Grace

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These last minutes had been a whirlwind of emotions.

First, when Declan had arrived out of the blue, I had immediately thought the worst. There would be no other reason for him to be here unless the worst had happened. And when I had seen him, looking not quite frantic but close enough to put me on alert, my heart had leaped into my throat, stayed lodged there until he had assured me that everyone was okay.

Then had come the confusion.

Everyone was fine, so why was he here, looking as frantic as I had ever seen him?

It was a question I didn’t have the answer to, and Declan hadn’t seemed intent on providing one.

It had been strange to have him in my home, and even stranger when he had begun to pace, his huge form making my living room seem small, the nervous energy that was practically vibrating from him only adding to that effect.

As he had paced I had been submerged in desire, wondering if I had ever seen such a thing of grace and beauty up close.

Knew that I hadn’t, and knew that the rush of longing that came up in me was one that would forever remain unfulfilled.

And then when he had spoken, apologized, my stomach had dropped.

Of all the things I had expected him to say, of all the things I had wanted him to say, an apology certainly hadn’t been one.

Though I guess in a way it made sense.

I’d assumed he had been caught up in a moment, hadn’t really intended to do it and had let things go too far.

But his words were a gut punch.

They shouldn’t have been, should have been a relief, but there was no relief at that. All that existed was complete and total sadness at the knowledge that something that meant so much to me had meant nothing to him.

And then after the disappointment had clearly come the insanity.

The man had apologized for kissing me, all but told me that he wanted nothing to do with me, and what had I done?

He had said he was sorry, and I had responded that I wasn’t.

I knew I had some issues, and deep ones, but that was just masochistic.

I was setting myself up for heartbreak by even looking at him, and now I’d decided to add humiliation into the mix.

But I had been unable to stop myself. Something, some instinct had compelled me to speak the words. I knew that nothing would come of it other than embarrassment, but I also knew that this was a chance. A chance for me to use the voice I had fought so hard for, somehow suspected that if I didn’t in this moment, I never would.

So I had tossed caution to the wind, said the words that I meant.

And now it was time for Declan to respond.

He looked at me like he didn’t believe me.

“You’re not?” he said after a long pause.

“I’m not,” I repeated, not sure where this newfound bravery came from but unwilling to stop the words.

I didn’t know what had come over me, but I was thankful for it.

Maybe I would regret this later. The look on Declan’s face, the one of confusion and disbelief made me think it would be better for him if I was sorry.

But I wasn’t.

That kiss from Declan made me feel alive, desired, which was something I hadn’t felt for so very long.

No matter what happened, or what didn’t happen, I would never regret it.

Declan kept his eyes on me, his expression still disbelieving as he stepped closer.

I was torn, my nerves heightened, intense, as I wondered what he might do.

Still, though I wasn’t sure what he was going to do, or how I would respond, I stayed put.

I’d spoken the words, put myself out there, and I would deal with the consequences.

Welcomed them, in fact.

I’d spent so many years hiding, living inside the mousy exterior that most people couldn’t see beyond it. It was time to step out of that, at least a little, and what better way to do that than with Declan?

“Grace, you don’t have to say that,” he said quietly.

He was so close to me that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, wanted to lose myself in that heat, rub my entire body against his.

But I didn’t give in to that impulse either and instead I kept my eyes locked with his, determined not to back down.

“I didn’t have to say it, Declan,” I said. “But I wanted to because I meant it.”

For a brief second he looked stunned, as if my words were a shock to him, but his expression immediately recovered.

He lowered his lids, tilted his head ever so slightly, his gaze intense on me.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said.

I was frustrated by his denial, but I wouldn’t let that frustration sway me.

“Are you saying I don’t know my own mind, Declan?” I asked.

He paused a moment, considering my question seriously, which was a bit of a surprise. Although, I supposed it shouldn’t have been. Declan might be pushy, definitely was pushy, but I had never known him to be dismissive, something it seemed he wouldn’t be now.

Instead of responding immediately he studied me intently, his expression unreadable.

“You know your mind,” he finally said, his voice coming out a deep rumble that vibrated through my body and made goose bumps break out on my skin.

I tried to ignore my physical reaction to him, something that was nearly an impossibility, and instead kept my eyes on his, my mind curious as to how this would play out, but the rest of me happy. It was strange to think that this conversation, stilted, tense, potentially contentious made me happy.

But it did.

He did.

“What are you saying then?” I asked.

“I’m saying you might know your mind, but you don’t know what those words do to me,” he said.

I heard the warning in his voice, but I paid it no heed and instead took it as a challenge.

“Why don’t you tell me?” I said, wondering where the husky, seductive voice that came from my throat had come from.

I didn’t ever recall sounding like that, but then I had never had Declan Murphy standing in front of me, had never felt like I was on the precipice of something like this.

“Grace,” he said, his voice low now, edged with even more warning.

“Declan,” I responded, dropping my own voice an octave, not bothering to try to hide the breathlessness there, nor the desire that nearly had me quaking.

He reached up, cupped his hand against my cheek. On instinct I shifted, twisted my head so that my skin rubbed against his calloused palm.

I couldn’t stop the moan that spilled from my lips, the rough abrasion of his hand against my skin making my entire body tingle.

“What are you doing to me?” Declan asked, his voice a whisper, one that seemed filled with wonder.

“I hope it’s the same thing you’re doing to me,” I responded.

At my words, Declan’s eyelids dropped a little lower, and I felt an unfamiliar surge of feminine pride.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me that he wanted me. I may not have known much, but he wouldn’t have been able to kiss me like he had if he didn’t.

But seeing him here now, like this, was something else altogether.

It felt as if everything that had come before, everything that might come after had fallen away. All that was here was now, all that mattered now was me, Declan, together, finally giving in to those feelings that it seemed neither of us could deny.

He slightly tightened his grip on my face, but then loosened it, blinked, seeming to come back to himself.

I realized I didn’t like that.

Declan on the verge, this powerful man driven beyond control because of me was more arousing than I could name.

My core trembled, my sex growing slick with desire as I considered that.

That wetness intensified, and my breath hitched in my throat as Declan leaned forward, slowly, oh so slowly, bringing his face closer to mine.

I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, the only sound I could hear was the rush of blood through my ears that carried the sound of my raging heartbeat.

Some part of me couldn’t believe it.

I was here, with Declan, and he was going to kiss me, do more.

But I couldn’t deny it, knew that I wouldn’t feel this way were it not true.

So I stood, waiting, anticipating.

And was not let down when he brushed his lips against mine.

The barely-there kiss made my lips tingle, and I felt my nipples pebble with desire. The feeling intensified when he brushed his mouth against mine once, twice, the third time.

He might’ve done it a fourth had I not lost patience.

As he went to swipe my mouth with his, I moved closer to him, pressed our lips more firmly together, offering myself to him.

He didn’t pause. After I pressed my lips against his, he leaned in, and finally, mercifully, deepened the kiss.

The feeling was amazing, Declan’s lips soft yet demanding against mine.

And when I parted my lips and allowed his tongue to enter, a sigh was ripped from my throat at the first taste of him.

I had wondered if I had imagined how good he tasted, how perfect, but as I kissed him now I knew that I hadn’t.

Even these few caresses had me completely on edge, so I brought our bodies together, pressing my breasts and stomach against his hard chest and abdomen and locking my hands on his sculpted biceps.

I wanted to be closer, feel the hardness that I could see growing between us against me.

But I didn’t push, certain now that I would soon enough.

I wanted Declan to the point of insanity, but also wanted to savor him, savor this. I didn’t know when, if, I’d be able to experience him again, so I wouldn’t take a single moment for granted.

Declan seemed to be of the same mind.

He kissed me deeply, slowly, thoroughly, learning every inch of my mouth.

I sighed into his mouth when he lifted his hand to cup my breast and gave it a squeeze.

I liked that, the little sharp edge of pain against my distended nipple making the pleasure that much more intense.

In an instant, Declan jumped back.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered.

I shook my head quickly, feeling too unsteady to make words.

Declan studied me for a moment, yet another, and then pulled me close to him and began kissing me again.

This kiss was like before, but different.

I could feel his passion in the way he kissed me, could have sworn that I felt a slight tremble in his hand.

But even more than that, I felt his control.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on what had changed, but something had.

Declan had been intent, passion filled, and though he was still that way now, I didn’t miss the restraint in the way he kissed me. The way he held my waist so lightly that I could barely feel his fingers.

I paused, broke the kiss, and studied him.

My mind was a bit hazy, the passion for Declan having so thoroughly thrown me for a loop, but I tried to focus.

And instantly, I realized what the issue was.

He thought he had hurt me so he was holding back.

I appreciated the sentiment, but rejected it all the same.

I didn’t want him to hold back, wouldn’t let him hold back.

I didn’t want some sanitized version of Declan, didn’t want him to give me what he thought I wanted.

I wanted him in all of his rough majesty.

I slid one hand from his biceps to his chest, lay it over his beating heart.

“I want you, Declan. All of you. And I can take you.”

He looked at me, his expression still disbelieving as it had been before.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he finally said, his voice edged, not with anger, but with certainty, something like despair.

That had no place here, and I would make him see that.

I drop my hand but then stepped closer until our bodies were touching again. Then stretched up on tiptoe, kissed his collarbone, his neck, his heavy, stubbled jawbone.

And then finally, I covered his lips with mine. Kissed him softly and then, at the last moment caught his lip between my teeth and gave it a soft bite.

“I know what I’m asking. It’s what you can give me. So give it to me, Declan. Give me you. All of you.”

I stood there, my heart pounding, my sex wet and clenching around emptiness that only Declan could fill.

My mind wondering what his answer would be.