30. Olivia
OLIVIA
Irolled over for the millionth time, trying in vain to find sleep. I should be nothing but happy. Declan and I had found a way to shift into something like friendship with each other. My time with Catie was a resounding success. Prague was amazing. And I was about to become a published author.
Instead, all I felt was this gnawing emptiness. I was so aware of my body. Almost as aware as I was of Declan’s body, probably slumbering soundly on the other side of the wall.
Someone knocked on my door.
I sat up, clutching the blankets to my chest. I’d tossed my dress on the chair in the corner, and crawled into bed in nothing but my panties.
“Olivia,” Declan called softly through the door.
God, I loved the way he said my name.
“I need you,” he said, his voice low and rich.
I shivered, then scolded myself. He didn’t mean he needed me like that. He probably meant it in a professional way. In a friendly way.
“I’m coming.” I scrambled out of bed and pulled a camisole on. Then I wrapped myself in one of the hotel’s bathrobes.
I opened up the door and tilted my head up to look at him. His eyes were dark, and he was looking at me the way he had for a few heated moments at dinner.
He was looking at me the way he did when he was pounding into me, claiming me as his.
I swallowed, my mouth dry. “Declan, what do you need—”
He cut me off with a kiss. His mouth was like water in the desert, and I breathed him in, so damn grateful it hurt. He tasted like coming home, and dangerous decisions, and him.
I broke away. “Declan. We can’t.”
But we can, I thought. We must.
He followed me into my room and closed the door behind him. That closed door felt like a delicious promise I wasn’t strong enough to resist.
But I tried. “You wanted a break.”
“I was an arse.” Declan closed the distance between us, cradling my face in one of his hands.
The warmth of his skin seeped into mine, gentle tendrils of fire finding their way deep into my core.
“I don’t need us to agree on everything.
I don’t need to know where this is going. I just need to touch you.”
I needed to touch him too. I pressed my palms to his chest, telling myself I’d shove him away any second now. But I knew that was a lie. Resistance was futile.
“Why waste what time we have left?” he asked. His lips found my temple, then the spot behind my ear, then the sensitive curve of my neck.
My breath skittered, and I clutched at his shirt.
My fingers twitched as I felt the buttons against my knuckles, the urge to feel his naked chest under my palms threatening to overwhelm me.
“Declan, we have real disagreements. We see the world differently. We can’t pretend that doesn’t matter just because we miss the sex. ”
“Of course, we can,” he said and laughed into my neck. He palmed my ass, bringing me to my toes and pressing me against his hardness. And dear God…he was so damn hard. “It was fucking good sex.”
The words were crude and so was his touch.
It made me feel bold, wicked, wanted. And that was it—I abandoned any pretense of resistance and surrendered to him.
I closed my eyes, the thrumming of my heart like that of a war drum, and melted into him.
My lips found his, and I kissed him back, losing myself in his scent, his touch, his taste.
This time he was the one to break the kiss, but it was only to guide me backward onto the bed.
“We shouldn’t,” I said, even as I wound my hands in his soft hair, and shivered against the rough prick of stubble on his jaw. “We said we wouldn’t.”
“Just kissing, then,” Declan said and, even though I knew that was the mother of all lies, I let him guide me back onto the bed. The mattress shifted under our weight as he crawled over me, his hand shaking as he tugged at the tie on my robe. “I could live on your kisses, Olivia.”
I shook my head, blushing. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I am not.” He traced his hand reverently over the thin fabric of my camisole. My pulse pounded at his touch.
Muscle memory fused together with lust, and I started on the buttons of his shirt.
One more time, I told myself. I just need one more time.
Declan caught my wrists and pinned them above my head with one hand. “Don’t distract me, a ghrá. I haven’t had you for days. I intend to savor you.” He looked straight into my eyes and, even though I could have said a million different things, I said nothing. “And I intend to take my time.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
How was a girl supposed to resist that?
I felt helpless, and turned on, and cared for, and…
His mouth found my breast, sucking me through the thin fabric of my camisole, and I lost the ability to think.
“I’ve missed you so damn much,” he murmured, his voice broken. “I miss spending time with you, and I miss hearing you laugh, and I miss you storming into my office and ruining my concentration. Do you know what you do to me, Olivia?”
“It’s only been three days.” I gasped, arching helplessly under the onslaught of his mouth. His stubble, his lips, his tongue…my senses were overpowered, flooded with pleasure.
“I know,” he said, like he was mad about that. Like he intended to punish and worship me for it.
So I surrendered. I surrendered to his hands on my body, by turns hungry and gentle. I surrendered to his mouth, and his words, and this spell he was casting. He acted like I was special, the only woman in the world for him. And for those precious minutes, I let myself believe it.
“Delicious,” he murmured, his lips slowly making the hike down to my belly. “Every inch of you is…” He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he pressed his mouth against my underwear, the pressure of his touch nearly driving me mad. I arched my back and, on instinct, threaded my fingers on his hair.
For a moment there, I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing.
“Delicious,” he finally repeated, using nothing but his teeth to peel my panties off. He threw them to the corner and dove back in for me. At times gentle, at times rough, he did what he’d promised—he savored me, and he took his sweet time doing it.
I bit down on my bottom lip, trying not to moan, but it was impossible. Every stroke of his tongue, every deliberate movement of his fingers…it was all too good.
I felt electric—I felt alive.
“Declan…” I breathed out, his name rolling off from between my lips as if it weighed a ton. “Declan, I… I think I…”
“Don’t,” he said, his lips moving almost too tenderly against my aching body. “Don’t think.”
What else could I do but obey?
I closed my eyes and let a tidal wave of pleasure wash over me, my muscles tensing and spasming in turns. With my heels digging into the mattress, I held tight to his hair and pressed myself against his mouth, momentarily losing all control.
“Yes,” Declan said once I’d collapsed. “Just like that.”
“We are…” I was so out of breath it was hard to speak. “We are not done.”
I forced myself up and rolled on top, taking control, so that I could kiss him as much as I needed. Declan let me. He was a man drugged with desire. Desire for me. Then again, it was mutual—had I ever needed anyone as much as I needed him?
I loved the way his hands tensed on my hips when I softly bit his bottom lip. I loved the smooth strength of his arms, his chest, his thighs. I loved the way he spanked me when I teased him a little too long, and threatened me with wonderful things if I didn’t let him inside me now.
I loved the way he groaned when I gripped his cock and brushed him against my entrance.
“Shit. Wait. Condom,” he gasped. “I didn’t bring...”
“I’m on birth control,” I said. “And I’m clean. You?”
He nodded, then kissed me, and we stopped talking after that.
The time for words had passed.
We joined, doing it as slowly as we could, and I could feel his heart thundering under the palm of my hand.
We didn’t move for a long time, just savoring the closeness of our bodies, and then he was kissing me again.
We were moving, our bodies rocking against each other, until I lost track of where my pleasure ended and his started.
“Declan,” I moaned softly, not knowing what else to say. There were a thousand things I wanted, even needed, to say… but I didn’t want to break the spell.
“Olivia,” he whispered into my ear. I tightened my legs around his waist, and we succumbed to the moment. I moved my hips in tandem with his, rocking myself against his body, and tried to ignore the despair that lurked underneath my pleasure.
What if he’s the only man in the world for me? The thought was dangerous, unthinkable, terribly vulnerable. But in that moment, it was true too, and I came hard and long, gasping for breath in my lover’s arms.
“Olivia,” he said once more, his body tightening before the inevitable release. Afterward, we didn’t move for a long time, as if we both knew that by breaking apart, we risked losing that invisible thread that connected us.
And that…
That was scary.
I woke gently in the morning, slowly becoming aware of the sound of Declan’s steady breathing, and the weight of his arm on my waist. The early morning light played across his face, highlighting his dark lashes, his sharp nose, his tousled hair.
I bit my lip. Part of me felt like something important had changed. We’d made it past our first big fight as a couple—not that we were a couple, exactly. We were something more than a fling, but less than official boyfriend-girlfriend status. An affair, perhaps?
I smiled to myself. That sounded suitably European and glamorous.
But my smile died away quickly. His thirst for revenge still worried me.
I knew the O’Rourkes had hurt him deeply, and I understood him wanting to protect his family and community against them.
But that wasn’t the same thing as actively hurting them.
Revenge was appealing in theory. Unfortunately in reality, it always seemed to bring unintended consequences, usually to innocent bystanders—like Catie—who got hurt along the way.