"And I'm furious at myself." My voice broke. "For believing the worst. For not fighting harder. For settling for less than I deserved because I thought the man I wanted didn't want me back."
Knox closed the distance between us. His hands came up to cup my face, thumbs brushing the tears from my cheeks.
"I wanted you," he said fiercely. "I have never stopped wanting you. Not for one second in eight years. You are the only thing I've ever wanted that I couldn't have, and losing you broke something in me that I've never been able to fix."
I’d had enough. I was angry at everything that lead me here, and at the person standing in front of me, offering himself to me, when he was the one who started me feeling like this eight years ago.
I was furious and wanted to lash out at him. Instead, I kissed him.
I grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to me, and I kissed him with eight years of anger and hurt and desperate, aching and want.
He groaned against my mouth and kissed me back, one hand sliding into my hair, the other wrapping around my waist and pulling me flush against him. I could feel the heat of his body through our clothes, the hard planes of his chest, the evidence of his want pressing against my hip.
"Daisy." He pulled back enough to breathe, his forehead against mine. "We should slow down."
"No."
"You're upset. You're processing. I don't want you to regret this."
I pulled back and met his eyes. "I've been processing for eight years. I've regretted every day that I didn't have you. I'm done waiting, Knox. I'm done being careful. I want you. Right here. Right now. On this rock where everything started."
That was all it took for his control to snap.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the flat part of the rock. He laid me down on the cool stone, his body covering mine, his mouth finding my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts above my shirt.
"Tell me if you want to stop," he murmured against my skin. "At any point. Tell me and I will."
"I don't want to stop." I arched into him, pulling his shirt up and over his head. "I want everything."
He groaned and kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine while his hands found the hem of my shirt. He pulled it off in one smooth motion, then sat back to look at me.
"God." His eyes roamed over me, as I lay out before him. "You're even more beautiful than I remembered."
The old insecurities tried to surface. Garrett's voice in my head, telling me I'd gained weight, telling me I needed to try harder. I pushed them down.
Knox wasn't Garrett. Knox was looking at me like I was something precious and something worth waiting eight years for.
"Touch me," I said.
He did. His hands traced my curves, my stomach, the swell of my hips. He unhooked my bra and tossed it aside, then lowered his mouth to my breast, tongue circling my nipple before pulling it between his lips.
I gasped, my back arching off the rock.
"I've dreamed about this." He moved to my other breast, giving it the same attention. "Every night for eight years. I dreamed about the sounds you make. The way you taste. The way you feel under my hands."
His hand slid lower, unbuttoning my jeans, slipping inside. When his fingers found me, I cried out, grabbing his shoulders, holding on.
"So wet." His voice was dark, satisfied. "So perfect Daisy."
I could barely form words as I mumbled something about less words and more action.
He groaned and kissed me hard, his fingers working me with a skill that made my head spin. He knew my body. Even after all these years, he remembered exactly how to touch me, where to press and how to build the pleasure until I was shaking with it.
"I need you," I gasped. "Inside me. Now."
He pulled back long enough to strip off the rest of our clothes. I watched him in the starlight, drinking in the sight of him. Broad shoulders, hard stomach, the V of muscle at his hips.
He reached into his wallet and grab a condom, rolled it on and settled between my thighs, bracing himself above me.