I came here to fight. To kick Declan’s ass for meddling. For thinking he has the right to buy me so much as a stick of gum. For treating me like some charity case.

I don’t need his money.

I don’t want his money.

I never did.

He changed the entire trajectory of our confrontation when he opened the door. He looked wrecked. Half drunk. Mostly angry. At himself because he knows what he did was wrong. At me for having the audacity to turn up on his doorstep and tell him so.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to fight anymore.

Because I didn’t come here to fight.

Not really.

I came here for this.

For him.

The finger tailing the length of my spine, moves lower and lower, until it reaches the small of my back, to toy with the laces holding my bustier together.

He gives it an impatient tug. Hooks his finger between them and pulls them loose, working his way up until it comes apart in his hand. “Turn around,” he commands quietly, tossing it aside.

I do what he says, turning slowly. Not because I’m trying to tease him but because I’m afraid if I move too fast, he’ll come to his senses, like last time. He’ll push me away. Tell me to leave.

I lift my chin to find him leaning over me, face tipped down so he can look at me. “Christ,” he mutters it, his dark blue gaze, skimming over my face. My throat and collarbone. My bare breasts.

I didn’t have tattoos when we were together. The tangle of flowers and vines that wind around my arm, from my shoulder to my elbow. The hummingbird on my collarbone. The dandelion tied with a pink ribbon, inked into the skin covering my ribcage, tucked under my heart.

Everything about me is different.

Changed.

He did that.

Made me who I am.

And he’s right. I want to hate him for it.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

No matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t make myself hate him.

So, I’ll have to settle for making him pay.

I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and ease them down my legs.

His jaw goes tight and for a split second, I think he’s going to push me away again. Tell me to get dressed. Get out.

But he doesn’t.

Declan drops his hand away from the door to slip both of them around my waist. Pulling me closer. Lifting me until I’m wrapped around him. My legs around his waist. My arms around his neck. His hands slide around the curve of my ass to mold themselves around me. His thick, blunt fingers teasing me from behind. Slipping past my juice-slicked entrance just enough to make me shake.

Suddenly, payback is the last thing on my mind.

“Declan, please…” The mewing whimper shaped around his name is a voice I recognize. One I haven’t heard in years. I shift in his hands, trying to take his fingers in deeper. I need him inside me. It’s been too long. I can’t wait anymore.

“I know, baby...” He whispers it against my neck, groaning softly when I work my hips in his hand, grinding myself against his fingers. “I know...” Lifting me higher, Declan licks his way across my collarbone. Along the swell of my breast, to draw the swollen tip of it into his mouth. Sucking and nipping my nipple with his teeth until I’m moaning and writhing in his hands.

Turning, he takes the few steps between the door and the bed. “I’m going to take care of you.” Setting me down gently, he stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at me, his dark blue eyes raking over me, his gaze so hot and heavy it feels like he’s touching me everywhere at once. I let out another whimper, opening my legs in invitation. “Declan, please…” I say it again because I don’t know what he’s waiting for. Why he isn’t as naked as I am. Why he isn’t fucking me the way I need him to. “I need—”

“Shhh...” He drops to his knees and reaches for me. Wraps his massive hands around my thighs and drags me across the bed until my ass is hanging off the edge of it.

I dig my heels into the mattress, trying to twist out of his grip but rough fingers dig into the soft flesh of my inner thighs. Pinning me in place. Holding me open. I groan in frustration. “You said—”

“I know what I said,” he growls, leaning in close enough that I can feel his warm breath skate across the throbbing center of me. It’s too much, having him so close to where I need him without feeling him move inside me. “I said I’d take care of you…” He runs his tongue up the middle of me, giving me a slow, soft circle with the tip of it when he reaches my clit. “I didn’t say how.”

Before I can take another breath, his hands are around my waist, his forearms under my ass, lifting me to meet the desperate heat of his mouth. The hard strokes and deep thrusts of his tongue.

He lifts his head, pinning me in place with a look, his dark blue gaze heavy-lidded and dull. “Fuck my mouth, Tesla.” He runs the tip of his tongue along the edge of my pussy lip, nipping it with his teeth before drawing it into his mouth for a slow, hard suck. “Let me take care of you…” He licks me deep, pushing past my entrance, fucking me with his tongue. Urging me to take what I want. To fuck him back.

“Ohmygod…” I dig my heels into the bed again, fighting the urge to give in. To give him what he wants. To give myself to him completely.

I did that once.

More than once.

I gave Declan things I never meant to. Things I was too stupid to realize could destroy me if I gave them to someone like him.

I gave him everything.

I can’t do it again.

I can’t.

“Stop.”

His hands tighten around my waist, almost like a reflex, when I say it. Declan lifts his head, pinning me with another look, this one so hot and sharp I feel my heart stutter in my chest. For a split second, I think he’s going to tell me no.

For a split second, I want him to.

And then he loosens his grip enough for me to break away. Sits back and watches me scramble across the bed until I’m standing on the other side of it, staring at him.

He’s sitting on the floor, shoulders leaned against the pony wall that separates his bedroom area from the rest of the studio. Knee drawn up, forearm braced against it. Hair tousled. Gaze heavy-lidded and more than a little dangerous. Chest pumping fast and steady, like he’s trying to catch his breath. Mouth slightly parted, lips soft and glistening from where they’d been locked around my pussy only moments before.

I’m so wet, I can feel it practically dripping down my leg.

“Top drawer,” he says, the hand hanging off his knee clenches into a fist. “Left-hand side.”

I tear my gaze away from his to cast it around until it lands on a dresser a few feet away. Reaching for the drawer he indicated I pull it open.

A pair of jeans I haven’t seen in ages. The Sox T-shirt he bought me when he took me to a playoff game. The pair of panties Con hid in a desk drawer at the bar a year ago to fuck with him. There’s more. A few of my old bandanas. A few worn tank tops. A couple pairs of the thick black socks I wear to work.

The entire drawer is filled with my stuff.

“You stole my clothes?” I know I’m supposed to be mad. Creeped out. I’m supposed to tell him he’s sick. To leave me alone. Stay away from me.

But I can’t say any of those things because I wouldn’t mean a word of it.

He’d know I was lying, the second I opened my mouth.

“Old habits die hard.”

When I look up, he’s exactly where I left him. Still sitting on the floor, watching me. His heavy gaze reminding me that I’m standing here naked while he’s still fully clothed.

Turning away from him, I reach into the drawer and snap up the underwear and jeans. One of my tanks and a pair of socks.

I dress quickly, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he’s still looking at me. That leaving is the last thing I want to do.

I’m at the door with my hand on the knob before he speaks.

“We’re not finished.”

I look over my shoulder, almost against my will. He’s standing now, hands dug into his pockets. The shock of what just happened is wearing off for the both of us. He’s supposed to be mortified. He’s supposed to apologize. Tell me it won’t happen again, even though we both know it’s a lie. He doesn’t say or do any of those things. He just keeps staring at me like he’s trying to remember where he put his roll of duct tape.

He wouldn’t need it. If he came for me now, I’d go with him. I’d give in.

Anywhere.

Anything.

He stays where he is, his words hanging between us like a promise.

Like a threat.

We’re not finished.

I turn away from him and open the door.

I leave.

And Declan lets me.