Stay With Me 2

by Jessica Aniston

  The tension doesn’t fade. Even when he lets her go, releases her dress and says something she doesn’t quite hear through the rumble of blood rushing past her ears, there’s still that energy between them, crackling with static, with sparks. It’s still there when they leave the store and reunite with Gorman. Karin thinks she has a window. Maybe, if he was actually serious, if this moment was actually real, she could maybe use this week’s challenge to finally get somewhere, and so she forms a plan.

  “Can you just stay here for a second?” she asks the guys as they move underneath a restaurant’s patio for some shade. “I have to grab some tampons from the drug store.”

  She’s got enough tampons to last her three periods but they don’t know that. When she joins them again, it’s with Trojans in her bag, because no one can ever accuse Karin Hanson of going to battle unprepared.

  Phase One of her great big battle plan consists of walking around their bedroom that night in her underwear, complaining about the heat and then innocently asking if it’s fine that she sleeps in her bralette and panties. Declan simply nods, but the look on his face and how he flips the bedside lamp off before she’s even ducked under her covers encourages her to move on to Phase Two in the morning.

  It’s really quite ingenious. Dance rehearsal is so convenient for an attempt at seduction, she almost has to laugh. The song Sinea has chosen does the rest. Bless Sinea and Fos, seriously.

  The singer croons sweet words and the air is filled with hear and tension.

  The whole day, during the morning training and the evening training they’ve scheduled around filming some more talking heads interviews, Karin presses herself close to her fake boyfriend, dance partner, and friend whenever the choreography allows and doesn’t stop even when Gorman drops in on them to get some more b-roll and doesn’t stop either when Sinea and Foster check in on them for some last minute directions.

  “Good job, Declan and Karin,” Sinea says before they leave them again. “Great faces, both of you. Declan especially, looks like you want to ... what do you say? Devour her. Keep it up. But don’t go too long, it’s already past ten, save up your strength for the competition tomorrow. Really fantastic work, you two!”

  The door closes, leaving them alone again, Karin’s head snaps back to Declan’s and she smirks at him.

  “What are you doing?” he asks her darkly.

  “Nothing,” she says innocently, blinking at him from under her lashes and licking her lips for good measure.

  “Rinny,” he warns, tightening his grip on her in the dance hold.

  “We’re just dancing, Declan,” she says. “Aren’t we?”

  It’s a challenge he doesn’t meet, like she knew he wouldn’t. He just keeps staring at her and squares his jaw, something fiery pushing its way across his features, something competitive, almost vicious.

  “Well then,” he rasps and sharply digs his fingernails into her bare back. “Let’s dance.” Maybe he’s taking the challenge after all.

  Declan waits a beat, until the song they have on repeat catches on the chorus again and swiftly gets back into the choreography, only that his turns are so much sharper now, his hold on her this much firmer. He huffs and puffs as they cross the floor, taking such large steps that occasionally, he’s practically carrying her, dragging her so her feet don’t even touch the ground and she loses herself for a while there in the way he takes control, how he takes command of her body like it’s an extension of his own. She almost forgets that she came into this with a mission, but she gladly remembers before that one move they do, a tango one, where she hooks her leg around his hip and he pulls her closer to bend her backwards, which is the moment where she adds a small but pronounced extra swivel to her hips, far enough out to push up against his crotch and while doing so, brings her hand from where it’s gracefully extended away from her up to his head to grab a fistful of his hair and pull.

  It’s almost amazing how quickly he reacts to it, like lightning. He makes a strangled sound, north of a whimper and south of a growl and rips her up to him, scratching a hard line up her back as he does, one that will be still red in the morning, and then hugs her to his body. Like he had that night in bed, his full length pressed against her, front smashed up against front. She embraces him as she embraces the moment, slotting her head against his clavicle bone, breathing into his neck. He holds her so tightly she can feel every single shiver run through his body. Damn him, if he ever tries to act like there isn’t a part in him that likes this. Even if he’s holding onto himself so tightly, she can feel it in every taut muscle pressed against her; he’s all tension, from his thighs to his chest, to his arms wrapped around her.

  “Don’t do this to me,” he rumbles into her ear, his lips wet against the shell of it.

  “Do what to you, Declan?” she breathes and hopes it sounds a little like a moan.

  Before she can react to it, he has moved his arms around on her. Next thing she knows, her feet aren’t touching the ground anymore as she’s elevated, legs split around his groin and he’s carrying her quick-footed, holding her by her ass until she’s hitting something with her back and finds herself trapped between the wall and his firm body. Each labored breath he takes resonates in her chest, each heartbeat aligns with his, frantic and getting away from them, and when he thrusts his hips forward, just once, she thinks she might have played herself. He won’t do anything else, though, he just holds her there against the wall in a death grip, his head locked in her neck and does nothing but breathe in her ear. Yes, she definitely played herself.

  “I’m going to go,” he whispers, finally, which is the literal opposite of what she had wanted to hear from him at the end of her mission.

  She’s shell-shocked when he puts her back on her feet gently, runs his hands over her shoulders, and then touches his lips to her forehead.

  “You drive me absolutely crazy,” he whispers as he leans out, taking his hands off of her, and she strains to make contact, to read what he’s thinking, to understand what he is saying - what it all means, what just happened and how he’s reacting to her, then and now, but she doesn’t catch his eye. He doesn’t look at her as he turns around and bolts, leaving her confused and throbbing.

  She doesn’t find him in their room after she has collected herself enough to brave the walk back from the tennis court to the villa in the dark of night that has fallen over her. As hard as she tries, she can’t keep herself awake to wait him out. She drops off, falling asleep to her heart still beating out of her chest. Her dreams are hazy and erratic, switching from one scene to the next, the only thing they have in common being Declan and his body and his voice. She is drenched when she startles awake from chasing an orgasm in her sleep that her dream couldn’t materialize. He’s lying beside her, fast asleep, unmoving like a rock. Oh god, she’s so worked up, she could burst. She needs to do something about it or she will rightly explode.

  She deliberates stalking off to the shower and then for a very long moment tries to talk herself into waking him up and just climbing onto his lap to get it fucking over with, but that feels wrong and like harassment and she’s still not sure if he wants to sleep with her or not, so she can’t wake him up. She can’t leave the bed either though, because that would maybe wake him up after all and when he’s up, there’s no telling what she might do. So after a second, she sneaks her hand down her body, past her bra and down her panties - there are no more pajamas from now on, she’s decided - and finds the spot where she’s aching, working her fingers on her as subtly and quietly as she can.

  She just needs to come, just come really quickly and then she can go back to sleep. But it’s not going to be quick because she’s so high strung, her body is completely overwhelmed. That’s not to say it doesn’t feel good, because it does. Awake like this, she can sift through the moments of the day, of the dancing and him, him pushing her against the wall like that. He could have so easily, so easily just done it there.

  He’s strong enough, he can
keep her in the air and rut into her until she sees stars. God, if she only knew what he was like in bed. If just once he’d take pity on her and show her. Maybe if she knew she could move on. Maybe she can only get him out of her system if they go all the way. God, she wants to go all the way. She twitches, having hit her spot there and she can come now, just needs a little bit more. Just that one last bit to get her over the edge. That memory of him hitting the wall with her, boxing her in.

  You drive me absolutely crazy, he’d said. Don’t do this to me.

  Ah. Yes. She shudders, building up, and she can’t help how she breathes out on a low rumble, imagining him inside her, firm and hungry.

  “Karin.”

  It’s a whisper in the dark, little more than a strangled breath. Oh no. Oh god, no.

  She freezes, her fingers on her skin going rigid and numb as her breath dies in her chest, from shock and from how quickly her arousal dampens in face of the humiliation that is sure to follow. She needs to do something, she needs to -

  “No, don’t stop,” he whimpers and then his hand is on her forearm, shaking a bit but holding on. “Please, let me…”

  “Yes,” she whispers but it barely carries. He heard her all the same.

  She doesn’t dare breathe when he gets closer, running his palm down her arm which still leads into her panties. Declan buries his head in her neck as he keeps on his downward trail and she spreads her knees apart for him, so he can touch her however he wants. Next to her ear, his breath catches when he’s there at long last, and she keens with blind pleasure as he works his digits around hers, getting them slick. This might be the most erotic thing she has ever experienced. Not just because of his fingers curling into her heat but the way he breathes into her hair so hard and heavy, she thinks he might pass out. She wants him so badly. She can't believe this is real. Oh God, please, don't let this be a dream.

  "Do you want to make you feel good," he murmurs softly, drunkenly, and teases her with his hand on hers until she sees stars at the back of her eyes, he's doing so well.

  Take care of business for me, indeed. She mewls, high and needy.

  “My God,” Declan damn well near moans, all choked up and struggling for air, and it’s so hot she almost comes. She mutters his name dizzily and that’s all the encouragement he needs apparently, because half a moment later he’s moved her hand to the side and is pushing his fingers into her. He goes slow on the first one, slow and gentle and she bucks up into it quick enough for her hips to snap audibly. Declan growls at her eagerness, almost a chuckle in there, but a hungry, somewhat feral one. Then he starts moving his hand.

  In all my life no-one has touched me so close, it resounds in her head at the way he touches her. Nor made me feel so sweet. He knows what he's doing. His fingers are inside her, finding their way, making her sing. Be as firm as you can be, and he's wanted it, he wanted this so bad, his voice was all but a croak. Please, let me.

  Heaven and hell, she doesn’t last. It’s ridiculous. It’s tragic, most of all. Finally something is actually going on, finally, he is touching her ... and she is done for in moments. She cries out, yelps as it hits her and her vision whites out even behind closed lids. She’s coming so hard, she could cry, and, oh wait, because she is pathetic and needy and a total loser, she does. She’s crying by the time he pulls his fingers out and she twitches helplessly on the aftershocks.

  His hand is gone from her in a second - and knowing him he is carelessly wiping off his fingers somewhere - before he puts it back on her lower abdomen, stroking his flat palm over her stomach while she comes down and then moves it higher to play with her belly button ring which nearly has her keeling over, more sensitive now than before her orgasm. Oh damn it all to hell, why is she still crying?

  His nose bumps against her neck, he’s running it up and down there, and then he chuckles so his whole body moves. Great, so he can laugh about her with that mouth but he won’t kiss her. Not even her neck, not even her temple. He’s done that before, he could do it again. Why won’t he just kiss her?

  “Don't laugh at me,” she pleads and means to sound angry but it just comes out pathetic.

  “I'm not laughing at you,” he whispers and foregoes her belly button to wrap the arm snugly around her, getting a good grip to pull her in. “I think you’re amazing.”

  “Then why won't you kiss me?” she asks him, even if it’s not smart, even if she should try to carry on with her plan, because now’s the time. Now is the right time. Why must she mess it up by talking about it?

  “Rinny, please don’t,” he breathes, a little pained.

  “Do you want me to ... ?” she asks quickly before she’s ruined it entirely, bringing her hand from where it had clutched her bra helplessly before to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his cotton shirt between her fingers and then trailing down - but he catches her wrist and stops her.

  “No. You don’t need to - ”

  “What if I want to?” she cuts in.

  “Karin, no, please,” he begs, literally begs. That’s how much he doesn’t want her to touch him. It feels like a rusty knife twisting her gut. “I can’t. Let's just go to sleep, alright? Let's just sleep.”

  He can’t be serious, he just can’t think that it’s fine to try and wiggle away now, after this, after what just happened. She’s still not quite over her head splitting apart from how fast he made her erupt and he’s already trying to get away? Does he really care for her that little?

  “Don’t you dare leave me alone now,” she hisses and he winces.

  But at least he stays. He keeps his arms around her and she forces herself to try and go to sleep. She could go clean up but with his track record she’s afraid he’ll be gone by the time she gets back, so she plucks at his shoulder until he’s on his back and she lies down on his chest. It would be wonderful if he wasn’t pulling away already, if she couldn’t feel it in his body under her, how he wants to run for the hills. Trying to sleep is a ridiculous endeavor, she is well aware, especially with his heartbeat racing under her ear, but eventually, after an eternity being quiet in the dark with him, she sinks, lets oblivion take her, and is already afraid of the morning in that last moment she’s conscious before her senses leave her.

  Karin wakes up to his eyes staring at her. She sort of expected him to look different in the morning, considering it’s the morning after he made her come with his hand, but he still looks the same. It’s still just Declan there on the pillow next to her head. With his messy Declan-bed-hair and his pointy Declan-nose and the Declan-furrow of his brow when he is thinking about something, casting his eyes down a moment after she wakes up in his very Declan-way of not being able to look at people when things gets hard.

  “Were you watching me sleep?” she asks.

  “Can we talk?” he asks, ignoring her question.

  “Sure.”

  He doesn’t have to say it, though, she already knows what’s coming.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that.” And there it is.

  “Declan - ,” she tries, even if it’s useless. He won’t give her a chance, he won’t even give her that.

  “No, please. It was wrong and stupid,” he laments. “And I shouldn’t have done it.” It’s like he’s slapping her across the face with every word and he doesn’t even care. “We never should’ve done it, there are lines. Lines we do not cross. I shouldn’t have crossed them, I’m sorry.”

  “Its fine,” she says, trying to shut her feelings off, to let go and be empty, anything so she doesn’t have to be aware of how her chest is splitting open at his rejection. But wasn’t she just asking for it? Like a pathetic, naive little girl. “It’s fine, it was just a favor.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he says and he sounds disgusted with himself. How could she delude herself into thinking she’d be worth it for him to be brave? To not run away as soon as things get complicated? It’s not happening. Not for her. Never for her. After all these years.
/>   “It’s fine,” she says and wishes she were anywhere but here.

  “Rinny,” he tries but not hard enough to even touch her.

  “It’s really fine, alright?” she says and sits up, trying to figure out how she can feel like she’s split open from pain when her body is absolutely fine.

  “Alright. I’m sorry,” he repeats.

  “You don’t need to apologise,” she says sharply and scrambles out from under the blankets. She can’t stay here and listen to him beg for forgiveness for putting his hands on her, something she has wanted more than anything since she had the faintest idea about how other people’s hands on your body could be a good thing, a fantastic thing. “I’m going for a run. I’ll see you at the dress rehearsal.”

  She gets changed in the bathroom, avoiding the mirrors and she prays to God that no one is up yet and snooping around in the yard, because it’s ridiculously obvious that she’s crying. She can’t seem to stop. But she’d prefer crying from having an orgasm courtesy of Declan Shelton over getting her heart broken by Declan Shelton. Again. Good Lord, why does she never learn? And how did this night take such a rapid turn for the worse?

  “Rinny, it’s not that I don’t ... ” Declan says immediately when she comes out of the bathroom, her head tilted down under her baseball cap so he won’t see her eyes. He’s leaning forward in bed but it seems it’s too big an effort to leave it, to go to her, to make it better. Why does this still hurt? “I just don’t think we should be doing this. I don’t want to mess us up.”