17. Declan
DECLAN
I’m not someone who likes surprises. I like to be in control, and it’s a rare occurrence when I can’t make that happen.
Astrid Olsen is one of those rare occurrences.
It’s no exaggeration to say that nearly everything about my time in Rebel so far has been a surprise, and I haven’t felt in control of much since landing in Louisiana.
Still, I’m feeling very accomplished as I come downstairs with new windows and doors installed, having gotten to know many players on my wife’s hockey team better, and having distributed a number of Team Declan shirts to people in town.
I’m also stupidly pleased by the fact that my wife has a bottle of my favorite body wash in the shower for me. Confused, but pleased.
Astrid Olsen O’Grady can pretend that being married to me is an annoyance and can say that she wants to end it, but I think she has been equally surprised and happy today.
And she bought my favorite body wash.
I can’t get over that.
I think about it as I walk into the living room.
When did she do that? She didn’t know that I was coming with much notice.
She just had it on hand in case I showed up?
That seems out of character. It would seem more in character for her to have only the light lemony body wash sitting next to it.
Or maybe an even more floral or fruity body wash that she’d force me to use.
All thoughts of body wash evaporate from my head as I step past the mustard yellow chair and find my wife lying on the couch, her gray tomcat sprawled from her shoulder to her hip, both of them fast asleep.
Did she maybe not sleep as well last night either? I was tired, but being in the same house with her again after so long, especially after the kiss, had me lying awake far too late last night.
I’ll also admit that I am very used to my expensive bed and high-thread-count sheets.
But most of my sleep disturbance came from Astrid, for sure.
Did my wife have a similar issue last night?
I debate for a moment about what to do, but I don’t want to wake her. Our lunch plans fell apart again, but I am unapologetic about how we spent the time.
I know all of this has already landed on the town’s website, and my grandfather will see it.
I’m sure he will be surprised to see me doing manual labor, especially in Rebel, but nothing can compare to the look on my wife’s face when I came around the side of the house and she saw me in person, covered in sawdust with a tool belt around my waist.
I liked that look in her eyes. I’m not sure if she’s aware that she reacted to me the way she did, but I was very aware of it.
I cross to the couch and take a seat at the end near her feet.
Oscar lifts his head, but, to my surprise, does not hiss at me. He just watches me. So I take a chance and gently, carefully, lift Astrid's calves, sliding closer to her and settling her feet and lower legs in my lap.
I don’t stroke my hand up her leg the way I wish I could.
Still, I can’t help but register the silkiness of her skin or the fact that her sundress has ridden high on her thighs, one strap has fallen off her shoulder, the bodice of the dress slipping down the curve on her left breast slightly, or that the polish on the pinky toe of her right foot is chipped.
Her head rests on a sage-green throw pillow with tassels at each corner, her blond hair spread out in silken strands. I just watch her sleep for a moment, wondering if that’s creepy. Probably a little.
But I like her rumpled.
Even in her online videos, when she is working out or talking to her followers about a painful routine or one that is suddenly less painful because of something she’s done, she still always looks put together and prepared.
Today, from the blush on her cheeks in the kitchen when we stood close, to her amused surprise at finding people gathered in her front yard having a party while they critiqued and improved her house, she was off balance.
I liked that too much.
She takes a deep breath in her sleep and settles further into the cushions. I reach for the TV remote on the ugly wooden coffee table and point it at the screen, content to just sit here while she sleeps.
I find a baseball game between two teams I don’t care about, beyond following the general baseball standings, and turn the volume down to where it’s barely audible. Then I slide deeper into the couch and rest my head on the back.
Two minutes later, a large gray tomcat is climbing into my lap.
I freeze.
I looked down at him. “What’s this?” I ask him quietly.
He doesn’t answer. But he puts his paw up on my shoulder, and I do what I’ve seen Astrid, Wilson, and Patty all do. I cup my hand under his butt and lift slightly. He happily climbs up, claws digging lightly into my shoulder as I wince, until his head is tucked against my neck.
He starts to purr. And I realize I'll be stuck in this exact position until Oscar decides we’re done.
I have never had a cat purring in my ear before, and I had no idea what a powerful sleep aid that would be until I awake twenty minutes later.
Oscar is nowhere to be seen, but I still freeze, not wanting to move and disturb the moment.
My head is resting on Astrid’s stomach. At some point, I pulled my legs up onto the couch and curled into a fetal position.
And possibly most shockingly of all, I feel Astrid’s fingers stroking through my hair.
I take a quick inventory as I gain more consciousness.
My cheek is resting right over her belly button, and I realize that my body wash must be much stronger than her lighter citrus one because mine is all I can smell, even up against her like this.
And I am very aware of where my nose and mouth are.
Her dress has hiked up even higher now, the hem just covering her panties, leaving her legs entirely bare.
My left hand curls as I realize it is under her right thigh, and my right hand is wrapped around her left hip.
I am definitely holding her intimately.
But just as I am contemplating the need to move before she wakes up, I hear a low, “Mmmm.”
It’s more of a hum, or dare I say, a moan than a word. But it doesn’t sound like one of protest. Her thighs tense slightly, and I loosen my hold, but she simply shifts, her thighs parting.
My breath lodges in my chest, and I feel like my entire body hardens.
This is fucking inappropriate.
“God, Declan.”
The breathy words make me freeze, then I slowly turn my head to look up her body.
As my head moves, her fingers tighten slightly in my hair.
“Keep going,” she says softly.
Her eyes are shut, but her neck is arched, and I feel her hips lift against me.
What is happening?
“Astrid?” I say roughly.
“Please.”
She wiggles, and when I shift to give her more space, her thighs part further, her knee bending and falling open.
I almost swallow my tongue. Now I can see up to the junction of her thighs, and that silky, warm skin moving against my hand makes fire lick from my palm throughout my body.
My cock hardens, and I swallow with difficulty.
“What do you want?” I asked gruffly.
“Touch me. Please.”
Jesus. We just went from zero to sixty. I guess that tool belt did even more work than I thought.
But there isn’t a single thing on this fucking planet that I wouldn’t give this woman. And this? I’ve only been dying to give her this for over a year.
I thought she’d been avoiding me because she didn’t want this. I thought she hated me and being stuck with me. I never would’ve pushed for this.
But if she wants me? If she wants this? I will gladly give her this in every way over and over again. Making this woman feel good, whether it’s home repairs, saving her from enthusiastic otters, or just making her smile, gives me a rush. Making her feel good physically? That’s my idea of heaven.
“Anything you want,” I tell her, my voice raspy. “You’re the boss. Tell me what you need.”
“Touch me,” she says, nearly panting. Her legs shift again, widening. Her fingers tighten in my hair. Her other hand runs up and down the inside of one thigh, then drifts over the front of her panties. “Here.”
Jesus Christ. Every fucking dream come true is right here in front of me.
I lean in and kiss her inner thigh, right where she just stroked.
She lets out a shuddering breath. “God, yes, Declan.”
I don’t have to question if she wants me. That is my fucking name on her lips.
I drag in a deep breath, and yes, it’s definitely my body wash, but I can smell her arousal underneath. I kiss her thigh again, then flick my tongue over the skin.
She gasps and moans.
“Yes,” she says raggedly. Her finger rubs over her clit in circles. “God, I want your mouth here,” she says.
“I will put my mouth wherever you fucking want it,” I tell her.
I lean in, kissing my way from her thigh to her mound, then placing a kiss right over her clit.
Her panties are plain white silk, and there’s something about them that I love.
She wasn’t planning this, this isn’t a seduction, she isn’t using her lingerie to make me nuts.
This is just a moment that’s happening between us, unexpectedly, but real and without anything extra needed.
“More, please,” she begs.
After all the time apart, after she packed up and moved, after all of her efforts to get me to leave her alone, and even her suggestion that I divorce her, part of me wants to tease her, make her really beg, drag this out, but I can’t.
I’m driven to make her happy, give her everything she wants and needs.
And if she wants my mouth on her pussy? No fucking problem.
I lean in with a soft growl and press my mouth harder against her silk-covered clit. I breathe hot air onto her, and she moans.
“Make me come, please,” she begs.
I suck her gently through the cotton, then slip my finger underneath the edge of her panties, brushing over her clit with the pad of my finger.
She chokes out my name, and her hips lift closer to me. I brush over her clit again, then circle gently.
“Yes, yes,” she chants.
My woman is a little firecracker. Damn, I’ve just started, and she’s already shifting and writhing beneath me, sounding like she’s on the verge of coming.
“Let go, sweetheart, just feel it. Go with it,” I urge.
I pull the cotton aside and look at her for the first time. “So fucking gorgeous. Look at you. Perfect.” She’s wet and pink and all mine.
I rub my finger over her clit again, then lean in and flick my tongue against the sweet spot.
She tastes amazing, and I want more. When she cries out my name, my cock throbs, wanting her slick, hot glove around it. Now. I lick her again, then suck the sensitive nub into my mouth.
And that’s all it takes. She goes off, crying out, pulling on my hair, her hips pressing up closer to my mouth as she comes.
Unbelievable. She’s so hot and unexpected and exciting and beautiful.
I turn my head to kiss her inner thigh. “Jesus, Astrid. That was gorgeous. My little firework.” I stroke my hand up and down her thigh. I want to make her do that again. I need all of her, in every way.
Suddenly, her entire body tenses beneath me, and I lift my head quickly.
She’s staring at me, her blue eyes wide, pupils huge. All at once, she starts pushing against the couch cushions, scrambling to get away from me.
“Oh my God!” She pushes up, nearly knocking me in the chin with her knee. “Holy crap! What…what did I do?”
I sit up quickly, concern coursing through me. I keep one hand on her thigh, but let her move back, putting space between our torsos. “Astrid? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
She pushes her skirt down, then runs the other hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. Now her eyes are glued to my mouth, and it’s clear she’s piecing everything together quickly.
Her face turns bright red, and suddenly, tears are shimmering in her eyes.
“Oh my God.” Her voice is choked when she says, “that was real?
“That was very real, Firework,” I say, keeping my voice low and even.
She scrambles back again, now sitting on the arm of the couch.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she chokes out.
I push myself up to sitting, trying to keep from scowling since she’s clearly emotional and I don’t want to upset her further.
But what the fuck?
“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, Astrid,” I say.
“Oh, I do. I mean.…that was…” She swallows hard, then launches herself off the couch. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“I’m certainly not upset,” I tell her, trying for a small smile. But smiling is tough when your heart is trying to pound out of your chest, your stomach is in knots, and you have a terrible feeling that horrible things are going through the mind of the woman you just helped orgasm.
“I need to go.” She spins toward the door.
“Go?” The word comes out harsher than I intended.
She doesn’t turn back. “Yes. I have to…I have…a meeting.” Then she’s slamming out of the house, and I am sitting on the couch, staring after her, wondering what the hell just happened.