Chapter 30 #2
The kiss goes on and on, messy and sweet. I gasp as he slides his hands to my thighs, grips and lifts me. The room tilts. My back sinks into the soft mattress and Declan follows, bracing himself over me, his dark eyes focused and intent.
I run my hands over his shoulders, careful to avoid any of the tattoos that seem to move or shift. Those are the dangerous ones. His skin warms my chilly hands. An intimacy that shouldn’t exist this fast between us, but does. Every moment with Declan seems to be natural and meant to be.
He rains kisses along my throat, slow enough to make me squirm, his mouth reverent in a way that trips my pulse.
I arch my back, needy and desperate for more.
He dips his head lower, sucking one of my nipples into his mouth, and I tighten my fingers in his hair, wanting to keep him right where he is for as long as I can.
He lets out a groan of approval, then kisses my other breast.
“I could spend all night right here.” He teases the tip of his tongue over the tight peak of my nipple.
“That…works…for me,” I say between desperate, panting breaths.
His half-undone jeans rub rough against my thighs, and I work to free my hands and push them down.
He smiles against my breast. “You want those off?”
“Yes, please. Hurry.”
Instead of urgency, he responds with a teasing, glacial pace. “These?” He lifts himself off me and pushes the jeans down a few tantalizing inches. “You want these off?”
Who knew this usually serious man could be so playful?
I reach up and trace his bottom lip with my finger. “Smiling looks good on you.”
“I only seem to do it around you.” He shoves his jeans off the rest of the way.
When he finally settles his big body between my thighs, I wrap my legs around him, drawing him closer.
He drops his forehead to mine as if he’s checking in. I lift my hips in answer.
With an achingly slow slide, he thrusts into me, the stretch and fullness stealing my breath.
His piercings grazing every single secret pleasure zone.
He buries his face against my neck and traces his tongue over the sensitive skin, adding to the sensations overwhelming me.
His movements are slow at first, building in intensity.
I lift my hips, meeting him, chasing more and more friction. Heat spirals through me, fast and electrifying. The bed creaks beneath us but doesn’t slow Declan down one beat. Our slick skin on skin, my breathy whimpers, and his low groans fill the room.
Tension coils tight in my core.
His thrusts deepen, measured and relentless, driving me closer to the edge. My body tips past restraint, past thought.
The room blurs.
For a split second, it isn’t his ceiling above me. It’s ironwork.
Black gates slick with rain.
Rust biting into lace gloves.
A woman’s mouth opens in a scream that never makes a sound.
Blood-soaked sheets.
Ink bleeding across skin.
Names etched in stone.
A door slamming shut.
An iron key dropping into dark water.
My body shudders hard, the image snapping away as pleasure crests, white and blinding. I cry out, hips jerking as release explodes through me, every nerve lighting at once.
Declan groans against my neck, thrusting once more before going still, his breath ragged, his weight solid and comforting as the last wisps of the strange visions scatter like smoke.
The room comes back in pieces—the bed, the walls, the heat of his skin.
His arms lock around me, holding me through endless aftershocks, almost as if he senses how close I came to slipping somewhere else entirely.
“Emery,” he breathes against my neck. He drags his lips over my cheek to my forehead. “Are you okay?”
“I saw stars.” And lots of other things. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” I reach up and rub the little wrinkle on his forehead. “I’m up for anything your brilliant mind comes up with.”
“Anything, huh?” He drops a kiss on my forehead and rolls sideways.
“Within reason.”
He laughs softly and pulls me to his side. Dragging a pillow closer, he encourages me to cuddle against him. Using the pillow as a barrier between his inked skin and my cheek, I settle in and throw my leg over his.
“That’s it.” He shifts his arm underneath me and rests his hand on my hip.
The echoes of what I saw slowly recede, like a tide pulling back from shore. Iron. Ink. Tears. Blood.
I play with the pendant Declan gave me, twisting it between my fingers. It hasn’t done that weird tugging thing around Declan since my arm was marked. Should I tell him about the visions? Or will it just worry him more? Does he know that’s part of the curse? Does it happen to him too?
“You’re awfully quiet,” he says.
“Are you expecting a performance evaluation?” I tease. “A-plus. Gold medal. Two thumbs up. Five stars. And I don’t hand those out to just anyone.”
Wait. That sounded weird.
I frown, trying to think of something to say to fix it.
But Declan rumbles with laughter. “Five stars yourself, little crow.”
“I’m just catching my breath.” I tickle my fingers against his abs, then lower. “Those, um, piercings are, um, oxygen-stealing.”
I swear his cheeks flush. “Glad to hear it.”
Dampness trails down my thigh and I wriggle against him. “Although, I’m going to run over to the bathroom and clean up.”
His eyes widen. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s fine. I told you.” I cough and sit up, staring at the open door into the dark hallway. “I can’t get pregnant.”
“Emery.” He reaches for me, fingers brushing my elbow, but I move closer to the edge of the bed.
“I…I normally don’t blurt that out or tell, well, anyone, but since we, since, you know…
” I wave my hands in the air, flustered and ashamed.
I turn to see his face—tight and intense.
“My ex, um, he hinted he wanted to propose and well, I thought…it just never seems like a good time to share that but um, he took it hard and was pretty cruel about it. Accused me of…well, it doesn’t matter.
I should’ve known it could be a deal-breaker.
I just thought…never mind. It ended badly. I hate talking about it—”
“Emery.” He stops my wild rambling with his warm, confident voice. “I think you’re perfect the way you are.”
One simple sentence. And from Declan, I believe he means every word.
“Thanks,” I mumble, hurrying to the bedroom door.
Feeling exposed, vulnerable, and unbelievably stupid, I grab the first article of clothing I encounter—Declan’s T-shirt—and throw it on so fast, I get tangled in the sleeves.
My elbow smacks into something hard and unforgiving. “Ow. Dammit,” I curse at the doorframe.
“Emery—”
“Be right back,” I call over my shoulder, finally wrestling the shirt into place and escaping the room without banging into anything else.
I hurry across the hallway and burst into the bathroom, safely closing the door behind me before the tears fall.
Dammit, I thought I was over this.
I take care of business, stop crying, and wash all sadness from my face with a blast of icy cold water, then check the mirror. Except for red-rimmed eyes, I don’t look like I’ve been crying.
After a few deep breaths, I open the door.
And find Declan waiting for me, arms folded across his bare chest. Apparently, he has no qualms about exposure. He didn’t bother with a stitch of clothing.
“Your ex is an asshole,” he says.
“Agreed.”
“Good.” He holds out his hand. “Now come back to bed with me.”
I’d be nuts to turn down that invitation.
I grasp his hand and hurry to keep up with him as he leads us back to his bedroom.
The door closes with a quiet thunk. Declan’s fingers graze my thighs as he lifts the shirt up and over my head.
“Hey!” I protest.
He lets out a sexy caveman-style grunt and points to the bed.
Shaking my head, I dive under the covers, rolling to the far side and prop my head on my hand. He slides in slowly, his gaze never leaving me.
When he’s settled, he turns on his side, watching me with a raw, open intensity. “I’ve never wanted kids, Emery.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
He flicks his gaze to the ceiling like he’s searching for patience or maybe the right words. “I’m not saying it to hear myself talk.”
That’s true. Declan doesn’t seem to say anything he doesn’t mean.
“I serious,” he continues. “And usually when women hear that, they think they can change my mind which is, honestly, fucking annoying.”
I let out a small huff of laughter. How many times have people offered me their unsolicited advice or opinions? “I can imagine.”
“This curse. My family’s curse. It ends with me.”
I open my mouth to fill the silence, then stop. How much do I hate it when well-meaning people try to tell me I’ll change my mind, or share the name of some wacky fertility herb I should try? Why would I do that to him when I know how awful it feels?
Besides, his curse might end. Mine won’t.
“I understand,” I say.
We lie there, facing each other, the space between us small but intentional. His hand rests on the mattress near mine, not touching, close enough to choose if we want to.
For now, that’s enough.
I let my eyes close, enjoying his solid presence beside me.
Whatever comes next doesn’t have to be decided tonight.