Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DECLAN
The clock ticks louder than it has any right to, like a hammer striking steel in an empty room. Each second ricochets inside my skull, drowning out everything else.
I check the time yet again.
12:42.
I don’t know what time Claire normally takes her lunch. Could be noon. Could be one. Then again, she did say she usually eats at her desk whenever she gets hungry.
Like I do.
But with every minute that passes, the more impatient I get.
I told her I wouldn’t pressure her. That the choice was hers.
I just wish I knew what that choice was.
Steam curls from the pot on the stove, carrying the scent of roasted tomatoes and basil. I grab a wooden spoon and stir the soup. Once. Twice. Maybe twelve times. I don’t know. All I know is the anticipation is killing me.
A car engine hums in the distance, tires crunching against snow and gravel. My heart skyrockets, and I dart toward the front window. But it’s not her car. Heaving a sigh, I let the curtain fall back into place, trying not to be disappointed.
It’s probably better if she doesn’t come for lunch.
Safer.
But a reckless part of me wants her to walk through that door.
Wants her to choose me.
With slow steps, I trudge back across the living room. But I’ll drive myself crazy if I don’t do something to take my mind off Claire. So instead of stirring the soup for the umpteenth time, I head to the desk and open my laptop, pulling up one of the pleadings I should be working on.
Sentences line the screen, words that made complete sense when I wrote them. But now they have no meaning, my thoughts constantly drifting to Claire.
Her mouth against mine.
The silken feel of her hair in my fist.
The soft, captivating sound that breaks from her whenever she lets go.
The memory is so vivid.
So dangerous.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, hoping it will help me focus. Then the sound of a door opening cuts through.
I’m on my feet in seconds, trying not to get my hopes up. It could just be my imagination making me hear things.
Then Claire steps into the living area. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, but she’s never looked so damn beautiful.
Because she’s here.
“You came,” I say roughly, partly surprised. Partly relieved.
“Not yet.” She gives me a wicked smile and saunters toward me. “But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time until I do.” Her breath dances on my lips as she hoists herself onto her toes.
“You’ve got that right,” I growl, dragging her flush against me and claiming her mouth.
Her lips are warm, insistent, tasting faintly of cinnamon. She melts into me, her body curving into mine like she’s always belonged here. With my hand on her hip, I steer us toward the bedroom, even as my brain screams restraint.
She slides her hands under my shirt, her nails digging into my skin like she owns me.
She damn well might.
I’ve never experienced this before. Never begged for scraps of a woman’s time. Never thought about her with every breath. Never craved her touch so badly I ache when she’s gone.
And still, I can’t stop myself.
“I thought we’d be having lunch,” she teases, her words a husky murmur against my mouth as I fumble with the zipper of her jeans.
“We will,” I rasp, trailing my lips down the elegant line of her jaw to the pulse fluttering at her throat. “But I want my dessert first.”
She laughs, low and throaty. “Naughty boy.”
“You’re about to find out just how naughty I am.”
I make quick work of ridding her of her clothes before throwing her onto my bed. I’m between her legs in mere seconds, treating myself to what I’ve been craving since last night.
The first taste of her cunt undoes me. It’s hunger and reverence, desperation and devotion tangled in one. Every moan she gives me feeds the storm inside until I don’t know where need ends and ruin begins.
And that’s the truth. This woman could absolutely ruin me. Could destroy everything I’m trying to build.
But I meant what I told her this morning. That despite the ramifications, I can’t seem to listen to reason when I’m around her.
I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass later.