Chapter 13
Thirteen
Raven
Declan’s apartment is not dissimilar to mine; a one-bed with a separate living space, surprisingly tidy.
There’s a potted plant near the window, looking very healthy, its leaves large and waxy. I hadn’t figured Declan for the green-thumb type.
He sees the direction of my gaze. “Uh… I bought that earlier this week.” He rubs the back of his neck. His jacket is open, just a T-shirt beneath, and the movement makes his chest do things. “I thought you might like it.”
“Wait… you bought a plant, for your apartment, because I might like it?”
He grimaces. “Is that weird?”
“Yes.” I nod, just in case he didn’t catch the affirmative. “Yes, that’s weird.”
And cute. Strangely thoughtful.
Still weird.
He’s looking around his apartment like he’s seeing it through my eyes. Or checking there’s no underwear on the floor.
He didn’t wear any last time.
Now I want to know if he’s going commando again. The thought hits hard, and I swallow.
“Uh… are you thirsty?”
Did he see me swallow? Shit… was I staring at his crotch? Did he see me staring at his crotch?
“No, I’m not.” Yes, but not for water. Very thirsty. “Thank you.”
Okay, not awkward, not awkward.
“Nice place?” I try.
This was a mistake. What am I even doing here? He’s just going to think I’m…
Inexperienced. Na?ve. Crap in bed.
He closes the distance between us, so near I have to look up to see his face. His chest is right before me, broad and tight, begging to be touched. This man’s body should be illegal. No one has the right to look this good.
I think he’s reaching for me, but it’s my lid he takes, my gloves carefully inside. I let him have it, and he lays it on the coffee table beside his, carefully away from the edge. Then he strips his jacket off, the muscles of his back bunching and relaxing with the move.
I catch myself licking my lips, and stop.
He turns to face me, no hint of his usual playful smile, pale blue eyes darker than usual. “Genesis, if you don’t say something soon, I’m going to carry you into my bedroom and do what I want to you until you can’t walk.”
Now I can’t say anything even if I wanted to. I can barely think, let alone speak.
“Okay,” I manage. Shit… should I’ve kept quiet?
He’s on me before I can question it further, hands cupping the sides of my neck, thumbs firmly beneath my jaw, tilting my face to him. His mouth finds mine, his kiss hungry and messy, tongue pushing in, teeth colliding. Like he wants to devour me, like he has no control.
I open to him, fingers scrunching at his T-shirt, wanting skin, not cotton.
The firm muscles of his pecs are beneath my palms—but that’s not what I want either.
Without a thought, one hand slides down between us, pressing against him through his leather pants.
He’s hard already, warm and heavy beneath my fingers. That’s the most erotic thing.
I moan into his mouth, nipples tightening even more, need flooding through me, pooling low but with all of my body awake to him.
And damn him if his kisses haven’t slowed, that initial hunger fading to something more deliberate.
He’s teasing my tongue with his, lips soft against mine, fingers caressing the sides of my neck and sending tingles down my spine.
His grip is gentle, yet firm enough that I know I’m held, possessive in the way that he’s always treated me.
Is he always like this? Or is it me?
I break the kiss, shuddering beneath his touch. “Do you always kiss like this?”
He tilts his head. “How do you mean?”
I don’t know. “Possessive? Dominant? Like I’m yours?” Yes, that’s it exactly.
“No,” he says, his lips curling in a satisfied smirk. Confident bastard. So fucking sexy.
And I’m reminded we’ve had this conversation—or one like it.
“Do you always do this?” I asked him before, when he fed me his cum.
“No,” he said.
Then why me?
This time, I say it aloud. “Then why me?”
He pauses, his face only inches away, pupils dilating. I can’t breathe while he’s looking at me like that, and he’s not answering, either. Have I done something wrong?
“Forget it,” I say, ducking my chin, eyes lowering.
His fingers tighten, lifting my face back to him.
“Why you?” he echoes, the words on a breath.
“Because you’re all I can think about since that first day in Franco’s.
” His voice grows in intensity, deepens with emotion.
“Because you’re fierce, brave… fucking gorgeous, and vulnerable in ways I never expected.
” He shakes his head as if in disbelief at the intensity of his own feelings. “Dangerous woman,” he mutters.
I agree with about none of that. Maybe the vulnerability, and I don’t even like that bit, but—
He kisses me deeply, the hunger back, like he’s trying to blend our souls together.
It draws a moan from me that I can’t contain.
Then his hands fall away from my throat, pushing my jacket off my shoulders.
I relax my arms, letting it slip to the floor, and he tugs at my crop top, pulling it up over my head.
My bra comes loose a moment later, the straps falling down my arms, and he never broke the kiss, except for the second my shirt passed over my face.
“So beautiful,” he breathes, head lowering, the heat of his mouth finding one breast. I gasp, arching my back.
His tongue rubs over my aching nipple, and his hands grip my ass, holding me to him.
I shove my fingers into his hair, pulling him harder against me, closing my eyes at the pleasure of it as my body shudders.
He does more in seconds than anyone else has ever done.
He draws back, leaving my nipple wet and cool in the air, standing erect and begging for more. “I need to taste you,” he says.
What was he just doing?
Then he lowers to one knee before me, fingers pulling open my leathers.
I bite at my lip, not able to find the words to stop him, not even sure I want to.
He’s still fully dressed. I’m half naked.
Then he tugs my pants down to mid-thigh, where the leather bunches, catching.
He’s going to know how wet I am; my panties are soaked.
But his eyes light up as he sees me, then he hooks a finger behind the material, brushing my pussy, and pulls them aside, burying his face between my legs.
I cry out, knees buckling, clutching at his head to brace myself.
His tongue presses into my folds, licking firmly up over my clit, his eyes open and watching me as he goes down on me while I’m standing.
My legs are trembling. I won’t be standing for long.
“Declan…”
He might be the one on his knees, but he’s completely in control, my body responding to him, not me.
His tongue pushes against my sex, warm and wet and so very insistent, and I’m gasping with every breath.
It’s all I can do not to collapse on him.
My damn leather pants are in the way, hobbling me, stopping him from getting as deep as I want.
I need to start wearing jeans. Or a skirt… maybe a skirt. I never understood the point of those, but now I do.
My knees buckle, and I catch myself on his shoulders.
“I literally can’t stand,” I breathe, and he laughs against me, low and masculine.
Then he rises up, sweeping me into his arms, carrying me princess-style through into his bedroom.
He smiles down at me, more playful and full of promise than anything gentle or endearing, but it still makes my heart flip.
He shouldn’t affect me this much, but there’s no denying he does.
His beard and face are slick with my arousal, and he licks his lips in reflex, tasting me again. No one’s ever kissed me there before, and now he has. Not just once, but twice in as many weeks. As if he likes it.
I know I do.
“The things you do to me,” I murmur.
“Only just started, Hellcat.”
He drops me onto the bed, and though it’s soft, the surprise of it still drives my breath out.
I glare up at him, and he grins as he catches one ankle, stripping my boot off me.
The other follows. My pants are halfway down my thighs, and those go next, pulled from my legs while I bite at my lip, watching him work.
I’m in nothing but my panties while he’s still fully dressed, and it brings to mind some of that vulnerability he referred to.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, more from curiosity than trepidation.
“You want a play-by-play?” he teases, straightening as he pulls his shirt off. My eyes are drawn to his chest, the tattoos writhing across his muscles as he moves.
“No…” I guess.
“This isn’t something you can plan and control, Genesis.”
But I want that control. I like knowing what’s coming.
“Raven,” I say sullenly, then grimace at my own tone, trying to explain. “I don’t like that name.”
He pauses in the act of pulling his boots off. “Why not?”
Stupid name. Religious connotations. No one else has it. It’s something I’m not… or no longer, anyway.
“It’s not me, anymore,” I reply, realizing as I say it that it’s true. “It’s the old me.” Strange, saying that out loud. Stranger still that it’s him I’m saying it to.
Is this what trust feels like? Or is this a mistake?
“Birth, dawn, beginning, emergence…” he says, straightening as he unbelts his pants. His lips curl playfully. “…conception.”
Now I’m blushing. Lying on his bed, wearing only panties, biting at my lip and blushing as he gives variations of my name like it’s sex incarnate.
“I’ll call you Raven if you want,” he says, shoving his pants down and proving once again he’s not wearing underwear. I run my gaze over him, just because I can. Looking at Declan with or without clothes is one of my favorite things, yet without is best. “But you’ll always be my beginning.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask, perhaps a little defensively.