Bang(53)

I dress casually, leaving my thick, red hair in loose waves and dabbing on a touch of makeup. I prep myself on the drive over to River North with how I plan on approaching Declan, needing to play heavily on his emotions to pull him into what he will assume is just your everyday affair. So I listen to a few songs that aid me in my doleful mood, and as I pull up to Declan’s building a little after nine, I breathe a sigh of relief when I look up to the very top to see the lights on in his place.

Giving myself a last look in the rearview mirror, I walk into the building and buzz for Declan on the intercom.

“Who is it?” his voice questions through the speaker.

“It’s me,” I say softly.

I have to wait a few silent moments before his voice responds, “I’ll be right down.”

Since you need a card to get to his floor, I wait for him by the elevator. When it finally opens, and Declan steps out towards me, I do as I planned and simply stand there, staring at him, willing the tears to bathe my eyes, until he finally speaks, “What are you doing here?”

With a subtle shrug of my shoulders, my voice trembles when I respond, “I don’t know.”

He closes the space between us, cupping my cheeks in his hands, but I don’t give him a chance to say anything when my vision blurs with unshed tears and I weakly say, “I want to be mad at you. For what you did the other night. But . . . for some reason I can’t bring myself to hate you.” My head falls to his chest, and he holds me tight in his arms when I add, “I just . . . I’m scared, but I want to be here with you.”

He presses his lips to the top of my head, and with me tucked in his arms, he moves us to the elevator and holds me the whole way up to his loft. When the doors open, he leads me across the room and over to the same couch we sat on the other week, next to the already burning fireplace. I curl up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder when he finally breaks the silence, saying, “The last thing I want is for you to hate me, Nina.”

“Then what was that in the bathroom?”

“Me.”

Lifting my head, I see the creases in his forehead, but his look is solid when he says, “I won’t apologize.”

With a faint nod of my head, I whisper, “Okay.”

“Like I told you, I don’t have the softest touch. I don’t want you to mistake that for a lack of feeling, because I won’t deny that I already feel strongly about you.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” he states softly.

“Do you?”

His thumb runs along my cheekbone when he says, “I won’t ever do anything to hurt you.”

“But . . . Bennett . . .”

“He doesn’t need to know anything until you’re ready to say something. He doesn’t exist here, here in my home. It’s just you and me,” he tells me before his lips touch mine in a soft kiss. A very un-Declan-like kiss. He’s gentle, and when I reach up to touch his face, he grabs my wrist in his hand and hoists me on top of his lap. My legs straddle his hips, and his erection is evident as it presses between my legs.

His hands quickly find my breasts, and he squeezes them achingly hard as I sink my fingers into his hair, fisting it in my hands. When I tug at the roots, he growls in my mouth and lifts up my top. I raise my arms in an invitation, which he accepts as he pulls off my sweater. And in a fluid movement, he stands up with my body clung to his, legs wrapped around his hips, and he walks us down the hall and into his master suite.

The room is dark, lit only by the lights of the city below. My back falls against the soft bedding when he lays us down. His mouth is all over me, dragging down my neck, over the swell of my breasts, to the dip of my navel. He unhooks my pants and slips them off my legs, along with my shoes. I look up at him as he stands over me, peering down as I lie here in my bra and panties. Slowly, he starts working the buttons on his shirt before tossing it across the room. His shoulders and arms are roped in muscle. His smooth chest is nothing but hardened, accentuated slabs that define his broad build and narrow to a deep-cut V, sinking down into his pants.

He starts to undo his leather belt, and when he slips it from the loops of his slacks, he grips it firmly in both of his hands as if he’s about to make use of it. Suddenly I run cold, and ask hesitantly as I sit up, “What’re you gonna do?”

“Don’t ask me questions, Nina.”

My eyes lock on the leather belt, and I begin to feel nauseous at the thought of it, at the thought of being tied up in a closet for days, at the thought of being beaten and the snapping of leather as it slices into the skin of my back, at the thought of being choked with a leather belt while forced to suck my foster dad’s dick. I can’t tear my eyes away from the tight hold he has on his belt and the spiraled veins in his arms. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears, and I take a hard swallow.

“Look at me,” he says, and I can’t hide the fear that I’m sure is splayed across my face. “I meant what I said, I’ll never hurt you, but I’m not like most guys.”

I nod. I don’t know what else to do because I can’t lose him when I’ve finally come this far.

“I like control. Do you understand what that means?” he questions in an even tone as I shift my attention to his eyes.

“I don’t want you to hurt me.”