Page 88 of Yearn
It should have sent me running.
Instead, I trembled with something deeper. Because in his madness there was devotion. In his obsession, I felt chosen. Possessed. Cherished in a way that terrified and thrilled me down to my bones.
I had never been so utterly worshipped.
Not as a mother.
Not as a woman.
Not as flesh or fantasy.
Now standing here, letting him drink the salt of my grief and lust, I realized: this was what it meant to be loved by Dominic.
Not safe.
Not sane.
But utterly consumed.
And I wanted it.
And of course that made me cry again.
And once again, he licked that new tear, then the other. His tongue dragged slowly down my cheeks, groaning low in his throat like he was getting drunk on me.
“Oh, Dominic.”
His voice was dark with loving madness. “This is the body’s truth. Oxytocin flooding, prolactin dropping, the nervous system discharging trauma. Your body is cleansing itself.”
I shivered.
He continued to hold me up and lick the last of the tears from the corner of my lips. My whole body shuddered as he whispered against my mouth, “It means you’re mine in ways you can’t control. Even your tears betray you.”
“Dominic. . .” My voice broke on his name.
He kissed me—not just with his lips but with his soul.
Slow and consuming.
Drinking in my salt and surrender.
My heart crashed against my ribs.
His lips were warm and wet from my tears. He pressed deeper, claiming me with the slow drag of his tongue.
A soft gasp left me.
Dominic groaned, low and dark, and began stroking my mouth.
I clung to him and slid my hands to his soaked shoulders.
God, he’s so damn perfect.
He sucked gently on my tongue, then released it to kiss me again, open-mouthed and hungry, licking the corner of my lips where a new tear lingered.
Next, he left my mouth and then landed gentle kisses to my temples, then the corners of my eyes where more wetness clung. “You’re so beautiful.”
I sobbed harder at that, shoulders shaking. The tears weren’t sadness—they were surrender. Years of holding myself tight, years of swallowing every scream, years of acting unbothered when I was breaking inside. . .all of it cracked and poured out in his arms.
