Down and Out(84)

I wish I could be as brave as him and trek into the unknown with my head held high and my heart wide open, but I can’t, and I’m a f*cking coward for it. Declan deserves someone with more faith—someone whose heart isn’t defective and can love him back the way he deserves to be loved. I’m not sure I’d be able to love him so freely, without reservation, and it’s not fair of me to lead him on in the hopes of trying to figure it out.
He deserves more. And I hope one day he’ll find it. But in order for him to do that, I need to let him go.
Declan’s expression flickers. “You don’t mean that. You’re scared and you’re just trying to push me away.”
“I’m sorry if I led you on. This was just supposed to be temporary, Declan. I told you in the beginning, if we do this, then it’s purely physical.” I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling as I shrug and force out the next few words. “We f*cked twice. That’s not a relationship, it’s just sex.”
He lets his hands fall from mine. “You’re really gonna do this? You’re really gonna downplay what we have?” He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “Wow. You’re even more f*cked up than I thought.”
That hurts, but what hurts even more is the look on his face. It’s the realization of what I’ve been trying to tell him all along—that I’m beyond saving.
His eyes turn cold—mocking, even—as he steps forward. “And I hate to break it to you, Kitten, but I’ve never really f*cked you.” My back hits the wall as he leans in, boxing me in with his arms. His lips are dangerously close to mine as he murmurs, “Do you want to see the difference before you go?”
Yes, please.
I swallow, trying not to look at the tattooed forearms next to my head or the lip ring that’s so close to me, I could stick my tongue out and touch it. That damn silver hoop is my kryptonite.
His proximity and the heat of his words makes my core clench in familiar anticipation. I want him. I’ll always want him. But that doesn’t mean this is a good idea. Sex only complicates things, and they’re complicated enough.
Somehow, by the grace of God, I manage to say, “W-we shouldn’t.” Yes, my voice is shaky and breathless, but so what? I should get a cookie just for managing coherent words at this point.
Declan’s lips brush my jaw as he kisses his way down to the pulse point in my neck. My eyes flutter closed as I fist my hands by my sides to keep from reaching out and touching him, because I really want to touch him. I want to slip my hands under his shirt and feel the warmth and hardness of his washboard abs, or tangle my fingers in his hair while I kiss him stupid.
But I shouldn’t. Sex will only make this harder and confuse him. I can’t be selfish right now, even though my mind’s telling me to take advantage of what will surely be our last time.
“Says who?” His breath’s hot against my skin. “I’m the one who’s getting left. I should at least get a parting gift, don’t you think?”
My heart cracks. That’s got to be the ugliest thing he’s ever said to me, and even though I know I deserve it, it still makes me want to karate-chop him in the throat. So I settle with telling him, “You’re an *,” as I try to push past him.
“Says the girl who just ripped out my f*cking heart.”
Touché.
He pulls me back until I’m pressed against the wall again, but I refuse to look at him. Undeterred, his knuckles graze my stomach through my dress. It backflips at his touch, then drops to somewhere near my feet when he takes my earlobe into his hot, wet mouth, sending shivers to all the right places.
“You know it’ll be good,” he murmurs, brushing my ear with his sinful words.
“Good” wouldn’t even describe it. It’d be so amazingly fantastic I’d be a twitchy, comatose mess afterward.
I place my hands on his chest with the intention of pushing him away, but the broad, hard muscles under me are highly distracting. All I want to do is rip off this shirt and worship him with my mouth. “Not if you’re gonna be mean about it. Be nicer.” Hmm. That didn’t sound very convincing at all, did it?
His fingers dip lower, brushing up the insides of my thighs as he slips under my dress. It has my pulse skyrocketing into overdrive and my panties clinging to me as I grow wet and achy.
Why isn’t this a good idea, again?
My eyes squeeze shut as my head lolls to the side. This is not fair. How can he reduce me to such a quivering, aroused mess with only a few words and PG-13 touches?
“I’m tired of being nice. Look where it’s gotten me. Right now I want to be very, very mean and rough and bad,” he says slowly, painfully enunciating every erotic word.
A sliver of fear creeps in and mixes with the lust flowing through me. What exactly does he mean by “rough?” I know from experience that rough sex and f*cking are not always the same.
I don’t deal well with rough.
Sliding higher, he breaches my panty-line and his fingers slip into my embarrassingly wet folds. Skilled fingers circle my flesh, making my fingers dig into his shoulders as I all but forget my name.
Holy shit, how can he make me feel this good with just his fingers?
Declan kisses my jaw. “Do you think you can handle that?”
My legs twitch as he works between them, rubbing me with a steady rhythm that has my mouth parting and my knees about to give out. I want to say yes, because at this moment I think I could handle anything he throws my way so long as he never stops touching me, but I’m still hesitant.