22. Skylar
SKYLAR
Declan drops to his knees, his hands steady as he holds the plate out to me, the pointed, jagged side facing himself.
I shake my head. “I thought I told you to stop letting people hurt you.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s not about numbing the pain. It’s about you, Skylar. It’s about giving you back what I had no right to take from you in the first place.”
“You think my stabbing you with a broken plate is going to restore my faith in men?”
He looks down, his fist clenched so tightly around the ceramic that it’s cutting into his skin.
Reaching forward, I take his hand into mine, opening his fingers one by one until the plate clatters to the ground, leaving behind specks of blood on his palm.
“I’m not stabbing you, as cathartic as that might be. ”
“Then how can I get you to forgive me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe try apologizing?”
He sits back on his heels, running the hand that’s not bloody through his blonde hair. Only the tips are blonde now, his dark roots pushing them out like a rejection. “Sorry doesn’t even cover what I feel, Skylar. There are no words. I—I don’t know what to say.”
“I know.” And I do. I see it in the way his eyes avoid mine, in the way he chews on his lip ring, not in a smug way as usual, but in a nervous way. He’s filled with regret and it’s eating at him.
“Help me out here, Sky. Say the word and I’ll do it. You want to move back to your house? I’ll still hold up my end of the deal. It was selfish of me to bring you here.”
His eyes are chestnut now as they search mine, a soft boy-next-door color.
I forgot they do that sometimes when he’s vulnerable.
Like when he slipped out of me that first time.
It wasn’t just fucking, as much as I liked to tell myself that.
As much as he claims it was. What we did in that room while the clouds parted outside my window, making room for the stars to shine, was nothing short of making love.
This time I don’t question the urge to lean forward and brush my lips against his.
I don’t calculate the risks or weigh the outcomes.
I simply do it, and he doesn’t resist. It’s simple at first. Lips pressed to one another, exchanging a feeling that words can’t explain.
He gives me his regret, and I give him my sadness.
Then his tongue slides past my lips and swells against my own.
I’m not sure who stands first, or maybe we both do at the same time, but all of a sudden he’s walking me backwards.
I gasp when my ass hits the cool cabinet, and he breaks the kiss.
“Don’t stop.” My words are rushed and breathy, nearly panted against his chest.
“What are you saying, Sky?”
“I’m not drunk,” I whisper. “I haven’t had a drop all night. I know what I want, and I’m telling you not to stop.” My breath comes out in shallow bursts. “You want forgiveness? Show me you didn’t mean anything you said.”
“Are you sure, because I still don’t deserve—”
“Maybe not.” I slide my hand up the back of his shirt, my cool fingers grazing his warm skin. “But I do.”
That’s all it takes for him to snap, grabbing my hips and hoisting me up onto the countertop.
His lips crash against mine again, but this time it’s needy and reckless, like our kiss in the shower the other day.
He drags the skirt of my dress up, and I lift my ass so he can bring it up and over my head, tossing it to the side before his mouth ghosts along my neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh.
I suddenly become all too aware of the wetness pooling in my underwear, my skin separated from the counter only by a thin layer of cotton.
Declan falls to his knees again, but this time, there’s no sadness, no regret, no boy next door.
Only hunger, deep and ravenous, pulsing behind his midnight eyes.
He pulls my legs forward, hooking his thumbs beneath the waistband of my panties and tugging.
I lift myself again so he can get them all the way off, and as soon as he does, he looks up.
“I want to make you feel good, okay?” His voice is quiet, calm, in direct opposition to the look of frenetic need scrawled across his face.
“Yes,” I whimper.
He doesn't waste any more time, leaning in and licking a line straight up my clit.
We both let out a moan at the same time as he flicks his tongue over the most sensitive part of my body.
At first, he savors the taste, gently exploring every dip and curve, but then he picks up speed, his tongue nearly vibrating against my swollen clit while I shamelessly grind into his face.
He grasps my legs, hooking them over his shoulders so he can get deeper, and I cry out, threading my fingers in his hair when his tongue finds my entrance.
“Fuck, you taste like the worst kind of addiction,” he rasps against my pussy, the heat from his words pushing me higher until I’m dizzy.
The cold metal of his lip ring presses against my skin as he continues lapping and sucking my clit like a man possessed. He continues until I’m so high, I’m worried the fall might destroy me.
“Come for me, Firefly. Show me this isn’t over.
” As he says this, he thrusts a finger inside me, curling it until he hits that spot no one else has ever been able to reach, and I shatter like the plate against the wall.
Like my heart the day he broke it. Like every single wall I’ve built to keep him out.
The waves of pleasure grab hold of me, refusing to let go as they bathe me in relentless bursts of light that explode up and down my whole body.
When I finally come back down, I’m panting, and Declan is still on his knees looking up at me as he wipes his face with his thumb and shoves the digit in his mouth, licking his lips like he just finished the best meal of his life.
It’s only when he finally gets up from the floor, finds my dress, and pushes it over my head that it becomes clear he’s not going to ask for anything in return.
From what I remember back in high school, he never gave without taking.
That wasn’t exactly my experience with him, but it’s still surprising.
Even more so is my desire to touch him. To feel the weight of him in my hand as I gently stroke and tease…
“Goodnight, Skylar.” His voice pulls me from the fantasy. God, am I fantasizing about him when he’s still standing right in front of me? He’s bending down, picking up the pieces of the plate and tossing them in the trash, like he didn’t just make me come so hard I almost blacked out.
“Yeah, goodnight,” I whisper.
I turn to walk out, stopping at the threshold between the kitchen and the hallway when he says my name.
“Skylar.” I don’t turn around. Something tells me I don’t want to look at him when he says his next words. “Tell me this isn’t over.”
I have to hold onto the door frame to keep myself steady, and even though I don’t answer him, I think the gesture alone tells him everything he needs to know.