Echo(64)

“Are you okay?” he questions as he walks over to me and sits down on the bed.

“Yeah,” I tremble.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. Bad dream, I guess.”

We sit, facing each other, and I notice he’s no longer wearing his shirt, and the moment my eyes catch it, I choke on a strangled breath.

It’s there, on his chest—my disgrace.

The unmistakable proof.

The reality of my fraudulence.

My focus is locked on what remains from my twisted game. It mars his perfect body.

Two gunshot wounds branded on his left pec, tainting his chest in my scum.

My pulse quickens, and when he looks down to see what has me so shaken, my heart reunites with the anguish from when I thought I’d lost him forever.

My hand lifts, and he doesn’t stop me when I reach out and brush my fingertips over the bullet wounds. The raised flesh that hides the deep scar tissue beneath splinters me to the core.

I keep my eyes on his chest as he allows me this touch, and when my chin starts to quiver, I force my words out around the lump lodged in my throat, and the tears slip. “I thought you were dead.”

And in an unexpected move, a tender gesture I never thought I’d get again, he cups my face and licks my tears. My hands grip tightly to his wrists as he cradles my cheeks. Closing my eyes, I lean into his mouth as he swallows my salts.

In an unrushed moment, his lick eclipses into a silken kiss that erupts a wondrous rekindling inside of my womb. Whether I believe his emotions to be real or not, I pretend that they are, because I want his love so badly. I want to believe his lips are genuine and they mean exactly what my heart yearns for them to mean.

I calm as we now share the same breath. My hands still cling to his wrists because I need the support of his strength in this moment. Opening my lips with his, he sinks his tongue deep inside of my mouth, claiming and binding us together.

His taste is home—familiar and delicious.

My body begins to swim in bliss when he lays me down on my back, and my legs fall open for him. He’s incredibly hard, pressing himself against me. I whimper as his kisses become more intent. His lips begin to move fervently, rapturing my mouth, and I meld to him, allowing him to take take take. I’d give him my last breath if that’s what he desired.

He’s my body’s epitaph.

His intensity grows and we’re nothing but wild heartbeats, frantic breaths, bleeding lips, broken souls. We cling, grab, and claw our way to incomprehensible closeness. His mouth finds the curve of my neck, and I writhe in pleasure as he bites me, marking my flesh, breaking through the delicate tissue, bleeding me out for him to taste.

He growls deeply, chest vibrating against mine. Reaching down, he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up, but quickly stops. Bracing himself above me, he looks down at my stomach, and when my eyes move to see what’s pulled him away from me, my gut turns. I’ve mutilated my skin, gifting it with monstrous bruises.

Declan drops his head, the tips of his hair brushing along my stomach. The moment my hands touch his head, he snaps up and pushes himself off of me. I sit up and instantly miss him as I watch his sudden change. His eyes narrow then pinch shut as ache penetrates his face.

What he’s able to mend inside of me so quickly, he shatters even faster.

He stands and walks away, depleting the goodness he just filled me with. But before he leaves, he turns back, and says, “You breathe deceitful fumes; I can taste it when we kiss.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me an empty mess, not wanting to think about the war that’s going on inside of him, because that war will always cast back to me, and I can’t deal with the responsibility of that burden in this moment. I’m too weak.



WHEN THE SUN begins to shine through the windows, I wake. My head is already throbbing as I stretch and sit up, tired from being woken up all through the night. I had a hard time falling back to sleep after kissing Declan, and when I walk to the bathroom, my darkened eyes confirm.

I rummage around but find no toiletries. All my belongings are back at Isla’s. I shiver from the chill in the house as I make my way to Declan’s room, but it’s empty.

“What are you doing?” he asks, startling me, and when I turn around, he’s walking up the stairs with a mug in each hand.

“I woke up, and . . . I was just looking for you. I wanted to freshen up, but there was nothing in the bathroom.”

He hands me one of the mugs, and I’m instantly greeted with a fragrant floral spice from the tea he made for me.