Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
CHARLOTTE
Idon’t know how we make it to the bedroom. One second we’re tangled on the couch, his mouth hungry against mine, and the next I’m stumbling backward down the hall to my bedroom—my hand fisted in his shirt, tugging him with me.
He’s careful with his knee, but his grip isn’t careful at all. One hand cups the back of my neck, the other slides under my shirt like he’s memorizing the curve of my waist. By the time we hit the bed, my pulse is a roar in my ears.
“Charlie.” My name in his voice is rough, broken open.
His weight shifts, cautious around his knee, but the kiss doesn’t slow.
His mouth moves against mine like he’s been starving for this, and the heat of it drags me under.
He’s always been in control, always measured, but now he’s unraveling for me.
I arch into him, fingers curling in the cotton of his shirt, desperate for more.
I tug at his shirt until he peels it off, heat rolling off his skin, every muscle hard and tense. His mouth finds mine again, then trails lower, slow enough to make me ache.
When my hand skims down his thigh, I brush the rigid edge of his brace. He breaks the kiss with a low moan.
“Brace,” he mutters. His fingers work at the straps, impatient.
“Let me,” I whisper, sliding down to kneel beside him. One by one, I undo the Velcro, easing the bulky thing free. His gaze never leaves me—sharp, unguarded in a way I’ve never seen. When it’s off, I set it gently aside, my hands lingering on the solid muscle of his thigh.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breath ragged.
“Charlie.” His voice is low, rough. “I don’t have any condoms.”
For a beat, the air between us goes still.
“I don’t either,” I admit, heart pounding as I hold his gaze. “But—I’m on birth control. It’s okay.”
His jaw flexes, blue eyes searching mine like he’s testing every line we’re about to cross. “Are you sure?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes. I want this. I want you.”
The restraint he’s been holding onto snaps like a cord pulled too tight. Declan’s mouth crashes into mine, a force of nature I can’t resist. His kiss is hungry, his tongue demanding, sliding past my lips with an urgency that makes my pulse race.
My hands move instinctively, roaming over the hard muscles of his chest. His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me closer, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, “You’re so beautiful, Charlie.”
My chest tightens, my stomach flipping at the words.
His lips trail down my jaw, lingering at my throat as he presses a slow kiss there, sending a shiver through me.
I arch into him, a soft moan escaping as his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below my ear, while his fingers tease my breast through my shirt.
His rough jaw scratches softly against my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his mouth, leaving a trail of fire that makes me ache for more. I want him closer, need to feel his skin against mine.
My fingers fumble with his belt, trembling with anticipation as I tug down the zipper of his jeans. He’s already hard in my hand, and I stroke him slowly, savoring the way he moans my name, his head falling back.
He pushes me back onto the bed, his eyes dark and heavy with desire as he takes in my body.
Under that gaze, my pulse skips in my throat. His hands move to my shirt, pulling it over my head, then he unhooks my bra in one quick motion.
My breasts spill free, and he wastes no time, his mouth closing around one peak, his tongue swirling, sucking, driving me wild. I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer.
He teases the other nipple with his fingers before trailing kisses down my stomach, his stubble scratching softly against me and sending goosebumps racing across my skin.
My breath hitches as his mouth hovers over the waistband of my leggings. His eyes lock with mine before his fingers slip beneath the fabric and slide everything down my legs, leaving me bare.
His tongue is slow, deliberate, starting at my inner thigh, inching closer to my core. I squirm as he presses a kiss to my clit, my breath catching in my throat.
His tongue dips into my wetness, tasting me, savoring me. He moans against my skin, the vibration sending sparks through my body. His fingers join his mouth, sliding inside me, filling me, while his tongue flicks relentlessly against my clit.
“Oh,” I gasp, my body tightening. He moans against me, the sound pushing me over the edge. My back arches, my cries filling the room as my orgasm crashes over me, pleasure tearing through every nerve.
I’m trembling, breathless, when he finally pulls back, his lips swollen, his eyes glazed with desire.
My body buzzes and aches for him; I need him so badly I can’t stand another second of waiting. I reach for him, pulling him up to me. I kiss him deeply before pushing him onto his back.
I straddle him, careful of his injured leg.
My hands grip his thighs as I lower myself onto him, inch by inch.
His moan fuels my fire, a primal sound that makes me want to take him harder, faster.
But I resist, savoring the way he stretches me, fills me completely.
I pause, letting the fullness sink in before rising and falling, my hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
His hands grip my waist, guiding me, his breath coming in sharp gasps.
“You feel so good, Charlie,” he murmurs, his voice rough, and I pick up the pace, every thrust stealing my breath. His fingers find my clit, rubbing circles as I move, sending me spiraling toward the edge again.
“Declan… I’m—” My words are cut off by a cry as my orgasm hits, harder this time, my walls clenching around him. He curses, his hips bucking, his control snapping as he follows me over the edge, his cock pulsing deep inside me.
We collapse in a tangle of limbs, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close. His breath evens out, his heart still pounding against mine.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my forehead. “You okay?”
I laugh softly, my fingers tracing the lines of his face, memorizing every detail.
“You’re going to ruin me, you know that?” he says, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
“Pretty sure that was a joint effort,” I murmur, feeling my own smile spread.
His hand slides up my back, holding me tighter, like he doesn’t want to let go.
I snuggle closer, listening to the steady beat of his heart as a deep, quiet sense of peace settles over me.
His fingers trace lazy patterns over my skin, each soft touch making my eyelids grow heavier.
Wrapped in his warmth, I finally let myself drift, sleep pulling me under to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
The next morning, light filters through my curtains, the kind that makes you want to stay under the covers forever. It could be any ordinary Saturday morning—except for the six-foot-three hockey captain stretched out beside me, bare-chested, arm heavy across my waist.
Declan Tremayne. In my bed.
I should be panicking. I’m not. That’s what rattles me most.
For a long moment, I don’t move. His breathing is slow, steady, but his hold isn’t casual—it’s protective, like if I try to slip away, he’ll notice. My heart stumbles, remembering last night—the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
Eventually his eyes open, still hazy in the morning light. “Morning,” he says, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I whisper back, suddenly shy.
There’s a pause, not awkward but weighted, both of us aware we’re on new ground. My fingers trace the edge of his forearm where it rests over me.
“So… does this count as a bad idea?”
His mouth curves, faint but real.
“If it is, I don’t regret it.”
He studies me for a beat longer.
“Do you?”
The answer comes easier than I expect.
“No. I don’t.”
Something eases in his expression, like he’d braced for me to say the opposite. He presses a slow kiss to my temple before shifting carefully onto his back, mindful of his knee.
Reality creeps in with the silence. His brace is propped against the nightstand, straps undone from where I took it off last night.
“We can do PT here,” I offer, breaking the quiet. “I’ve got enough equipment in my bag.”
“Sophie’s with Maya today until this afternoon,” he says after a beat. “Erin’s bringing her back to my place. No rush.”
He scrubs a hand down his face, then glances at me, wry and warm. “Pretty sure waking up in your PT’s bed isn’t typical.”
I nudge his shoulder, half-laughing, half-relieved at the ease between us. “Don’t get used to it. This isn’t standard care.”
“Understood,” he says, though the smirk tugging at his mouth says otherwise—and the goosebumps skating over my skin agree.
For a while, neither of us moves to get up. The clock ticks, the sheets rustle when I shift closer, and his hand finds mine without him even looking. Too natural, too easy. And that’s what scares me most.
The hours slip without me noticing. One round of stretches turns into ice packs and laughter when he complains about my “merciless bedside manner.” Then it’s sandwiches cobbled together from whatever’s in my fridge, eaten side by side at the counter like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.
It isn’t ordinary. Not even close.
By the time the afternoon light slants across the blinds, my phone is face down on the table and his is forgotten on the couch. Declan’s leaning back in the chair, loose for once, his grin soft and unguarded in a way I don’t remember ever seeing before.
The buzz of his phone cuts through the quiet. Declan reaches for it on the couch, and I see the way his shoulders tense when he reads the screen.
“Shit,” he mutters. He looks at me, guilty, jaw tight. “Erin’s at my house with Sophie. They’ve been out there waiting.”
My stomach dips.
He’s already shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing his keys. The sharpness of his movements makes the air between us feel suddenly fragile.
“I lost track of time,” he says, almost to himself, like the admission burns. Then, softer, “I’ve gotta go.”
I just nod, even though the quiet in my chest feels heavier than it should.
He leans down, presses a quick, rough kiss to my temple, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I press my hand to the spot where his lips touched my temple, trying to hold onto the warmth.
It fades too fast, leaving me staring at the door and wondering what happens next.