Chapter 16 - Declan
DECLAN
For All to See
Evangeline's hand has been resting on my arm like a shackle.
We've been standing in the Iconic Museum Grand Hall, surrounded by Senator Ashford's donors and political allies, all of them drinking champagne, listening to classical music, and staring at the art and marble columns stretching toward vaulted ceilings.
It's an expensive, tasteful, and suffocating affair.
Yet all I can think about is Ivy.
How she felt trembling beneath my hands. The sounds she made when I made her come. The way she looked at me afterward: vulnerable, trusting, completely undone.
My body has been humming since last night. Ever since I kissed Ivy, felt her fall apart around my fingers, heard her scream my name. I want more. I want to strip her bare and explore every inch of her until she understands that she's mine.
But I'm taking it slow. Giving her time to adjust, to trust, to understand what real pleasure feels like. I'm showing her different ways I can make her body sing before I take that final step.
Because when I finally get inside her, when I make her mine completely, I want her so thoroughly addicted to what we have that no one else will ever compare.
Not even the version of me she thinks is King.
I let myself listen to gray-haired men ask me about playoffs and game chances, while Evangeline smiles and coos like we're an item. I let Gregory and Ashford display Evangeline and I around like another piece of art, while the senator asks to see more of 'us' together.
But after thirty minutes of fake smiles, I can't do it anymore.
"Excuse me." I extract myself from Evangeline's grip. "I need some air."
Gregory's eyes narrow. But I’m already weaving through the crowd toward a hallway marked "Private. Staff Only."
The moment there’s no other suffocating human around me, I pull my phone and call Ivy. She’s mad but eventually agrees to come over.
I spend the next hour pretending to like Evangeline and escaping intermittently to check if Ivy has arrived. I'm watching from a window when the taxi pulls out. The moment she steps out, every coherent thought evacuates my brain.
The dress.
Damn, that dress.
It's black, gold, and clings to her petite frame like a second skin, highlighting her curves and making me want to run my hands on her stomach, her hips.
The neckline plunges, revealing cleavage that makes my mouth water.
A slit rides up to her upper thigh, teasing everyone to peek and touch.
Her straight black hair has been restyled into waves around her shoulders, designed to make men stupid.
It's working spectacularly.
She walks into the museum, her head held high, and I watch every man in the vicinity turn to stare. Hot, primal possessiveness roars through me.
She's mine.
Mine, even if she doesn't fully know it yet.
I intercept her before she reaches the main hall, catching her wrist and pulling her into a side corridor.
"Declan..."
"This way." I guide her deeper into the museum, away from prying eyes and cameras. "There's a closed exhibit. We can talk there."
"Talk?" Her voice is tight, angry. "You want to talk while your date is back there wondering where you went?"
"Evangeline knows..."
"I don't care what Evangeline knows!" she yanks her wrist free, eyes blazing. "You called me, asking me to rescue you from an event you chose to attend with her."
We reach the closed exhibit, an ancient artifact collection shut down for renovation. The lights are dim, casting shadows across marble columns and glass cases. The air smells of dust and preservation chemicals. I close the door behind us, plunging us into the darkening atmosphere.
"I didn't choose this," I say, my voice low. "Gregory forced me..."
Her bitter laugh cuts me off.
"What an excuse! You're a grown man, Declan. You make your own choices."
"Not when your agent has been controlling your life for nine years," I confess with raw desperation. "Not when he threatens your career every time you step out of line."
That stops her. "What are you talking about?"
Exhaustion flows through me. I lean against the column, shoulders slumping.
Then I explain my relationship with Gregory. How we met when I was nineteen and the contract that controls everything in my life.
"He sabotages any relationship that gets too serious," I continue. "He makes the woman leave because, according to him, 'Relationships are distractions, so they're bad for business.'"
Her expression softens slightly. "Declan."
"Evangeline is his latest scheme. Senator Ashford wants the publicity. Gregory wants the connections. And I..." My voice cracks.
She crosses her arms. I try my best not to look at that bulging cleavage calling me to it.
"And what have you done about it?"
"I'm sorting it out. Because I can't keep pretending I want someone else while the woman I want thinks I'm not serious." I cup her face, thumb rubbing her cheekbone. "I want to be with you, Ivy."
Her breath hitches, eyes searching mine.
"I want to be with you, too," she whispers. "And I hate it."
"Why?"
"Because this was supposed to be practice. Temporary. And now..." She grabs my shirt, pulling me closer. "Now, I can't stop thinking about you or wanting you. Even when I'm angry... when you're with her, all I want is this."
She kisses me, soft lips pressing on mine.
It's not like her other kisses that are tentative, exploratory, careful. This is desperation and jealousy and claim. Her mouth opens under mine, demanding, taking. Her hands fist in my hair, pulling almost painfully.
And I'm lost.
I back her against the marble column, one hand sliding up her thigh, bunching that devastating dress around her hips.
She gasps into my mouth as I hook her legs around mine, pulling her closer.
"Tell me you want this," I growl against her lips. "Tell me you want me."
"I want you," she says breathlessly. "Declan, I want you so badly."
My hand finds the edge of her underwear with its delicate lace soaked through. The discovery makes me groan.
"You're so wet for me."
"Please..."
I slide one finger inside her. She moans, head falling back against the marble. So tight and perfect. I add another finger, stretching her, preparing her, even though we shouldn't finish this here.
But I need to touch her. To feel her fall apart for me again. I need to remind her body who it belongs to.
"You're mine," I breathe against her neck, my finger working steadily. "Not King's or anyone else's. Mine."
"Yes," she gasps out.
"Grind against my hand," I command.
She obeys, chasing pleasure with single-minded focus.
"Faster," I say, holding her butt and turning it in a circular rhythm.
She catches the drifts and continues grinding. I stop, slowly dragging my fingers out. Her face scrunches up in confusion.
"Declan? Please..."
"Promise me you won't come until I tell you to."
She nods.
"Promise," I say again, waiting.
"I... I promise."
I plunge my fingers back in. She drags in a ragged breath, breathes out. I repeat the cycle a couple of times until she's begging me relentlessly.
"Please, Dec. Please."
Then I find that spot inside her that makes her vision go white, pressing hard while my thumb circles her clit. Her nails dig into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks, and the sharp pleasure-pain makes me increase the pace.
This is different from our first time. It's fast, demanding. Reminding her that what we have is raw and not to be displayed for others.
"Come for me," I command. "Right here. Right now."
Her body clamps down on my fingers, her mouth opening in a silent scream. I capture the sound with a kiss, swallowing her pleasure, feeling her shake apart in my arms.
Before she's finished trembling, I'm lifting her. Her legs wrap around my waist, the dress riding higher. My zipper is down, my control completely shattered. All I think about is getting inside her, making her mine in every way possible.
"Declan..." Her eyes are wide, uncertain.
"I need you." My voice is barely recognizable. "Need to be inside you. Need..."
Voices echo in the hallway.
"I last saw him heading in this direction."
Gregory.
We freeze, still wrapped around each other, breathing hard.
"Shit," I whisper. "You need to go."
Her lips thin. "What? You think..."
I kiss her lips lightly, silencing her.
"Please, do this for me. Go through the side exit,” I say, nodding toward a door.
Setting her down carefully, I adjust her dress with shaking hands.
"I'll distract him."
She glares at me. "Declan..."
I kiss her hard, claiming. "This isn't over. We're not over. Understood?"
She nods, still dazed, and leaves through the side door just as the main entrance opens.
Gregory stands silhouetted in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
"There you are." His voice is dangerously calm. "Senator Ashford is looking for you. Evangeline is concerned."
"I needed air."
"In a closed exhibit?" His eyes scan the room, landing on the rumpled state of my clothes, the lipstick on my shirt. "Alone?"
"Alone."
I can see the calculation in his eyes, the wheels turning in his head as he pieces together what happened.
"Clean yourself up, then get back to Evangeline." He turns to leave, pauses, and looks back at me. "And Declan? Whatever you think you're doing, stop it now before you destroy everything I've built for you."
I make it through another hour of the gala before I can escape, driving home in a haze.
My mind replays every moment with Ivy. Her dress.
Her anger. Her desperation. The way she felt wrapped around me.
Ivy is becoming an obsession, a dangerous one.
One month should be enough to explore her thoroughly and get used to her.
But the more I get to know her, the more insatiable my desire becomes.
At a red light, I pull out my phone and text her:
King:
Are you home safe?
Ivy:
How did you know I was out?
My blood runs cold. I glance at the phone I used to text and notice it's where I send her messages as King.
Shit. Shit.
She's confused because King shouldn't know she went out tonight.
My other phone rings. It's Ivy.
The red light turns green, and I continue driving, answering with my bluetooth earpiece.
"Hello."
"Hey" Her voice is cautious. "I just got a weird text from King asking if I'm home safe, but he shouldn't know I went anywhere today."
This is my chance to confess that King and Declan are the same person, that I've been lying since the beginning.
But the words stick in my throat.
"That's weird," I hear myself say. "Maybe he saw something on social media. People post everything these days."
"Maybe." She doesn't sound convinced.
We talk for a few more minutes before hanging up. When I get home, I sit in my car, staring at my phone, hating myself.
A text comes through from Riley:
Riley:
Have you seen this?
She sends a link from a gossip site. The headline makes my stomach drop:
“Mystery Woman Spotted at Museum Gala - Dr. Ivy Chandler, Marcus Chandler's Sister, Linked to an Unknown Man?”
The photo is grainy but clear enough. It's Ivy leaving through a side exit, her dress unmistakable, her expression flushed.
Another text comes in.
Riley:
Does Marcus know about both of you yet?
Declan:
Nope.
Declan:
Maybe.
Riley:
What will he do if he finds out about the gala?
Kill me, that's what. But I don't reply.
Riley:
Dec, this is bad.
I close my eyes, forehead resting on the car seat.
It is bad.
Because I’m still not going to let her go.