Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
CLAIRE
The cursor blinks back at me from the spreadsheet, taunting me with all the work I need to do.
I scan the endless cells of numbers and letters, the mountain of files on my desk, the sticky notes curling at the edges with half-scribbled reminders.
This week is packed with activities — carolers, carriage rides, cookie-decorating contests, and live music nearly every night.
It should feel exhilarating. Instead, my head is in a fog.
Because all I can think about is Declan.
Worse, all I can hear are my mother’s words from the other day. How she’s worried I’m settling for pieces because I’m too scared to ask for more.
She’s wrong. She has to be. This thing with Declan isn’t like that. I knew what this was when I let myself fall into his bed. This isn’t a fairy tale. This is two consenting adults finding an outlet for a few weeks. Nothing more.
But if that’s the case, why am I still sitting in my office at 12:30 on a Monday, staring at my monitor, instead of spending my lunch with him?
Why am I dragging my feet? Can it be because maybe, just maybe, there might be some truth to what my mom said and seeing him again might force me to admit it?
The thought has me shoving back from my desk like it’s caught fire.
I refuse to let my mother get under my skin.
She’s just meddling in my social life now that Genevieve has found her happily ever after.
Despite what she wants to believe, I’m perfectly happy with the pieces Declan’s been giving me this past week.
Especially when those pieces result in more mind-blowing orgasms than I thought possible.
I don’t want more.
I don’t need more.
I barely have a chance to close the back door to Declan’s townhouse before he’s sweeping me into his arms, his mouth hot and demanding as it claims mine. His hand fists my hair, and he yanks my head back to deepen the kiss, to take more.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since Saturday,” he growls against my lips, his voice low and rough. “Hell, since Friday. Since you walked out my door.”
His lips slam against mine again, greedy and punishing, like he’s been starving and I’m the only thing that can satisfy him.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it was to be so close to you and not be able to touch you? Kiss you? Fuck you?”
He nips at my neck, his hands desperately pushing my coat down my arms.
“I hated it, Claire. So damn much.”
“I hated it too,” I whisper, clawing at his belt buckle, frantic to feel his skin beneath my hands.
His answering groan vibrates through my chest. “It didn’t help that I knew I’d have to wait until today to have you again. It was only two days, but it felt like a fucking lifetime.”
I hate how much I like the raw vulnerability in his words.
I hate how much I want to believe him.
Worse, I hate how much I want him to keep saying things like this.
“I’m here now.” I give him a flirtatious smirk. “So you can make up for lost time.”
“And I plan on it.”
We stumble toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothing like breadcrumbs.
My dress.
His shirt.
My shoes.
His hands never stop roaming. Never stop claiming. As if he’s terrified I’ll disappear the second he stops touching me.
By the time my back hits the mattress, I’m panting, flushed, aching. His eyes darken as they rake up and down my body like a predator stalking its prey. And like an untamed beast, his attack is brutal as he thrusts into me in one hard, punishing stroke that steals the breath from my lungs.
The world narrows to the sound of our bodies colliding in a raw, feral rhythm that feels like he’s carving his name into my bones. It’s rough. It’s desperate. It’s pure need.
Yet hidden beneath the animalistic frenzy, there’s something else.
Something softer. Something that feels frighteningly close to worship.
The way he circles his hips. The way he presses a kiss to my neck.
The way he takes my hands in his, linking our fingers together.
It makes me feel wanted. Cherished. Craved.
No one has ever made me feel like this.
It’s a terrifying thought.
What if my mom’s right? Am I only pretending I’m content with scraps because I’m scared of asking for more?
Because I don’t think I’m worth it?
Because I’d rather accept pieces than be left with nothing?
Declan slams into me harder, faster, erasing every shred of doubt and scattering it like snowflakes in the wind. For a few blissful seconds, he succeeds, his punishing thrusts the reminder I need of who we are. Of what makes us work. Why complicate things unnecessarily?
“Goddamn, you feel good,” he grunts. “Like you were made for me.”
He lifts a leg, propping it over his shoulder and plunging so deep I cry out. He leans closer, his eyes wild, his breath warming my skin.
“Say you’re mine, Claire.”
I’m not. I can never be. But how can I deny him when he looks at me like my words are oxygen, the only thing keeping him alive?
“I’m yours, Declan.”
He closes his eyes, relief etched across his face, before crushing his mouth against mine. He pounds into me with ruthless abandon, each thrust propelling me higher. Each touch igniting a war I’ll never win.
“Give it to me, Claire,” he rasps. “Let me feel what only I can do to you. Don’t deny me. Not now. Not this.”
His plea undoes me, and I break for him, utterly and completely. He joins me seconds later, his body convulsing, his roar ripping through the room, followed seconds later by a familiar voice.
“Declan? Are you here?”
Joshua.
My entire body turns cold.
Declan wrenches out of me like I’ve burned him, his eyes panicked. Grabbing my wrist, he yanks me up, dragging me across the room. “Get in the closet. Now.”
“What? Just tell him—”
“Do it.” His tone is harsh, desperate.
“My clothes—”
“I’ll get them. Please, Claire. Just hide.”
Something in his tone unsettles me. I’ve never seen him like this. So terrified. So anxious.
I stumble into his walk-in, my heart battering against my ribs. He tosses my clothes at me, then shuts the door.
I hate the way being shoved in here makes me feel. Like I’m unwelcome.
Like I’m a secret.
Isn’t that what I am?
Isn’t that all I wanted to be?
From the bathroom, water starts running fast and furious. Like Declan’s jumped straight into the shower in a desperate attempt to wash me from every inch of him.
“Declan?” Joshua calls again, closer this time.
“I’m just finishing up a shower,” Declan answers, his voice casual yet forced. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I can come back if it’s not a good time. I grabbed sandwiches from the deli. Thought we could have lunch. If you’re busy, I can head next door since it looks like Claire went home for lunch.”
My whole body stiffens as panic races through me. The last thing either of us needs is Joshua going over to my place and not finding me there, despite my car being in the driveway.
“It’s not a bad time at all,” Declan says smoothly. “I’m happy you dropped by. I’ll be right out.”
The shower runs for a bit longer as I dress in complete darkness, every sound amplified. A few seconds after the water shuts off, the closet door opens. Declan stands in front of me, dripping wet, a towel slung low. His chest rises and falls as his eyes lock on mine.
I’m fully prepared for him to tell me we can’t do this again. That this was too close. Too reckless.
Instead, he presses his forehead against mine. The scent of his body wash clings to his damp skin, filling my lungs.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I gave him the code so he’d feel at home. I didn’t think—”
“It’s okay,” I assure him, though I don’t sound nearly as confident as I wish. “Go. I’ll sneak out through the bathroom window.”
He pulls back and meets my eyes. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
His lips part, then he shakes his head. “No. I just…. Damn it.” He tugs at his hair, his frustration evident. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
I slip past him and tiptoe toward the bathroom, climbing into the jacuzzi tub and pulling up the blinds. I’m about to crack open the window and pop out the screen when a hand on my wrist stops me.
“Let me make it up to you.”
I pause, turning toward Declan. “How?”
“This weekend. We’ll go somewhere. Tahoe, maybe. I’ll get us a suite. Take you to dinner. We’ll walk down the street holding hands, and I’ll kiss you whenever the hell I want. No hiding. No interruptions.”
My heart twists. I should say no. Should stop this before it tangles me up in a way I’ll never be able to escape. But the picture he paints is tempting.
Too tempting.
Especially when I’ve fantasized about this exact thing since seeing him at the parade on Saturday and imagined what it would be like to be able to kiss and touch him without a single care for who might see us.
I could have that, if only for one night.
But we’ve proven time and again that one night is never enough. I’ll want more. And more isn’t in the cards for us.
Regardless, I can’t find the strength to say no to him. I couldn’t in Boston. I couldn’t last week when he practically begged me to tell him to stop.
And I can’t right now, either.
“Okay.” I smile. “It’s a date.”
His entire expression lights up, and he clutches my face in his hands, touching a kiss to my lips.
“Thank you,” he murmurs against my mouth.
Then he disappears into the bedroom, hastily dressing in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before heading down the hallway and into the kitchen to spend time with his son.
As I watch him go, my mother’s words echo in my head once more, louder than before.
Could she be right?
Is this all just another example of me settling for whatever pieces Declan is willing to give me because I’m worried he won’t give me anything at all?