Down and Out(28)

My lips crook up. “Liar.” I pull my phone out of my pocket, praying it hasn’t been shut off for non-payment yet, and scroll to the number he’d given me yesterday.
Declan lunges for it, trying to yank it out of my hand. I squeal and fall onto my back, holding my phone high above my head. He climbs on top of me as he tries to snatch it, and I giggle as I press the call button. We’re still struggling and laughing as his phone rings on the coffee table.
Our little game of keep-away is forgotten as I focus on the rock song I don’t recognize. It’s kind of slow—alternative and almost bluesy, with lightly distorted guitar riffs—and a man and woman are singing “sweet sour” over and over. The person they’re singing about is sour at first, but sweeter over time. There’s no hidden meaning to the song or why Declan chose it for me.
It’s kind of fitting for our situation, but I’m only like that with Declan, apparently. Why, I don’t know. I don’t want to look too closely at what he’s doing to me or try to label what he’s making me feel.
The song ends, shifting the mood, and I disconnect the call. I’m suddenly aware of our intimate position and how close his mouth is.
Declan’s weight is heavy atop me, and even though his muscles are hard and unyielding, it’s not scary or suffocating. It feels . . . nice. Warm. Inviting. Pressed this close, chest to chest, I feel his every breath, every heartbeat. It makes me want get even closer.
I swallow and bring my arm down. “You’re probably the only person in the world who’d call me sweet. Everybody else would stick with sour.”
’Course that’s because it’s all I let them see.
His dark hair brushes my forehead as his eyes search mine. “I don’t think you’re sweet, not yet. But I think you could be.” His thumb grazes my cheek as his eyes dip to my mouth, his voice growing softer. “I think you could be very sweet for the right person.”
Just when I think he might kiss me, he looks back up. If I wasn’t pinned in place already, his gaze alone would do it. From this close, I can see the gold flecks dotting his bright green eyes as they burn with a mixture of desire and tenderness. I’ve never been looked at like this before and I’m not quite sure what it means, but it’s both thrilling and terrifying.
“I meant what I said. No strings, no expectations, no sex. Just you and just once, if that’s all you want.”
He’s so beautiful I can’t stand it. I can’t even look him in the eye anymore. He’s like the male equivalent of Medusa, only instead of turning to stone, I’m in danger of bursting into flames.
I bite my lip, trying to keep my libido in check, but it’s impossible with his hips cradled between my thighs and the hard bulge of his erection pressing into the inseam of my shorts. It takes everything in me not to rock my hips and get the delicious friction I know is waiting for me. And all I can smell is Declan, which doesn’t help. His heady combination of soap, fresh laundry, and a touch of cologne is making my blood boil in a really lovely way.
It transcends the watered-down versions of lust I’ve felt in the past, until my nerve endings are on fire and instead of pumping blood through my veins, my body’s pumping a liquid, tangible form of desire. It’s wonderfully chaotic and I don’t think I ever want this feeling to end, because for the first time in my life, I feel truly alive.
Yeah, but how long will this feeling last?
My high is dashed by the unwelcome, but probably necessary reminder of why I gave up sex in the first place. I mean, sure, I want this now, but how will I feel tomorrow? Will I regret it? Will I feel cheap and dirty?
Something tells me I won’t, but I’m not sure I want to risk ruining this beautiful feeling if I’m wrong. I should make my way back to sanity and self-control, because once this fire catches, it’ll be unstoppable. I need to keep this little burning ember contained within me. Just shove it down like I do with everything else.
Giving him a cocky grin I don’t really feel, I say, “I thought you said you’d make me beg.”
He twirls a lock of my hair around his finger, smiling down at me with the cockiness I’d just feigned. “Trust me, Kitten, after a few minutes with me between your legs, you will.”
God. My walls clench in response, and I wonder how I could possibly regret something I want so much.
You can’t. You won’t.
All thought leaves my brain except for monosyllabic words like “yes,” “more,” and “want.” I struggle to think through the desire clouding my head, because I still don’t get why he’s offering to do this.
“Why?” I whisper. “What do you get out of it?” You don’t get something for nothing. He’s got to have an endgame.
C’mon, do you really care at this point?
It’s like he senses my resolve weakening, because he leans down and kisses my jaw softly, making my toes curl. My phone slips out of my hand and lands somewhere on the floor, but I don’t care. I’m too busy gripping his broad shoulders as his stubble brushes my cheek, my eyes sliding closed as I revel in the alternating roughness and softness of him.
His tongue licks at my neck, teasing the area just under my ear before he nips it, then places a soothing kiss over the spot. “Isn’t it obvious?” he murmurs against my skin. “I’d get you.”
The ties holding my control in place are starting to disintegrate from the heat building inside me, but I can’t bring myself to care. It’s easier not to fight it, and it would feel so good to just go with his flow.