Page 119 of Moth to a Flame

I don’t even blink. I drop to the floor, squinting at him through the water pouring down on us. His hand is in my hair and his eyes are warm. Compassionate.

Demanding. “Open your mouth.”

I do.

“Good girl.” He shoves himself inside me. “Suck.”

He holds still, thickening in my mouth the tighter my lips wrap around him. It’s a weird sense of comfort, having him there.

His calming presence. My full mouth.

“You can use me. Fuck, that’s good. Fuck. No. Ignore me. Use me, Regan.”

I groan at how nice it is to have his fingers massaging my scalp. How soothing it is to have his thumbs tracing circles around my temples.

“Do whatever you want with my cock. Let me help you. Let me bring you peace.”

I let him. Let myself relax into him. My eyes are glued to him while I allow myself to just be. To enjoy the safety of being Landon’s without fearing he’s going to leave me. I treat his cock like a pacifier. Cling to his strong thighs while I either leave his dick in my mouth or suck on it. Both actions are so calming that I moan.

“That’s it. Make yourself feel good.” His voice is strained. A salty drop trickles into my mouth. “Use me, love. I’ll stay here for days. Just come back to me.”

His hard cock with the hot water and his hands in my hair and holy, hiswords—it’s like I’m being delivered to my one true home. Like I’ve been away for an eternity and I’m only now finding my way back.

I’m Regan the survivor and I’m Regan from before. I’m both of them while still being me.

As shame, guilt and every other ugly emotion leave my body, I suck Landon harder. At first, I just press my lips until he jumps in my mouth. Then I take all of him in.

His groans grow louder, more feral. His gaze darkens. His lips are pulled into a firm line.

“Anything you need. It’s yours.”

He curses. Tells me I’m a good girl. That nothing will ever make him stop loving me.

When I’m all better, I still stay there. I take him, licking and tasting him over and over again. I wrap my fingers around the base, right where my initials are tattooed on his skin.

“What are you doing?”

I offer him what I hope is a meaningful, heated stare.

And suck him.

“Oh. Oh, fuck. I’m not going to last.”

He doesn’t.

I thank him by swallowing him.

Every. Single. Drop.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Landon

Chipping dried nail polishis a form of art.

Scrape it too hard, and the whole layer might come off. Go too hard with the metal ruler or Swiss blade or whatever it is you use, and your nail might get scraped along the way.

It takes patience. Concentration.

---