The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(78)

I’m becoming just as desperate as I try to take all of him into me, needing every inch of his impressive cock inside me. “Holden . . . there . . . f*cking harder . . .” And when the ache builds to the point of pain—when Holden is growling and driving in as far as he can, my body screaming for release—I tumble. Falling over the edge, my body pulsing with shock waves of pleasure.

“Shit . . . Sam . . . you feel f*ck . . . too good . . .” He tightens his hold around me and thrusts deep as he comes. I feel him; warm, pulsing, hard, pressing against my walls. It heightens my orgasm until I cry out, and then I’m sagging against his chest. Our labored breaths in sync.

He sweeps my hair aside and presses his lips to my neck. Then he falls to the bed with me in his arms. It’s bliss. Pure, exhausted and spent.

As I roll to my side, he holds on to my leg, draping it over him. Then he slaps my ass and then rubs it. I laugh. “I don’t know which part of you I love more.” His words zing right to my heart.

I look up and rest my hand over his heart, on the branches covering it. “I can tell you which part I love the most . . .” I slip my hand between us and roam down teasingly. He chuckles, and I stop, unable to control my laughter.

“Oh,” he says. “I figured that out. But if I’m going to keep up with you, I need to hydrate.” But then, his smile falters, his face turning serious as he runs his hand over the top of my ass cheek. “What’s the anchor for?”

Holding his gaze, I say, “Tyler.”

He nods once against the pillow. “His anchor.” Nothing in his voice betrays that he feels anything but understanding.

“Yes. I was his anchor.” Palming his chest, I push up to kiss him, loving the feel of the metal against my lips. Then, lying back down, “I wanted a reminder that I grounded him here. But wanted it somewhere no one would see.”

“Because you branded it there.”

A bit of shame swells in my chest. “Well, I wasn’t leaving the house. So going to get a tattoo was out of the question.” I breathe in deeply. “Crafting the design and heating the metal wasn’t hard. But, it was painful. And now, I kind of wish I’d gotten it inked.”

His eyebrows raise. “I can fix it for you.” My heart tightens, thinking of how he did just that with his scar. “If you want. I mean, I’m no tattoo artist. But I have been known to doodle here and there.” He winks.

Holden fixing my brand with ink, for me, for his brother, means more to me than he could ever know. “All right,” I say. “First, though. Hydrate.” I smile before rolling out of bed.

My thighs, stomach muscles, back and shoulders . . . just about every part of my body aches. But the pain is a good one. Holden worked muscles I didn’t even know I had. I smile to myself as I tug open the bathroom door and reach for the light. Then deciding I don’t want to add aggravated eyes to my list of ailments, I leave the light off, waiting to adjust to the faint light coming from the hairdryer cord.

As the bathroom lightens from black to gray, my eyes taking in the shower curtain and toilet, I turn to the sink and grab a cup. I reach for the faucet, and freeze. The room is suddenly brighter, a dim white light filling the small space.

My heart twists in my chest as Tyler’s aura appears, and then Tyler.

His eyes are knowing. How could they not be? Setting the cup on the counter, I hold his gaze in the mirror. “Hi, Tyler.”

“You took your meds.” His voice is low, husky. Accusing.

I wet my lips, my mouth too dry. “Tell me about the fight between you and Holden. The one where you found us at the dead tree.”

His nearly transparent frame stiffens. “I punched him,” he says, matter of fact. Just like Tyler would. “I fought for you. To keep you.”

With a shiver, I nod. “Yes, you did.” I swallow. “Now tell me what happened right before Holden was shipped off to boarding school.”

Confusion settles in the lines of his face. “I . . . don’t remember.” A deep ache pinches my heart.

Turning to face him, I say, “I need to get something.” He tilts his head, but I don’t give him the chance to ask as I rush from the bathroom.

Casting a glance at Holden, I push a relieved breath past my lips. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow as his chest slowly rises and falls. I can’t believe he passed out already. But I’m thankful. I need to do this on my own. Locating my pack in the dark, I reach down and grab my phone from the side pocket.

I’d already begun to question, but a part of me is still scared. Scared to accept what I fear is the truth. If I do, I’ll have to admit that all this time, I’ve been alone. And that is beyond painful. And f*cked up. It would mean that I really need help.

With purposeful, light steps, I find my way to the bathroom and Tyler waiting for me. At the doorway, I look into his eyes. His dark, chocolate eyes. The eyes of my best friend. The man I could have married and had a fulfilling life with. And then I bring the phone from behind my back and snap a picture.

The flash brightens the small room, and Tyler’s head jerks back. “What the hell, Sam?”

From the beginning, when I first started my research into the field of specters, one thing stuck with me. One thing I, for some reason, was always too afraid to attempt. Maybe because I didn’t want the truth. Maybe I’m better at lying to myself than I am at convincing others.