by Tricia Lynne
“Fuck. I feel every bit of that.” Declan grabbed my shoulders, pulled me upright against his chest. He couldn’t penetrate as deep and he cut himself loose, plunging faster, harder. He wrapped an arm around my chest, slipping his free hand between my legs to find my clit.
I wound an arm around his neck and shoved my ass back against him.
“Now who’s the cock tease,” he snarled as he rolled his fingers through my wet lips.
I cried his name, tears prickling the corners of my eyes. It was too much sensation; the pleasure wrenched through me, twisting my insides as my core contracted with orgasm and Declan pumped uncontrollably.
“Jesus, Avery.” My name was the last intelligible word he said as he bit down on the cord of my neck and squeezed the air from my lungs. Declan’s thrusts grew frantic with wild jerks and stops; he roared against my shoulder as he spilled inside me where no one else had ever been.
We fell in a heap, thoroughly ruined. In more ways than I cared to count. All the delusions were finally gone. Neither of us would be in control when we came together—the illusion, totally crushed, laying in imaginary pieces on the floor around the bed.
And so, too, were the last bits of my carefully erected wall.
* * *
—
“C’mon.” Declan lifted his weight from my back on shaky arms.
“No more. I need sleep.” My muscles had turned to Jell-O. My hiney was sore, my muffin was raw, my jaw clicked, and I could feel the sting of sweat in the scrapes on my shoulders. Even my scalp ached. Yet, each one was a delicious reminder of how I’d come undone, how he’d spun out of control. I smiled to myself while sprawled facedown in the sheets.
Reality crashed in on me all at once. Everyone before, and everyone after, would be compared to this man, and no one would measure up.
Declan slapped my ass startling me, and I rolled over. “No more sex, woman. I have no more sperm. You’ve cleaned me out.”
I smiled, pushed the dark away as Declan grabbed my wrists, hoisting me to my feet, and threw me over his shoulder. I squeaked, squealed, and slapped his ass. I rather enjoyed being treated like a lightweight.
He turned on the shower adjusting the warmth, placed a washcloth on the bar, and finally set me on my feet inside the stall. Two sets of copper fixtures, body jets, and two showerheads all converged in the middle of an oversized stall. And polished black granite with small copper flecks covered the walls and sparkled in the overhead lights.
I wet my hair as he let hot water beat on his neck. He lathered up the washcloth and turned me to face the wall, swept my hair over my shoulder, and set to work on my knotted shoulders.
“Thank you for giving me your behymen,” he whispered with a smile in his voice.
I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re welcome, though I don’t think I would have given it to anyone else.”
“I’m special, then?”
“I think you already know that. When it comes to my body, you have my complete trust, baby. You know what I need before I do, and that will probably haunt every man I sleep with for the rest of my life.”
He stiffened, the tension in his big frame a palpable energy radiating behind me.
“Seriously Declan, I can’t imagine anyone else measuring up. Figuratively or literally.”
His exhale was heavy and pained as he placed a kiss at my nape and skimmed rough palms over my lower back. “What about the rest of you…am I trusted with that?”
My turn to stiffen. I couldn’t—Declan wanted me to answer a question that he never would. I needed my dignity, my pride, intact, when I left this place.
With a weary exhale, his forehead dropped to my shoulder, hands on my hips as the silence stretching between us became a tangible thing. My stomach clenched. My chest felt hollow.
Eventually, the washcloth drifted over my butt. “Spread your legs.” His tone was thick and bitter. I spread my feet, felt suds slip between my cheeks as a hand slick with soap, and rough from guitar strings, cleansed my sore behind with heart-wrenching tenderness.
I bit down on my lip, fought the tears at bay.
Declan slid into a squat, moved the cloth down my legs, over the soles of my feet. He lingered around my ankle with a whisper light touch. “Turn.” His voice was raw and soft.
When I turned, he didn’t look up, didn’t meet my eyes, though I longed to see the secrets he held there. To look into his and know that everything would be okay.
He soaped my legs, slid the cloth between my thighs and over my mound. Fingers cleaned inside my folds with the kind of gentleness most people wouldn’t think a man like Declan was capable of. Each touch was so intimate, so soul-devouring, it twisted my gut into a stellar fucking knot. And I feared I’d turn to ash in his hands. When gasoline met match, ash was all that remained.
He worked his way up. Ribs, stomach, breasts. Arms and underneath. Then he tipped my head back under the water and worked shampoo though my hair.
Neither of us spoke. There was too much to say. Too much to fear. Everything left unsaid.
I rinsed my hair, ran conditioner through, and watched as Declan washed his body. The three feet between us turned into a thousand miles.
He had his share of scratches and scrapes, too. My nails down his chest and over his back, teeth marks on his shoulders and neck, red welts over his hips, a bruise on one pectoral. Even fingerprints on his butt.
This one needs a woman to give as good as she gets.
Shaun’s words haunted me as I closed my eyes and let the water beat on my face. I heard the washcloth hit the floor with a soft plop, then Declan’s hands slid into my hair and he cupped my nape. So intimate a feeling, the way he held me. Gentle and possessive. Compelling and frustrated.
My eyes stung with tears I never wanted to fall and never wanted him to see me shed. I tried to turn under the guise of beginning to rinse my hair, but he wouldn’t have it. Fisting my locks and holding me in place, he rolled my head back, his face looming above me.
I squeezed my eyelids shut.
His voice came out soft and ragged, and strained. “Avery, don’t take this from me.”
On a choked exhale, I opened my eyelids and let the tears fall freely as I met his fathomless gaze. It was all there. Everything, in that look. His frustration and disbelief, wonder and anguish. His soul, bared and shining through impossibly green eyes.
Declan searched my face, seeing everything I couldn’t say. Tears slipping over my cheeks in salty trails. We stood there for a lifetime, hot water beating down on us.
Finally, his lips sank to mine in a kiss that stole a piece of my soul I would never get back. I wound my arms around his waist, laid my cheek against his chest listening to that strong clear beat.
“What’s your favorite ballad, sweetness?”
“ ‘Broken.’ ”
“Seether.” The ghost of a smile on his lips looked pained.
“Yeah, and Amy Lee.”
“I can do that one.” Declan’s lips turned up at one corner as he stroked my cheek and began to hum.
He took up the first verse in a voice that sent chills racing over my skin and pain digging its claws through my chest. It wasn’t his full voice, but a muted version, which was soft and soothing and tender, and moved me beyond words.
I had a tightly held secret not even Kat knew—I didn’t sound too bad singing in the shower—so when Amy’s part came around I sang for him, too. Because, this, I could give him. Much to his surprise and chagrin.
God, I loved that look more than any other he wore.
We were ground down to the bone with the poignant lyrics of that song, hitting us much too close to home. But we swayed under the water, and pretended not to notice. As we sang together the things we wouldn’t say…
Under the guise of a beautifully written rock ballad.
>
Chapter 19
When I woke, the sheets next to me were cool. Declan was sitting at the desk, already showered and half-dressed, hunched over and scribbling on a pad of paper. I admired the picture he made. The breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the indentions of his lower back, his wings—the boning and skin, in some places so weighted, in others so fine. I etched every detail into my memory.
Three more nights then it was back to Dallas. Back to the grind and the kitten heels, the tight brown bun and cheaters. Funny, I didn’t even think of it as home, just…back. I exhaled heavily trying to rid myself of the thought.
“You’re awake.” Declan looked up.
“Mmm, no.” I stretched. “Come back to bed.”
He closed the notebook, shoving it in a drawer. Suddenly sleep was the last thing on my mind as I watched him move toward me, his belt hanging undone. He dropped down over me and turned my body liquid when his lips met mine.
“I wish I could, but it’s past noon. I gotta open the bar for rehearsal.”
“You open the bar?”
His eyes lit with laugher. “Avery, Whiskey Moon is my place. I own it.”
My mouth fell open. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Declan shrugged. “I thought you’d figured it out. Anyhow, I gotta open for the guys. We need to make some adjustments to the set list for the concert.”
I arched an eyebrow in question.
“The tickets I sent you?”
“Yeah, Flogging Molly.”
“Yeah, and BlackSmith. We’re opening the show.”
Oh! “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t see that on the tickets.” I’d been preoccupied with the note.
“When I sent those, I wasn’t sure if you’d take me up on that date or tell me to fuck off. I figured you’d still go to the concert and I could get you backstage,” he admitted with a smirk. He dropped another kiss onto my lips, tugging the sheet down below my breasts. “I don’t know what you’ve got planned today, but you’re gonna come to rehearsal instead.”
“Ordering me around? You should know better by now. Besides, what if Kat had something planned?”
“She’ll learn to live with disappointment.” Declan brushed the underside of my breast with the tip of his finger. Man, underboob did it for me. When he ran the finger over my nipple, I shivered, and the heaviness started to build.
I looked pointedly at the growing bulge in his pants. “I thought you were leaving?”
“I am.” He bent, sucked my bottom lip between his teeth, and bit down. Then he stood, grabbing a T-shirt off the couch. He slipped it on as he walked through the doors without looking back. “I’ll see you at the bar.”
“You goddamned maddening arrogant rat-fucking bastard cunt tease!”
His deep laugh rumbled back through the closed door. “Good morning, Avery.”
Declan owned Whiskey Moon. The bar did good business, but…black card money? Then there was the hot rod and the hotel, the house outside the city. Why was he trying to hide it? Something wasn’t adding up. Whiskey Moon alone wouldn’t turn that kind of profit. And just how much money did he have? Kat money? The parallel to my ex made me jittery. Would I be the dirty little secret to Declan that I had been to Jason? Good enough to fuck. Good enough as a side-piece. Not good enough to let into his everyday life.
I shook the thought loose. Seriously, what did it matter? We were having a fling, not a relationship. It would be over soon enough, and Declan’s money or how he earned it wasn’t my business. It was careless to let myself think anything more than that.
Pulling my phone off the nightstand, I called Kat.
Jamie answered, grunting unintelligibly.
“Jamie,” I said, but all I heard were shuffling sheets and a man belch. My, my, weren’t we comfortable with one another. “Jamie! Wake up dickhead; let me talk to Kat.”
“The fuck? Shhh…m’sleepin’.”
“It’s past noon and you’re late for rehearsal. Declan’s gonna pud one off in your ear if you don’t get the fuck up and head for the bar.” Jesus. The longer I stayed away from work, the filthier my mouth got.
“Oh, shit!” He gasped. A trip and thud, clothes rattled followed by another, “Shit.”
“Hey, sweetie,” Kat came on. “I thought you guys would be—” She broke off at a murmur and kiss. “I thought you’d still be letting your fuzzies cuddle.”
“Jamie’s late for rehearsal. Are you in your room?”
“Yeah, I got no desire to go to his place.” Telling Kat, very telling. “Where are you?”
“Declan’s room. Do we have plans today?”
“Nothing big, couple shops I want to hit and I thought I’d take you to the aquarium or something. Where’s Declan?”
“He had to open the club for rehearsal.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. You want to go to Whiskey Moon instead?”
“I’d rather do that than stare at fish and shit.”
“Meet me in the lobby in thirty and we’ll get something to eat. We can check out rehearsal and then hit your shops.”
“Okay.” She yawned.
“Uh-oh, somebody didn’t get much sleep.”
“If you did, I’m disappointed in you.”
“No, not much for me either.” I paused. “Katia? Say goodbye like you have some manners.”
Click.
* * *
—
I didn’t fuss over my clothes or put on makeup. I slipped into frayed jean shorts and my Vans, pulling on a green T-shirt that had a cartoon graphic involving an angry cat and a livid chicken.
In the lobby, Kat was kicked back on a sofa, fending off an admirer. Her hair looked a bit wild, but it suited the rest of her morning-after look. After she gave her creeper the brush-off, she brought me a cup of lobby coffee. “Where you been? Creepy guy was starting to wig me out.”
“Sorry. I had to use hotel conditioner last night and I slept on wet hair. Rewash.”
“Did Declan shoot a load in your hair? Because if he did, you need to have a talk with him. Nut butter in the hair is a no-no.”
“No, he didn’t shoot in my hair. What’s your excuse? Playing with a fork in the toaster or fostering baby birds?”
“Bitch, I’m fabulous.” She fluffed her wild curls as she walked away.
“What happened to your shoulders, Kat? They’re all scratched up. Looks like someone dragged you up and down a concrete slab.” I aimed a wicked grin at her back as she flipped me off over her shoulder.
Outside we grabbed croissants, real caffeine, and walked through The Quarter to the bar. Kat tattled about some of Jamie’s more interesting proclivities (apparently, I wasn’t the only one who liked a special finger), and I told her about the morning’s revelations mixed in with a few of last night’s, with some strategically placed omissions. I knew Kat had been there, done that, left her panties behind, but keeping some of it to myself made me feel like it was for Declan and me only.
She didn’t have any idea about the club and concert either. “Sneaky bastards,” she quipped as she tapped on the door to Whiskey Moon. My phone pinged in my back pocket and I fired off a quick text to my boss while we waited for a petite thing with red lips and four-inch heels to unlock the door.
She had porcelain skin, straight black hair that swung around her shoulders, severely cut bangs, and a pin-up tattoo on one arm. Behind her, I could hear the guys tuning instruments and I slipped my phone back into my pocket.
“Avery and Kat, right? Come on in.” Her high-pitched voice was at odds with her Suicide Girl looks. “I’m Sadie. Shaun’s wife.”
“In the flesh,” Kat responded as Sadie relocked the door.
“So, you’re the infamous Kat. Jamie will not shut up about you. He’s like a six-year-old with a new toy
. Of course, I can see why now. Aren’t you quite the stunner?” She gave Kat a flirty wink. “He’s been all, Kat this, Kat that. Girl, you must have a vagina paved with 24-karat gold.”
Kat and I snorted in unison. “I think I’m gonna make him call me ‘The Golden Twat’ from now on.”
“Nuh-uh, baby,” I said, unimpressed. “You’re more like a twat waffle.”
Sadie grinned with a mischievous gleam in her dark blue eyes. “Oh, you two are going to be fun playmates. Come sit down front with me. We can hurl insults at the band.”
Declan turned as we pulled out chairs. When he caught me eyeing him, he hit me with his sexy grin.
“Something to drink, girls?” Sadie asked. “I’m getting a refill.”
“I’ll take a soda.”
“Got coffee?” Kat slapped her sunglasses on the table, rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“I can manage that.”
“You need help with those?” I called after and Sadie waved me off.
My attention hit the stage just as Matthias sauntered up the stairs. Declan and Jamie had heads bent—one raven, one fair, brows furrowed—over papers resting on a stool discussing their set list. Declan glanced up, winked, and my body warmed before he looked back to Jamie. Shaun tuned his bass, arms bulging as he bit his bottom lip between his teeth. As if that wasn’t enough, Matt stripped off his T-shirt and pulled his hair back in a rubber band before he crawled behind his drum kit. His toned arms and thick chest had obviously seen lots of practice hours, and those abs were seriously cut, but he didn’t fit with the rest of the band. He was too “boy next door” to be a heavy metal drummer. No tattoos. No piercings. Just soccer shorts and untied running shoes.
“Fuck.” Kat licked over her bottom lip. “These guys seriously won the gene pool olympics.”
“Amen,” Sadie and I said in unison as she set our drinks down. The three of us snickered and Matthias’ mouth turned up at one corner with a small shake of his head.
Kat nudged my arm, grinned, then shouted, “FREEBIRD!” as Jamie pulled on his black and white Les Paul.
