Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PENELOPE
By the time I finished typing the last line of my little fanfic demonstration, my fingers were shaking. Not just from nerves. Not just from the wine.
From the release of it all.
I’d spent all day worrying and fretting over what I was going to write. What Declan was going to read. That was part of the comfort in publishing under a secret pen name—I didn’t have to worry about anyone I knew in real life reading my dirty words.
The certainty that Declan would have a front-row seat to them had been hanging over my head like an anvil all day, squashing my creativity and stifling my words.
But after my third glass of wine, I’d finally loosened up enough to say to hell with it. Not only would writing this finally remove Declan’s stupid motorcycle from the library sidewalk and force him to wash his freaking dishes, but I might also—maybe, possibly—be able to surprise him.
And seeing a look of shock on Declan Steele’s face as he read the naughty words of the perfect librarian he condescendingly called rebel?
Well, that was just too good to pass up.
Finally, words had flowed from my fingertips in a torrent, and I hadn’t been able to type fast enough. They were raw and reckless and…real. The cravings of someone I’d disguised as a fae queen but were actually the fantasies that hovered in the back of my mind even now.
I leaned back on the couch, one leg curled beneath me, my nearly empty wineglass on the side table next to me. Even with my Fuck Me playlist drifting from a speaker, the apartment felt quiet. Too quiet for the storm growing inside me.
My skin was flushed, my entire body warmed from the wine…and my words. Somewhere in the middle of this last scene, I’d forgotten how to breathe as I typed out everything I’d never dared to ask for out loud.
I could delete it. I should delete it.
My fingers hovered over the button that would erase it all. And then the front door opened, and the thud of boots on hardwood echoed in the space like a ticking bomb.
Declan’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, backlit by the hall light. He shut the door behind him, and his gaze landed on me immediately. Tracing over me with the kind of intensity that left me far too aware of every inch of skin my cardigan didn’t cover…and even all the inches it did.
He tossed his keys on the table and toed off his boots. “Time’s up.”
My heartbeat raced in my chest, my stomach twisting as I caught sight of my words still displayed on the screen.
Oh god. What was I doing? He was going to read this. And what if he could tell I’d never done any of it? What if he saw right through me—knew every word was pure fantasy and not experience?
Maybe it wasn’t too late to erase everything…
I glanced back at the screen, so ready to hit command-A-delete, I could almost taste it.
“Too late to back out now, rebel.” Declan’s words stopped me cold as he strode toward me, all loose, casual confidence. The complete antithesis to the anxiety storm raging inside me. “I’m going to change. And then I’m reading whatever you’ve written.”
He didn’t wait for a response—of course he didn’t. He just disappeared down the hallway, his last words echoing in my mind.
Panic exploded in my chest. My palms grew sweaty. Was it getting hot in here? I was boiling, my entire body overheated in a way it had never been before.
Okay. Okay, this was fine. This was fine. I could still delete it. Pretend I fell asleep and didn’t have time to write anything. Pretend I spilled wine on my laptop and it self-destructed.
Or I could just…run. Pack a bag. Leave the country. I’d always wanted to visit Tuscany anyway. Now was the perfect time to—
Declan reappeared, barefoot and wearing that uniform I hated to love. Black T-shirt showing off both sleeves of tattoos, the thin material stretching over his biceps and chest, and those goddamn gray sweatpants that hid absolutely nothing like they’d been personally tailored to destroy me.
My laptop glowed in the dim room, the cursor still blinking at the end of the last filthy line I’d written. A line that made my cheeks warm and my clit twitch even now. Not to mention how my stomach bottomed out at the thought of Declan reading it.
What if he laughed? What if he made fun of me? What if he pitied me and my silly little hobby? Been there, done that, and I wasn’t at all interested in revisiting that humiliation.
Declan strode toward me, his gaze heavy and lethal in a way that had panic flaring in my chest. He dropped onto the couch close to me. Too close. Could he actually hear my racing heartbeat thudding in my chest?
Just as he reached for the laptop, I snatched it away like he was trying to steal my soul.
“Wait!” I blurted as realization hit. “You can’t read it on here. I won’t be able to tell if you’re, um…affected.”
I forced my gaze to remain locked on his and not glance at the front of his sweatpants.
He didn’t even blink at my outburst, just pulled his phone from his pocket. “Text it to me then.”
Well, shit. Shit.
I hesitated. I really hesitated, my mind racing through all the possible scenarios of how I could get out of this.
At least until he raised that stupidly smug brow on his stupidly hot face and leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Or I can pull you into my lap and read it over your shoulder. There’ll be no mistaking if I have a reaction then. Your choice, rebel.”
A gust of air left my lips in a rush, my cheeks blooming even hotter from that thought. What would his cock feel like under me? Would it grow hard between my thighs and up against my pussy? Or would it be tilted toward him, a thick rod against my ass?
“Fine.” I tried to sound cool, calm, and collected, but even that single syllable came out shaky.
I copied the document, pasted it into a text message to him, and hit send. And immediately wanted to eat my phone.
Like trouble carved from muscle, Declan sprawled back on the couch—one arm stretched along the cushions behind my shoulders, legs wide, phone in hand. I stole a glance at the screen, just long enough to see him open the text message.
And then he started reading.
Oh god, I was going to throw up.
Nerves churned in my stomach. I definitely needed more wine if I was going to make it through this.
After emptying the last of the bottle into my glass, I took a greedy gulp. And then, against my better judgment, I shifted my gaze to watch his profile.
His smirk faded first. Then he lifted his brows the tiniest bit. Next came an audible swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes stayed glued to the screen. His grip tightened on his phone, the corner of his jaw ticked, and he shifted in his seat, his reaction not the slightest bit subtle.
Neither was the giant bulge in his pants.
My god, it was massive. The only time I’d seen something even close to this had been in porn. And I’d always assumed those men were abnormal.
But here Declan was, rocking a solid—what? Eight? Nine? Ten?—in his flimsy sweatpants like it was no big deal.
Eyes wide and still locked on the proof, I breathed, “Holy shit.” I huffed out a shocked laugh. “I won. I can’t believe I won.”
This feeling was heady and addictive. Yeah, it would be nice that his motorcycle wouldn’t be parked where it didn’t belong anymore, and yeah, it’d be great that his dirty dishes wouldn’t be permanently stored in the sink.
But the knowledge that the words I’d molded and crafted with nothing other than my thoughts had affected him so much…that was reward in and of itself.
Then an intrusive thought slammed into me, and my brows drew down. “Unless you’re, like, faking it?”
He huffed out a disbelieving breath. “You know I can’t fake my dick getting this hard, right?”
His voice was deep and rough in a way I hadn’t heard before, and my nipples perked up like they were attuned solely to that frequency.
“Well, I don’t have one of those things!” I gestured toward his massive sword. “I don’t have firsthand knowledge of how they work.”
“Clearly,” he said dryly. “But I do. And I can promise you, my cock doesn’t lie.”
It really didn’t. I dropped my gaze once again and stared. Unapologetically. His erection was impossible to miss, pressing thick and heavy against the gray fabric, straining toward the waistband like it wanted out. Desperately.
I couldn’t stop staring. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this close to a penis. And even when I had been, it hadn’t looked anything like Declan’s. He was huge. Like…medically concerning. Possibly requiring its own passport.
What would something that big feel like inside me? While I had my fair share of toys, some even on the larger side, I was sure Declan put them all to shame.
Would the stretch of his cock be full of pleasure or pain? Or maybe it would be a mixture of both? Was he a selfish kind of lover like my one and only partner had been? Or would he be giving and ravenous like the kind of men I wrote about?
Declan cleared his throat, and I jerked my gaze up to his, my cheeks flushing at having been caught.
But then I registered the look in his eyes.
It was something I’d read a thousand times—parted lips, pupils blown wide, unmistakable hunger in his gaze—but I’d never actually been on the receiving end of it.
My skin felt entirely too tight, and I didn’t know if it was embarrassment or arousal.
Didn’t really care. Not with those three and a half glasses of wine flowing through my system.
That, combined with the high from his reaction to my writing and the pull of his nearness, mixed into something dangerous.
Something I desperately wanted to explore.
My thighs pressed together of their own volition, the pulse between them demanding attention. He flicked his gaze over me—slow and greedy—and his jaw ticked once. Like he was holding himself back—from speaking or acting, I didn’t know.
Before I could find out, he stood, pocketed his phone, and turned as if to head to his bedroom.
He was just going to…leave? After all that?
“Wait!” I blurted. “You can’t go yet. I have questions.”
He paused mid-step and glanced at me over his shoulder. “Questions about what?”
I gestured vaguely toward his crotch and couldn’t stop myself from peeking at it again, dragging my teeth over my bottom lip as my mouth went dry. “You know…that. Since I don’t have firsthand knowledge and all.”
He turned to face me, his interest clearly piqued. And good lord, he was still hard. Was that normal? “What do you want to know?”
I narrowed my eyes, trying to determine whether he was mocking me. But his gaze was direct, not a smirk in sight. And since he’d already read my words and they had obviously worked, I figured what the hell.
“Do you always get that hard?” I asked, my voice throaty in a way I hadn’t intended.
His gaze turned even hotter. “No. I guess dirty words written by a prim little librarian do it for me.”
I stared at him, waiting for the punch line. For the laughter. The mockery. But Declan just continued staring without an ounce of teasing.
“Why didn’t you make fun of me for asking that?”
“Apparently, if you get me turned on enough, I’m nice to you.”
Huh. That admission settled into my chest and spread throughout my body with an echo of power. I stared at him, high on the feeling, and reached for my notebook and a pen.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
I couldn’t even look up, already scribbling words onto the blank page. “Taking notes.”
“You’re taking notes about my cock?”
“Not that…” Not only that anyway. “It’s for my writing.”
“I know you’ve got this weird girl boner for fanfic, but relax. It’s just fanfic.”
“Actually, it’s not.” I froze as soon as the words left me, not meaning to speak them aloud.
Declan narrowed his eyes. “It’s not what?”
“Nothing! Never mind.”
“It’s not what, Penelope?”
I tightened my cardigan around myself and clutched my notebook to my chest…
along with every ounce of courage I could scrape together.
“Everything that happens in this apartment is confidential, right? Rule Five of The Roommate Rules. And don’t forget—you signed it. We’re in a legally binding contract.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“No. You have to promise, Declan. Because what I’m about to tell you is a secret. And I have to know I can trust you with it.”
“Fine.”
“I mean it. Not a single other soul knows this, so you can’t tell anyone.”
His expression shifted, his eyes darkening with something serious. “Okay. I promise. This stays between you and me.”
“You won’t tell anyone else?”
He gave a firm shake of his head. “Can’t. I’m bound by The Roommate Rules.”
I tugged a throw pillow into my lap and took a deep breath. “So, the thing is…I’m not actually writing fanfic.”
“Then what are you writing? Because it’s definitely something.” He straightened, his body suddenly tense as a scowl swept over his face. “Is that for someone? Are you sending that to a man?”
“No! No, nothing like that.” I shook my head. “I am writing. But I’m also, um, publishing?”
Declan stared at me. “Publishing.”
“Yeah. You know, books?”
A beat of silence passed as realization dawned, then his brows flew up. “Are you telling me you write smut?”
I shot him a scowl. “Excuse you. It’s erotic romance. You can only call it smut if you’re in the circle and don’t use it disparagingly.”
“You’re telling me you’ve published erotic romance?”
I bit my lip, but it was too late to go back now. “Yes. Three books. Under a pen name, obviously. And my third one sort of…took off.”
Understatement of the century. I was now consistently making more from my monthly royalties than I was as a librarian. By double.
He raised a brow. “Why don’t you sound excited about that?”
“I’m just a little anxious about my next book.” I tugged at the fringe on the pillow and mumbled, “And all the others after that.”
“Why, you get writer’s block or something?”
“It’s more like…I-don’t-know-what-I-don’t-know block. And, well, since you’re here. With…that—” I gestured toward the still-present evidence of my writing’s impact.
“Thanks for acknowledging my contribution,” he said dryly.
“I was hoping, maybe, I could ask you?”
“You already know plenty.” He lifted his chin toward my laptop. Then he gestured to his crotch. “Obviously.”
“Sure. I understand.” I nodded and looked away. “I’ll probably be able to find someone else who can help.”
Ha. That was laughable. I’d had to drink an entire bottle of wine just to work up the courage to divulge this to someone who was legally bound—loosely—not to say anything to anyone.
Declan’s shoulders stiffened, his entire body seeming to tighten into stone. The corner of his jaw ticked. Once. Twice.
Finally, he said, “We can talk about it tomorrow when you’re not drunk.”
Then he turned, strode down the hallway, and disappeared into the dark. Leaving me on the couch, flushed, breathless, and absolutely ruined.