He doesn’t move, only keeps his eyes trained on the ocean waves lit only by the full moon.

“Murph,” I say, reaching for his arm, letting my fingers rest against the dark tattoos that stretch across his forearm.

“I need another drink.” He jumps up just as my skin makes contact.

“No, you don’t.” His words are starting to slur, and it takes a lot to get a guy his size drunk, so I know he’s had way too much. I don’t need him getting ridiculous tonight, not with Ryder’s daughter here. A death is enough for one day.

I follow him to the bar, and put myself between him and the counter. The moment his gaze meets mine, something explodes in my chest. I want to cry and scream and punch him and screw him all at the same time. He has himself so completely tormented and twisted that I’m convinced I can kiss him back to normal.

He feels it too because he presses his hips against mine while holding my stare.

“You don’t need another drink.” The mumble escapes my lips.

“You don’t know what I need,” he answers.

In the moonlight, his green eyes practically shine, and I feel myself tempted to reach up and run my finger along the edge of his lips, hidden behind his thick beard.

“Yes, I do,” I breathe, feeling utterly insane for even implying something so...dirty. Someone we both love just died, her body was just removed from the house, and I feel his pain, like I feel my own, and all I want to do is find the pleasure hidden beneath it.

His fingers reach out and dig into my hip. “You sure about that?”

I’m unsettled by how sure I am. My body is alive with this need for him. Is it the healthiest form of grieving? Not at all, but I want it. I don’t want to be alone for one more second.

So I reach up and grab the back of his neck, kissing him roughly. He growls into my mouth, pulling my weight off the floor and against his body.

Approaching voices from the kitchen break us apart, but Murph doesn’t wait for them to find us. He pulls me toward the bedrooms in a rush, practically dragging me behind him.

My mind is silent, pushing away any thoughts of caution. There is only emotion at the moment, and it’s need.

The looming empty bedroom waits for us, like a beacon. And the moment we cross the threshold, I feel how it offers us freedom. Relief. Here, we are alone and can be anything we want, without expectation or presumption.

He feels it too because the second we are alone, the door slams closed behind us, and he pulls my body to his, lifting me off my feet again. He breathes me in, burying his face in my neck, and I wrap my arms around him so tight I dread ever letting go.

When his lips find mine again, it’s a catalyst. Our fingers move deftly toward the hem of each other’s shirts. He pulls mine off in one quick motion. I quickly do the same with his. I never even feel him fumble with the clasp of my bra before it’s falling from my arms. The sensation of his chest against mine is enough to make me gasp in anticipation. It’s like that moment in the tattoo shop all over again. This human contact I’ve deprived myself of this past year is now heightened, and Murph’s body is like an overdose.