My world stood still.
“…I fucking love you…”
He admitted it.
A tortured groan echoed around the room as his eyes squeezed.
Fighting to keep it together, he sucked in huge gusts of oxygen.
He fought the truth.
He fought the tears.
He fought himself.
But…
Slowly…
Gradually…
He.
Lost.
The.
Battle.
He cracked.
The dam, the barrier he’d always hid behind, came smashing down. He crumpled like a paper building until he was stripped bare.
My heart hollowed as he shattered into pieces.
“Christ,” he breathed, his voice completely undone. “What have I become?”
He fell.
His knees gave out.
He slid down the wall like a melting glacier.
The moment he hit the floor, his knees came up caging his body, barricading him from the pain he couldn’t handle. His arms wrapped around them, curling into himself, pressing his forehead onto his legs. Hiding.
I stood there unable to move.
“…I fucking love you…”
Then my world turned inside out as Jethro Hawk—the most confusing, complex, and confounding man I’d ever met—started to cry.
His shoulders bunched.
His chest heaved.
He gave up the fight.
The man I feared, adored, and wanted to steal away from a life of emotional blackmail plummeted from lies, and I could see him for the very first time.
His anguished groan ripped out my soul, leaving it bleeding in hell.
His legs moved higher, his arms wrapped tighter, but nothing could hold together what was happening.
Blistering agony clutched me as I witnessed him coming apart. It was if every stitch holding him together ripped open, leaving him gasping and dying.
I wanted to be the needle to sew him back together.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
He needed to do this.
He needed to get it out.
This was his unthreading.
This was him becoming more than just a Hawk.
“It’s okay,” I whispered.
I pooled to the floor in a nightgown I didn’t remember him dressing me in, and wrapped myself around his quaking body. “It’s alright.” I rested my forehead on his temple, running my fingers through his hair.
He tried to pull away; he tried to stop his tears, but nothing could stop this.
He was utterly ruined.
Hanging his head, his shoulders quaked as silent tears erupted from his beautiful golden eyes. My stomach twisted as the man I loved came completely undone.
I didn’t let him grieve on his own. I willed him to feel how much I cared, how much I was there for him, regardless of how damaged he was.
He stopped fighting my hold and let loose.
He cried.
As his tears fell, my own dried up. We changed roles. His arctic shell finally thawed—shards of ice broke into smithereens, blizzards became snowflakes, and permafrost became liquid. There was no space inside him anymore; it had nowhere else to go but out.
Out his eyes, his soul, his heart.
I hugged the man who’d done so much wrong and let him purge until his body wracked and shook.
He didn’t make a sound. Not a single gasp or moan.
Utterly silent.
“What did they do to you,” I whispered. “You have to tell me. You have to let it go.”
My hands skated down his back, touching every inch: his face, his throat, his knees. I needed him to know that I brought him to this point, but I wouldn’t abandon him.
I would be there. Through thick and thin.
He didn’t stop crying.
Every quiver and silent sob exhausted me. I wanted to take back every cruel thing I’d said. I wanted to apologise for hurting him and for saying I would stop loving him.
I could never stop loving him.
Never.
He was inside my every cell.
I would never be able to carve him out—even in death.
“Give me your pain. Share it with me.” I wanted to do whatever I could to heal him, to fix him, and make him become the man buried inside.
Jethro suddenly turned in my embrace. Gathering me close, he pushed upward to his feet. I didn’t move as his arms clutched me painfully, stumbling across the bedroom.
The moment the mattress was within tumbling distance, we fell together.
Facing each other, Jethro never let me go. He buried his face in my neck, hiding his wet eyes but unable to disguise the steady trickle of moisture down my throat.
God, I’m sorry. So sorry I broke you.
I squeezed him so damn hard.
His breathing hitched. His body shook.
No amount of armour or courage could’ve prepared me for Jethro coming apart.
Tell me what you’re dealing with.
Show me how to save you.
“It’s okay, Kite. It’s okay.” My voice was a steady metronome, granting acceptance in repetition. “I’m not leaving. It’s okay, Kite. It’s okay.”
His arms banded until my bones ached in his embrace.
Without a word, Jethro raised his head. One arm unwrapped, and his hand captured my chin, tilting my mouth to his.
Before I could breathe, his lips crashed over mine.
His touch was violent, harsh—all-consuming.
Need sprang sharp and fragrant. Desire hijacked my mind with such weight and demand, I buckled with it.
We spiralled together.
His fingers bruised and his tongue dived into my mouth, stealing my gasp and conjuring lust so brutal, I came alive and died all at the same time.
Together, we merged tighter. Jethro cushioned my head with his arm as he rolled me onto my back, covering my body with his. His hand drifted down my ribcage, branding me with every inch. His lips continued to dance with mine—our breathing harsh, tongues violent.
I cried out as his fingers captured my breast, pinching my nipple. My back bowed, forcing more of me into his hold.
He groaned, his breath losing its brokenness, becoming rapid with lust.
Desire swirled and demanded, giving us nowhere to hide.
I became instantly wet as he tugged the hem of my nightdress, shoving it over my hips. I wriggled as he fumbled between us, undoing his button and zipper. He grunted as he yanked his jeans and boxer-briefs down, only making it to mid-thigh.
His teeth pinched my bottom lip as he forced my knees to spread. His elbows dug into the covers, positioning himself higher.
We both cried out as his hard cock settled between my legs.
There was no foreplay, no preparation. We didn’t need it. We were too far gone—too terrifyingly open and desperate for connection. He angled the head of his cock and thrust.
I groaned into his mouth as his size blazed with tender agony.
He kissed me, slinking his tongue with mine, rocking his hips, using my wetness to spread me wider. He forced my body to yield and melt.
His tears continued to fall, trickling into my mouth and lacing his taste with salty pain. I imprisoned his cheeks, rubbing my thumbs in the dampness, hoping he understood how much I loved him.
That I was there for him.
Forever.
His breathing turned ragged, each exhale releasing soul-burning agony he’d carried all his life. With an arm around my shoulders, he reached down and clutched my hip, holding me firm.
He thrust harder, slipping past the final barrier and filling me completely. We sighed as that heavenly link slotted perfectly into place.
My body quivered around his. There was no warning. No anticipation. The moment he’d filled me, his rocking turned from questing to vicious.
Without his arm around my shoulders, I would’ve shifted upward with every brutal thrust. But he held me for his pleasure.
He used me.
We used each other.
We used passion to defeat pain. Wielded need to combat despair.
It would either heal us or break us, but there was no stopping the tsunami we rode.
“I’m sorry. So fucking sorry,” he mumbled into my hair. His tears had stopped, but his voice remained shaky.
His hips never stopped thrusting, driving us higher.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Sorry for making life so hard for you.”
He groaned, rocking faster.
Our minds switched from words to releases. We gave ourselves over to pleasure. Somewhere deep inside me, I let go. I floated upward, acknowledging that fate stole me from a life I thought I wanted, but that was never my true destiny.
He was.
Something slotted into place—bigger than a puzzle piece, more poignant than scripture or knowing.
It was the accumulation of fighting for something and finally earning it.
It was home.
Jethro pulled back, his jaw locked. His eyes burned as he rocked headfirst into a devouring tempo. I couldn’t look away. His body inside my body. His soul inside my soul.
I couldn’t contain the magic we sparked. “I need to tell you—how I feel…what this means.”
He shook his head, his lips grazing mine. “I know. I feel it, too.”
Tears leaked from my eyes as his mouth sealed tight. The wet heat of him and the scorching power of his cock splintered me in two.
There was no break or reprieve. Jethro fucked me, made love to me, and consumed me with no thought to us being watched or catalogued. Long, deep, dominating strokes dragged echoing moans.
Arching my hips, I rubbed my clit on the base of his cock. “More,” I begged. “Harder.”
He obeyed.
I couldn’t breathe, straining for an orgasm that would shatter me.
“Faster, deeper.”