Joe wanted my medal. I suspect he will have it framed. He asked Sayo about a hobby shop and then whispered low so that I couldn’t hear him and then their conversation was a flurry of cautious glances directed at me and low mumbled words against each other’s ears. I didn’t mind. It’s not like my body or brain would let me give any consideration to their plans. And giving Joe my medal made getting him to leave my apartment an easier task with that little trinket in his hands. The medal doesn’t matter to me.
This whole experience had only ever been about pushing myself. That I was able to reach beyond my limits; that my muscles and joints remembered exertion, recalled the strain of forward momentum, is win enough for me.
My friends and I won’t be anywhere near the Biddy Auction when it happens. If it happens at all. When Ava called to congratulate me on my win this afternoon, she mentioned a conversation she had with Mullens, telling him about our bet with Tucker. He hadn’t been pleased, but I think the idea of his daughter at the auction may have changed his opinion on the whole thing. There is hope yet that my Godmother will be rid of that disgusting display.
I came home and immediately showered, scrubbed the debris and muck out of my hair, scalded my skin until it hummed pink and went back into my living room to find my friends gushing over the marine Mollie met.
“His name is Vaughn Winchester. He’s not in active service anymore but he organizes the Dash and owns a Crossfit studio over in Maryville.”
“Married?” Sayo asks.
“Divorced. Twenty-six and so freakin’ sweet.”
“I notice you didn’t give him back his hoodie,” Layla said, a smile twitching on her lips.
“Duh. He has to come back for it once I’ve cleaned it.”
Smelly and aching, my friends left me to nap. I managed two hours before the rain settled in hard and woke me from a sweet dream where Tucker was kicked off the squad and Declan kissed me while we sat on a golden throne.
Ridiculous, stupid. Very hot.
The thunder claps above and I see a spark of swift light strike against the large oak across the street from my building. It scares the hell out of me and I duck down from my window. Twenty minutes later, the winds slow and cop cars and fire trucks converge on my street. The muted television interrupts whatever bad, campy B-movie is playing and I stand in front of my set, read the ticker on the bottom of the screen announcing the impending storm headed straight for Cavanagh’s town center. When I hear the fire trucks rev up, I return to the window. A large limb hangs from the oak, rustles against the rain. The cops and firemen scramble out of the way as the limb falls to the ground. Pulling the collar of my robe tight against my neck, I almost miss the figure standing below my awning. He is tall and broad and his head is obscured by the hood of his raincoat.
Instantly, I worry that it’s Tucker, waiting for night to fall fully before he pounds on my door, but then, I realize this guy’s legs are thicker, his shoulders wider. He turns his head, scanning down the street, neck stretching and I catch a glimpse of green and red on his wrist when he checks his watch.
What the hell is Declan doing?
When I push back the lobby door, rain floods against the jam, pouring across my bare toes. He turns, straightening at my raised eyebrows.
“Are you crazy?”
“Go inside, McShane. I’m just keeping watch.”
“Declan, come inside. You’ll drown out there.” He ignores me, turns back toward the street and sinks his hands into his pockets. “Seriously? I don’t think Tucker is stupid enough to show up here. Besides, I wouldn’t let him in.”
“Didn’t stop you before, did it now? You went out with him.” He turns again, a mild twist arching his top lip. “You kissed him.”
He can’t be serious. Why the hell is he trying to pick a fight with me in the middle of a thunderstorm? “Declan,” I start, but then the lobby lights flicker, screech once until I hear a pop from the side of the building. “Shit.” I run into my apartment, instantly shrouded in complete darkness. I try my level best to keep my hands from shaking, to keep the faint panic from running up my chest. To distract myself, I fish through my linen closet next to the hall, hoping that there are still candles tucked behind the sheets and pillowcases. I find two and breathe a bit easier, but when I return to my living room and see the shadow of a figure in my open doorway, I release a yelp.
Declan walks in, hands raised in supplication. He starts to shut the door, then pauses. “Do you want this open? There’s still some light left in the lobby from the backup battery.”
“No. It’s fine.” I bustle around the living room, leave the candles on the coffee table and stretch for the hurricane lamps on top of the entertainment center. I manage to grab one, but then Declan is behind me, reaching over me to secure the final two. The water from his coat dampens my robe. The kerosene in the glass bottoms of the lamps is low and I hope that the super will hurry to get the lights back on quickly. I light all three lamps, leave two on the table and move the largest one to my kitchen counter.
In all my activity, I have forgotten my panic, forgotten that Declan was with me during the last power outage, that he probably came into my apartment thinking I’d have another panic attack.
The tasks of finding light sources keeps me busy and, I imagine, his presence here also adds to my calm. Now that calm fades as Declan’s gaze follows me around the room as I grab the candles and flick the lighter against their wicks.
“You’re not upset,” he says. The heavy drip from his coat encircles his feet and I shoot into the bathroom to grab a towel.
“I had a good day,” I say, throwing him the towel. “Take off that coat before you damage my hardwoods, please.”
He hesitates, looks around the room, for what, I don’t know, but then slides his jacket off his shoulders and drops the towels to the floor. Moving the white cloth with his feet, he sops up the rainwater with a glide of his large leg while I grab his coat from him.
“I’ll hang this up in the laundry room,” I offer as I disappear for a moment.
When I return, he is in front of the window, arms crossed as he stares out onto the street. His shirt is wet around the collar and I drape another towel over his neck. We both watch the rain as it floods outside. The cops and firemen have disappeared and the small street runs with water, leaves and limbs, paper and rubbish sliding toward the drains.
“I think you should go. I’m safe and it’s late.” Declan slumps against the window and stares at me, his head moving in a slow shake. “Why not? If you stay we’ll only end up fighting and I’m too tired for that.”
“I want to be here, don’t I, in case that little eejit decides to show up at your door?” He stands up straight. “He doesn’t know where your spare key is, does he?”
Surprised, I hadn’t thought about that, I dart toward my door with Declan on my heels. He steps into the lobby, looking left and right. The small planter to my left squeaks against the marble when I move it and I release a breath, relaxing, when I see my spare key there. I pluck it off the floor and return back inside.
Declan shuts the door and we both return to the window, eyes searching across the street. After a few moments of listening to the rain lashing at the window, and not seeing a single person running around in the storm, I relax, fold my arms close to my chest.
“You don’t have to stay,” I say, my attention on an errant plastic bag swimming in front of my building. “I can take care of myself.”
Declan sighs, his shoulders lowering. “I know you can, McShane, but I trust that wanker about as far as I could kick him between the uprights.” I smile at the visual and Declan rubs the towel against his dark hair. It stands up everywhere when he turns toward me. “I’ll be a good lad. I’ll kip out here on the sofa. You won’t hear a peep from me and I’ll be gone before you wake in the morning.”
“You want to stay here?” He nods and my eyes go wide. “You want to stand guard? Against Tucker?”
“I’d feel better knowing he doesn’t show up.”
“Why?”
He avoids my eyes, move his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. His focus returns to the window, on the rain and strikes of lightening. “You were fearless today.” Declan closes his eyes, his fists balling up until they shake. “He tried to take that away from you because he’s a spoilt arsehole who got beat by someone he doesn’t see as his equal. When I saw him trip you I—” I touched his arm and Declan’s fists unclench. “You were so calm, so fecking poised as he’s insulting you, cursing at you, trying to make light of what you’d accomplished. Wanting you to believe his lies.” A small grin dents the dimple in his cheek when he looks at me. “He couldn’t touch you, love. Nothing could.
“I know well you can handle yourself. Maybe I didn’t really believe that until today and I feel like a right shite for that, McShane. I’ve never trusted Morrison, not around you especially. It’s why I minded where you were, why I tried watching after you when you were with him, as much as I could. But today, I knew you didn’t need me protecting you, not really. Still, I want to watch over you, just for tonight. I’m asking you to let me.”
I smile, feel heat on my cheeks. “Well, I did send you to the ground the first time we met.”
“Yes, you did at that.” Declan shakes his head as if the memory of our first meeting should have been some sort of preamble to our, well, our whatever we are. I withhold a laugh as I think of his thrashed ass rolling on the ground.
“You asked me why I want to stay here.” His voice is soft, like he isn’t sure he wants me to hear what he says. “You should know that.” He isn’t smiling. He takes my hand, but looks out against the window, away from my face, not seeing the frequent twist of my lips moving between glare and grin. “I care about you, don’t I?”
His hand feels cold, still damp from his sentry post outside in the weather. I want him here, but I want a reason. I have to know. Then I remember Tucker’s almost confession, how he nearly revealed all before Declan knocked him out cold. The secrets are his. I can’t force them from him, but I won’t let anything happen between us as long as they remain.
“Declan, this isn’t a good idea.”
“I know that well.”
“Then maybe you should go.”
I see the disappointment in his eyes. The muscles in his face are taut and his cheeks have gone pale. His grip on my hand tightens and his shoulders slouch as though he’s let his defenses fall. “I don’t think I can walk away from you again, Autumn.”
There is a minute whisper in the back of my mind. It sounds faintly of Sayo’s tiny, nagging rasp and it wars with Ava’s frustrated, lecherous voice. They argue about the look Declan is giving me, about how dark his eyes have become, how close to the edge of reason and logic we are teetering. And then I hear Joe’s voice telling me that love has nothing to do with logic. It’s all heart.
Do I love Declan? The thought shocks me and I really don’t know the answer to that question. I do know that if I don’t stop Declan as he moves toward me, then things will irrevocably change between us. I know that if I don’t push him away as his hands slip behind my back that I will neglect my rational thoughts and instead embrace my baser instincts. I know that I won’t stop him. More importantly, I won’t let him stop me.
He pulls me close, so close that the heat from his chest coils and warms my body. He smells insanely good, soap and rainwater, and that only obliterates my defenses. Those defenses weaken further when he kisses my neck, lets his mouth rub behind my ear, pulls my earlobe between his teeth. His body is tense and I know that if I make the smallest sound, he’ll stop his blissful assault. And God how I do not want that to happen. So I let his tongue move lower on my skin, into the crook of my neck, to the other side as he nibbles my flesh, pushes me against the window. My heart is pounding and I can’t help touching him, raking my fingernails against his wide back, across his shoulders, until my fingers are in his hair. When he tweaks my other earlobe, I release a low moan and tug on his hair, guiding him further against me.
Declan’s breath quickens and he moves back, coming to rest on his knees in front of me. “I can’t, I’m not meant to—”
“Please don’t stop,” I say, reaching for his shoulders, sinking to the floor with him. I can’t stop touching him, love the way we move together, a dance that is natural, innate. My fingers return to his arms, scratching faint lines over his skin and his body shakes before he closes his eyes, before his grip on my waist tightens and I am against his chest.
“You have to know something first, Autumn.” I interrupt him by kissing his neck, mimicking the attentions he just paid to me. “I have to…shite…I can’t concentrate when you...” Declan guides my head, his large fingers twisting in my hair.
I am too caught up in the moment, in the sensations Declan has worked over me, to care much about what he’s trying to say. Reasons and assertions about abstaining until I know the truth fly right out of my mind. There are only his fingers in my hair, the taste of his skin on my tongue. I won’t stop this and, again, I refuse to let him stop. “It can wait,” I say and I smile when his face relaxes at my mouth over his, at my nails returning to his back, his neck. It’s the first time I’ve ever kissed him, the first time I’ve ever initiated this play and I can see the pleasure at my attentions clouding in his eyes. I really love that expression.
“What are you doing to me, McShane?” His voice is low, elevates at my name and I smile against his neck, letting my tongue lap over his throat, then up to his ear.
“You’ll see.”
He growls low, rasping, and his arms circle my waist, hands reaching down to cup my ass. “Do…do that again,” he says, arching his neck back so I can focus on the deep cleft at the base of his throat. “God yes. Just there, love.”
My skin chills and the shivering sensation moves to my chest, hardening my nipples, peppering my body with warmth that collects right in my core, making me wet, needy. Declan’s eyes are wide, surprised when I pull his head back, but I don’t let him comment about my aggressive little maneuver. Now is not the time for sarcasm.
His mouth becomes mine as I claim it, push my tongue past his lips and he hesitates only for a moment before he returns my action. His tongue is slick against mine and I groan when he moves and pulls my bottom lip between his teeth. His hold on my ass tightens as he presses against me. We battle for control with our mouths and with one hand Declan squeezes my ass as the other slips up my robe. The warmth of his breath on my cheek fuels me, has a whiny, frustrated plea leaving my mouth as his fingers dig into my bare skin, the curve of my ass, the swell of my hips.
The smirk I’ve always claimed to hate wavers, moves his lips as though he is equal parts impressed and unsurprised. “Enough of this,” he says before returning both of his hands from my body and pulling me up with him. A few seconds pass as he stares down at me and his gaze slips to the opening of my robe, to the bare skin of my cleavage, and he seems to make a decision. “I’m going to take you back there,” he says, throwing his head back toward the hallway. “Is that what you want?”
“Absolutely.”
Declan pulls on the ties of my robe and the fabric separates, falls to the floor, exposing my naked body to him completely. He sags, his body going weightless as he falls to his knees and immediately pulls my hips toward his face. His lips drape along my skin, over my abdomen, my navel, and he stops at my scar, a feather light touch of his fingers tracing the crooked line. When he looks up at me, my breath hitches at the dark haze obscuring the green of his eyes. He seeks permission, wagers the play of emotion on my features to ask if this is okay, if I mind him touching me here. In answer, I push my fingers through his hair, direct his mouth back onto my skin, his eyes still studying me.
When Declan’s tongue flicks against the scar, my head rolls back and my heart jackhammers in my chest. There is a hungry, rich growl from his throat and I feel it vibrate against my skin, then I am thrown over his shoulder, laughing as he powers down the hallway, bumping us into walls and doors.
I feel my mattress at my back as Declan lowers me onto the bed. My elbows dent the fabric as I rest back to watch him unbutton his shirt, but I stop him, come upright on my knees. “Let me,” I say and brush his hands away, taking my time with each button. His skin is soft, pale, and I love the unguarded expression on his face as I rake my nails up the muscled chest, to the small spattering of freckles over his collarbone, his shoulders, my mouth following my fingers, kissing each bare space.
On closer inspection, I take in the gorgeous artwork that covers his arms and chest. There are crosses and beautiful sugar skulls adorned with vivid red roses on his left shoulder. A large triquetra in the center of his arm, just above an image of Christ wearing His crown of thorns. A heavy tapestry of all things Irish is sleeved on his right arm with shamrocks, cartoonish old school leprechauns, a Claddagh heart, the Irish flag, a large family crest, saber and arrows in a bronze shield, covering his bicep and down his forearm. The sleeve is looped together with Celtic knots and, just above his heart, is a perfect depiction of a woman with haunting blue eyes and a sad, hesitant smile on her face. I run the tip of my fingers against her chin and stare up at Declan.
“My mum. Moira.”
“She’s beautiful,” I say, and Declan smiles, but it is brief and quickly replaced with a dark, focused stare across my features.
When I move my tongue over his nipple and nibble on it, take my time to lap the small bump on the surface, the tight point in the center, Declan grabs my hair at my nape, and shifts my head back so I can stare up at him, at the dark, anxious expression on his face. That look liquefies my organs, breathes fire on my skin and the sensation only strengthens when he licks his lips and pulls me up to capture my mouth.
In an instant, everything escalates and he is tearing off his shirt, freeing himself of his jeans, throwing his clothes behind him on the floor before he pushes me against the mattress, exposed to his intense stare roving over my body, to my legs, my breasts.
He reaches down, tugs his wallet out of his discarded jeans and sets a condom on the bedside table, adjusts his weight on top of me in nothing but his red plaid boxers. I can feel his length throbbing against my stomach. I slip my fingers beneath his shorts, rub against his firm ass and he pushes down, moving against me so hard that were he naked, we’d be completely joined.
His breathing shallow. “You keep at that, McShane and I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you quick like.”
“You don’t want to stop, do you?”
“I couldn’t even if I tried.” He rests on one elbow and runs the tips of his fingers over my left nipple. “It would be easy for me to take you, quick and sudden. But I’ve wanted you for so long, love.” He inches up, hovering above me. “I don’t want it quick and sudden.” He kisses the top of my breast, then seals a peck on my lips. “I want you slow. I want to take my time.”
“Oh, do you?” I say, sounding much bolder than I actually am.
Declan accepts my small challenge and immediately settles his mouth over my nipple. As his tongue works over the left, his hand smoothes over the right and I start to shake, feeling the sweet sensation of need collecting into a tight knot in my stomach, a throb making my clit pulse.
He switches his mouth to my right breast while his hand slides along my stomach, down lower to thumb between my lower lips. When he cups my mound, Declan catches my eyes and stills me with his intense scrutiny. He parts my folds, the wetness there flowing under his thumb as he circles my clit, the friction building, bubbling with each swipe of his thumb until I am no longer able to focus on his face.
“I’ve been waiting to taste you, McShane. Too long,” he says before he lowers over me, his mouth hot, his tongue wet and eager. I forget to breathe, forget that air is supposed to be released, not withheld in the anticipation of the next sensation that he works over me. Somewhere in my mind, I remember to force air from my lungs and with it comes a low stutter, a hitch that shakes the bed when I move my hips. His attentions increase and the pressure builds, diminishing only slightly when Declan scoops his large hand under my hips to pull me closer to his mouth.
I lose all sense of composure.
The crest fires, shoots higher and higher, the edge teetering nearer and when his tongue delves in deeper, when he pulls me harder to his mouth, to that glorious tongue, I feel a great coil of aching need peak, explode so that it rises from my feet, up my legs to spill between my thighs, and then I am flying, liquid in his hands. The release hits me hard and I arch, my back bending so that my shoulders press against the mattress. His touch does not disappear, his attentions slow, but there are light flicks still working over my body, his nose edging against my hood, his satisfied hums against my folds, a calm rhythm, barely touching. I am jelly, a puddle mass of weak limbs and gratified, heavy breaths that slow with each second that passes. I smile, smug and content when Declan’s attentions continue. He sets me down, slithers over my body to place his mouth on my forehead, against my cheeks, then finally, on my lips and his kiss is tentative, almost awed. I open my eyes to find him smiling at me.
“Beautiful,” he whispers. He lowers over me and pushes my legs apart so that the only thing separating us is the thin fabric of his boxers.
Before my nerve leaves me, I push down his shorts and yank them free from his body. It takes me two quick breaths to take his dick in my hands and when I do, it throbs hot against my fingers. He is long and very thick, heavy in my hands and I love the silken feel of his skin, how he fits into my palm so perfectly. My breath collects into a tight ball in my chest as I touch him and his hips jerk, filling me with satisfaction at the brief rush of power I feel. My hands are doing this to him. I am making him hard, eager. I am making Declan moan and my body instantly warms at the thought.
Declan moves as if to lay on top of me again, but I push on his shoulder to make him fall back against the mattress. He is surprised by my aggression and wears a reverential expression of shock that pulls open his mouth. Those beautiful green eyes narrow, work to watch every move I make, the slow slide over his thighs, the tentative brush of my nails against the soft black hair on his legs, the subtle touch of my palms on his stomach.
“What’s that you’re doing, McShane?” he asks, voice deep, heavy with whatever heady emotion he tries to dismiss. His voice grows deeper still when I take him in my hands again, when my thumb flicks across the head of his dick. My eyes jump between his body and his face, then to the condom on the table. The smirk again and Declan reaches back, grabs the foil package and presents it to me and I like the silent demand, the way our eyes speak when our voices are silenced by the bated breath of what is about to happen.
My gaze doesn’t leave his face as I rip open the foil. There is a twist, a tear and my fingers smooth the rubber down over him, quick, easy, just like the comfort and warmth that rises between our bodies.
Declan sits up, reaches for my hips and slides me forward, over his lap, and our stares meet, connect as I lower onto him. There has never been a crackle in the air like this one. All around us, the abundant feel of our bodies meeting pools into each pocket of energy that warms the room, that sizzles between our chests. Heartbeat drumming hard, I take him, inch by inch, watching the way his eyes grow wider and wider with each downward push. He fills me, stretches me and on each exhalation, our breaths mix, until we are finally connected and I watch the slow break of his features, the surprise, the elation, the sharp bite of his teeth digging into his bottom lip.
“Oh, Jaysus,” he says, his arms shaking as he curls them around my waist.
We don’t move. I manage to keep my eyes open for three full seconds, until the sensation of his wide length pulsing in me wrenches my lids closed. Declan kisses my chest and I love the intense collection of sensations our joining creates—his stubble reddening my skin, his large hands cupping my back possessively, his tongue licking the sweat from my neck. He releases a quiet moan and his fingers dig into my skin. I start to move on him, and with each descent of my hips, I open to fit him.
“Autumn,” he whispers, like a prayer, his hold on my hips tighten, clamp deeper into my flesh; the veins in his forearms, in his hands, protrude. My body rocks, a slow movement of long glides and tightened holds. He watches each lunge and thrust of our bodies coming together and I don’t feel uncomfortable at the raw expression in his eyes, at how his eyebrows knit together.
“Shite, are you gorgeous,” he says, his fingers coming back to circle my clit until my rocking increases, until I am compelled to move faster.
“Don’t stop that, Declan. Please.”
“Never, McShane.” My head falls back as I am caught up in the intense sensation of him inside, of his fingers working over me. “Look at me, love. I want to see you fall apart.”
I watch him, moving fast, matching the speed of his thumb and the sweet burn in my core amplifies. Instinctively, I cup my breast, rub my nipple between my fingers.
With each thrust of our bodies, Declan’s arms shake, his fingers are unsteady, unyielding as his thumb works quicker, propelling me toward climax. The sensation heightens and the bubble of energy coils, crests, shoots forward so that when I come, my walls clamp around Declan, squeezing him until I hear his loud curses groan in satisfaction.
Before I have completely come down, we move together, turning over, still connected, and Declan’s hands are everywhere, caressing my face, my neck. He kisses my skin, the hollow of my neck, my lips, his eagerness to touch me intensifying second by second. His breath rushes over my face and I smell the sweet scent of musk, the airy breath against my lips, on my tongue when he kisses me.
“Autumn…” my name comes out in a murmur and his movements are rough, touching deep inside me and my body convulses to grip him. “Oh God. Just like that, love.”
I do it again and he smiles. We watch each other as he continues and I reach up to touch his face, letting my fingers brush against his cheek and the prickling stubble on his jaw before I pull him down and capture his lips.
The room fills with the music our bodies make, a staccato of rhythms, sounds that amplify against my walls, heavy with our labored breaths and moans. Declan moves down, takes my lips, welcomes my tongue and I pull him closer, cupping his ass so that there isn’t any room between us, no space that will separate us in the slightest.
“Jaysus,” he says, overcome, resting his forehead against my chest. His movements become sloppy, jarring, but each one touches deep and I am again overwhelmed by a quick coil of fire, the electric hum of our bodies melding together, sending me over the edge, matching the curve of his spine, the shatter of his features as he explodes.
He lays on top of me and I can hear the quick race of his heart against my ear. “Beautiful,” I whisper.
He stares up at me, thumb on bottom lip before he moves in to steal a kiss. “Very, love.”
My body should have been exhausted. I have pushed it beyond its limits. The two hours I slept after the marathon was not enough to rest all the sore joints and muscle. The marathon of Declan and I together last night should have collapsed me, left me incapacitated. It did not. I felt energized, as though the reserves of vigor left huddled beneath my bones, overflowed and filled to urge me further, over his body, taking all that he could muster.
He mustered three times last night.
When we slept, he was soundless, his heavy body pressed against my back, colorful, warm arms draped around my stomach, gripping me so that I could not move or shift. It was comfortable and I can’t recall the last time I dreamed so vividly, REM sleep taking me into deep slumber, relaxing my muscles, my mind so that I woke refreshed.
The soft patter of rain against my windows this morning had me unwilling to move. Declan’s hot breath against my neck, the scent of his body, had me wanting to move against him. But in the silence of the room, in the contentment of my bed I felt something that I thought would never again be mine to claim. Peace. Serenity. Safety.
I enjoy the steady rhythm of his heart pulsing against my back for a few moments longer than I should, drinking in this quiet ease, before my aching body demands I move. I don’t want to wake him, but it is difficult to slip away without rousing Declan a bit. He grumbles as I push his arm back, then rolls onto his stomach and instantly curls my pillow under his chin.
The hot spray from the shower beats a healing path over my skin, massages into my aching joints. I wince when the water hits my blistered feet, but then I stretch my back and stand still under the showerhead and the pleasure of the steam and scalding water pelt into my body, massages away the ache. I smile at the thought of the other twinges my body releases, at how they came to me and at images of Declan’s body over mine, of me gazing down at him. With each thought, my smile widens.
The cool air rushes into the steamed bathroom when the door opens and I wait, listening for what Declan will do. The faucet runs, he yawns and then the shower curtain inches open. His green eyes are bright, friendly, then quickly spark as they sweep over me.
“Budge up, will you, McShane?”
I step back and he is in front of me, tall and broad, a smile pulling his lips. For a moment, I’m struck speechless, not certain if he’ll want to shower and leave. An irrational fear is also present, a fear that he’ll regret last night, though I suspect if he did, he would have simply left when he heard me turn on the shower.
When I cross my arms over my chest, he pulls my hands away, brings me close so that our chests touch. Declan’s fingers glide over my shoulders, across my collarbone and cup my breast. He shifts his gaze to me and the smile is gone. “Are you sorry, then? About last night.”
“No. Are…are you?”
His arms wrap around me like a cloak and his hands run down my back. “Are you mad? You’re all I’ve thought about for months now. I couldn’t even stay away from you. I tried, but it was just no good.” He pushes me back to watch my face. “I didn’t come here last night for that and it was sudden, I’ll grant you, but no. I’m not sorry a’tall.”
My mind wars against indecision and doubt. He felt so good against me and I thought we found our rhythm together. But there is still my own doubt, the brush of uncertainty that I had disappointed him. I can’t help myself. “Did you…was it good?”
He laughs. “Christ, McShane, better than good.” Then he shows me how good he thought it was. Hands cupping my face, Declan’s quick thrust into my mouth, working my lips until they are numb, quickly amplifies, sets chills across my skin despite the hot spray on my back. “I want you again. Always. All the time, don’t I?”
“Now?”
“Oh yes.”
Declan picks me up, sets me against the tile and licks the water from my neck, cups my ass until he is nearly ready to enter, but then he jerks back. “I’ve forgotten. Dammit. Do you have anything, in here?”
“What?” I ask, confused, but then his eyebrow lifts and he looks down at his standing-at-attention body and realization dawns, makes me curse myself for not thinking of it before. “In the medicine cabinet above the sink.”
He sets me down on my feet. “Don’t move.”
It takes him only a minute and he is already prepared before the curtain closes and Declan returns his attentions to me. My back squeaks against the cold tile as he lifts me up, settles my legs around his waist and then enters me. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him buried inside me. It had only been a few hours, and still I missed this. He holds me, hands trained on my lower back and I am so filled, so satisfied just by his body rocking against me. I don’t mind that he isn’t kissing me, that his fingers don’t tease me. This is enough for now, just the two of us connected and the heat from the shower mixing with the fog of our heavy pants.
“You fit me so well, Autumn,” he says and I have to agree. I love the way he covers me, how his hands grip me, how my body seems made for his.
Declan kisses my breasts, lapping up the water from my skin and my hand climbs up the wall, head working side to side as I clench around his length, so close to shattering already. When my climax builds, I feel his stare, heavy on my face, his breath against my wet skin and I love the attention, love how I feel full, deliciously stretched.
“Look at me,” he whispers. “I need to see you.”
But I can’t keep my eyes from clamping shut, they are too heavy, my body too full of sensation. “I…it’s too much.”
Then, my eyelids instantly launch up, widen as Declan thrusts harder, as his fingers squeeze against my hips. He is deeper than he ever was last night. “Look at me, love,” he says. One finger slides lower down the curve of my ass, lower still… “There, that’s it.”
“How are you doing that?” I have to dig my fingernails into his shoulders to keep from slipping out of his grasp.
Declan’s smile relaxes me, settles the quick beat of my heart as that wandering finger slinks lower and an unbitten moan bubbles from my throat. “Like that, McShane?”
“Ye…yes. Oh God—”
He pulls my lips between his teeth, gentle, nibbling, and continues to pound into me, and my breath grows labored. Declan’s eyes are the darkest of I’ve ever seen them, deep pools of green that flirt near inky black and his movements are firm, steady, his pace climbing like a crescendo. “I want you to say my name… like you mean it,” he says, pulling my chin up so that I can look nowhere but in his eyes. His scrutiny is fierce, commanding and I swear my body clinches tight against him without my direction. “I want you staring in my eyes, looking at me while I fill you up with nothing but my name coming off your lips.” He pounds still deeper, quicker and I can’t concentrate on anything but the searing kindle buzzing in my body, running to peak in my core. He leans into me, teeth pulling on my earlobe. “Do you mean it, McShane?”
“I…I do,” I say, my voice weak as he plunges deeper.
“Then say it. Say it for me, love.”
“Declan.” His name, issues from my lips like a promise, a declaration that I would not ever stop loving this, that each syllable would be held tight in my heart and nothing, no one, could make me forget, could ever fill me like he does.
And when I soar and our eyes lock, the steam mingles with our accelerated breaths, my orgasm pulling him in deeper and I watch the play of emotion on his face, how the creases under his eyes soften, relax as he thrusts inside me. A second, perhaps two, and Declan’s eyes slam shut, but I touch his face, scrap my nails against his stubble and they open, searching. “I need to see you too.”
He shatters, eyes rolling up, lip sandwiched between his teeth and I am struck by how beautiful he is, how his gruff barriers have disappeared and the raw, honest look on his face is reserved for me, something I suspect not many have ever seen.
My hand still on his face, my chest tight, I attempt a kiss but am stopped when his whispers something against my lips.
“What did you say?”
He takes a breath and that naked expression hasn’t changed. “I said, ‘I love you.’”
My mouth hangs open and I am overcome by his scrutiny, but the way his eyes won’t leave mine or how tight his hold on my thighs have become. “I…”
“Don’t, will ya? I don’t think I could bear to hear you reject me.” He sets me down and I hate how empty I feel with his body separated from mine. “Not yet. Don’t say anything until you know it.”
He kisses me then leaves the shower.