanted her.
How much he would let things be different if they could be.
If they had lived a different life.