by Eden Bradley
She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s sick. I believe it’s human nature to stay with what is familiar. Safe. But I also believe we can aspire to more. If I didn’t truly believe that, I would never be anyone but that girl who was completely controlled by The Grandmother. I would never be able to survive being away from that control. And yet, here I am, learning to live a different life.”
“Maybe you’re braver than I am,” he muttered, half under his breath.
“Tell me about Abby, Declan.”
He started to shake his head, but he began to talk anyway, his gaze firmly fixed on the dark ground in front of him. She could see even in the dim light the vein pulsing in his temple, how tightly his jaw was clenched, and her heart hurt for him.
“God. That was…maybe even worse. About six months after my mom died I joined the military. Do you know what that is?”
“Yes, I know.”
“I had to get away, you know? I had to do something. I couldn’t handle going back to San Francisco, back to school. I didn’t feel like I could just get back to my old life because it wasn’t my old life. Nothing felt the same. Like it would be too weird to pretend it was. So…they sent me to the Middle East. To Bahrain.”
He paused, rubbed at his scar. “It was my job to guard the family of a diplomat—an important American official. Abby was their daughter. She was sweet. Pretty. Forbidden. I fell for her the minute I saw her. We developed a relationship, of sorts. We’d talk sometimes, in the evenings. I was always careful not to overstep the boundaries with her. That was a part of my duty. It would have meant a discharge for me. The situation was impossible. I’d been thinking for weeks about a transfer. It would have been the smart thing to do. But I couldn’t do it. Maybe I wasn’t smart enough.”
Again, he stopped, and she let him just sit and breathe. He was quiet for so long she wasn’t sure he’d tell her more. But then he started talking again, both palms rubbing slowly over his denim-clad thighs.
“We were in the marketplace. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen pictures of these places in the Middle East. Even now it’s more like the bazaars a few hundred years ago, right there in the middle of a city. Tents and crowds and noise. I should have been more alert. But I was always so distracted by her…but that was no excuse. I had a job. Fuck.”
She reached out then, laying her hand on his arm. He flinched at first, but she held fast. “Declan, it’s okay. Just tell me.”
He turned to face her once more. His features were absolutely rigid, half his face caught in shadow. There was so much pain there. So much tension. She slipped her fingers down until she found his hand, was happy when he grasped hers, held on.
“They snuck up on us,” he said, his voice low and tight. “Thieves. Just common street thieves. I had a fucking gun, but they were so sly and fast. They managed to slit her throat before I could do anything. All for their fucking purses! Hers and her mother’s. Then they ran off, into the crowd. And Abby was bleeding and bleeding everywhere. Her mother was screaming. I didn’t know what to do, if I should go after them or stay with Abby. I wasn’t going to leave her. But there was nothing…there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do.”
His hand was so tight around hers it hurt, but she held on. “Declan, I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head, but his gaze never left hers. He didn’t pull his hand away. “She bled to death in minutes. Fucking minutes.”
“Such a terrible loss,” she soothed. She reached up, stroked his hair, and he was staring at her as if he’d never been touched before. “Declan, you cannot blame yourself for this. There are terrible people in the world.”
“I let them get away. I let them hurt her. I’m the terrible person.”
“How can you say that? Do you really believe that about yourself?”
“I don’t know. I know that I failed her.”
“I have come to realize that each of us only has so much control over the universe,” she told him. “What happens to us here on this earth. Sometimes there are other forces that are more powerful than we are. Sometimes we really are helpless. And one of those things is death. The death of animals or people. Our own death. If we are supposed to survive, then we will. I believe I have some purpose on this earth, and that is why I lived. I don’t know what it is yet. But I’m here.”
His face softened a little. “I’m glad you’re here.”
His grip on her loosened, and he rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. The chemistry was still there, his touch lighting her body up with need. But the need was just as heavy and insistent in her chest. In her heart.
“Perhaps we are both here to help heal each other,” she told him. “You’ve helped me so much. I know that doesn’t make up for what you’ve lost. But I understand it. I understand because I’ve lost my whole life.”
“Jesus. I’m such an asshole. Feeling sorry for myself after what you’ve been through.”
“It has nothing to do with making comparisons. Your pain is your own. But, Declan, you cannot continue to blame yourself for what happened to Abby. And you can’t blame your father for what happened to your mother.”
He said, “I don’t blame him for her getting sick. I blame him for what he didn’t do for her. Maybe she would have died anyway. I know that. But the chance…”
She knew she was right about this. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this, but I think some of your anger at your father is nothing more than an old habit you haven’t let go of.”
“Pretty damn hard to let go of,” he muttered.
“Your father is a good man. And you are a good man, Declan. You’ve been so good to me.”
He didn’t say anything then, just stared at her, his gaze on hers. He kept rubbing her hand with his thumb, and after several moments he leaned in closer. She could feel the warmth of his body, could smell the scent of the woods that was him. Her body responded, desire shivering over her skin. She wanted to move closer. Wanted desperately for him to touch her. Everywhere.
“Declan,” she whispered, not knowing what it was she could ask for, even though she knew exactly what she wanted. Craved.
His mouth went loose, his eyes softened. She could see it even in the dark of the night. Could hear the rough intake and exhale of his breath. He came closer, his head ducking down until he was only inches from her. She licked her lips, watching him, her pulse a hot, thready skidding in her veins. Then he took in another breath, shook his head a little and pulled away, releasing her hand.
“Thanks for letting me talk, Angel.”
It felt as though a weight had been dropped into her stomach. Yet at the same time her body was humming with desire, her sex damp, her breasts aching. She didn’t know what to do. If she should dare to reach for him. If she should run inside, lock herself in her room and try to bring herself some relief. To dream of Asmodeus.
But it wasn’t Asmodeus she wanted. It was Declan.
She wanted to cry. For his pain. For her absolute and stunning need for him.
He stood suddenly. “I’m going in. I need to check my email. And I thought I’d do some reading tonight. Do you have something to keep you entertained?”
“Oh. Yes. I have a lot of books.”
“Okay. Good. Well…”
She got to her feet, and for once he didn’t offer his hand to help her. Instead, he turned and went into the house. She stayed on the porch for several moments, Liam standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her to decide what she was going to do.
If only she knew.
Declan had to accept her as a woman eventually. He still treated her sometimes as though she were a child. An invalid. And she was nearly healed. The scars on her shoulders remained, on her leg, her ribs. The smaller ones all over, from where she had been cut all her life. But inside she felt cleansed. Solid. Ready for her new life.
She wanted nothing more than for Declan to be a part of it. To be by her side, rather than holding her at a distance. She’d had such a lovely glimpse of
that tonight. Not that what he’d told her had been lovely. But he’d trusted her. She’d felt connected to him.
She wanted that. Wanted him. And the wanting felt like some emptiness inside her she knew no way to fill.
Sighing, she motioned to Liam, opened the screen door and went inside to spend the evening in her room with her books. And the insistent need that beat in her veins like another heart.
She passed him in the living room, his back turned to her as he sat at his computer. The cotton of his white T-shirt pulled taut across the muscles of his strong back. She wanted to touch him, to stroke the dark hair curling at the back of his neck. Her fingers twitched, and she pulled them into tight fists at her sides.
She would have to make him see her. Make him see her as a woman. She couldn’t go on like this much longer.
* * *
HE KNEW HE WAS DREAMING. Understood that the silky little hands on his chest weren’t really there. A figment of his lust-addled imagination, fueled by desire he hadn’t allowed himself to meet. If he didn’t open his eyes it would be okay. As long as he was dreaming, he could let himself feel her hands on his body. That gentle stroking that was driving him crazy. Making him rock-hard already.
Her fingertips were making long, slow circles around his nipples, then brushing over them, making them harden. Almost as hard as the flesh rising between his thighs.
Was she whispering his name, her voice sweet and soft? Her voice drove him crazy, made him want her even more. Just her voice…
Ah, but her hands were even better as they made their way over his stomach, then lower. And when she brushed that swollen flesh, lightly, teasing, he went impossibly harder, his hips jerking.
She took him between her palms, her skin like warm satin, enveloping him, and she began to stroke, up, then down. Her hands were like a sheath around his swollen shaft, sending long shivers of pleasure spiraling into his belly.
He drew a breath in, blew it out, pumping his hips into her palms. Too good, but he never wanted her to stop. He wanted to stay in this dream with her forever.
He wanted to feel more than her hands. He wanted to feel her lush body crushed beneath him. To fill his hands with her gorgeous breasts, to take her nipples into his mouth, making them hard and long, grazing them with his teeth. He wanted to slip inside her, to feel that wet heat. To have her. Make her his.
Angel…
Her hands grasped him tighter, squeezed, then released him and he moaned in a flurry of sensation: pleasure and aching and need.
Need you, Angel…
She whispered his name again; he could swear he heard her. He wanted to figure it out, where it was coming from. But he felt her breath warm on his skin, then her sweet mouth taking him in. He was lost.
His climax hit so hard and fast, he was dazed by it. Blinded, as pleasure poured through his system like the ocean: that pure, that powerful. He arched up into her hot, seeking mouth, pressing again and again between her lips. Her tongue swirled against him, drawing his climax out endlessly. Finally, she pulled away, leaving him empty. Cold.
He needed her.
“Angel…”
“Declan.”
“What?”
He sat up. They were in his bed, the moonlight shimmering through the curtains, striping the room in light and shadow. But he could see her clearly, her naked body kneeling next to his, her long hair like a veil around her shoulders, flowing over the curve of her breasts.
He was still pulsing with his orgasm, his cock thrumming, his body hot. And she was really there. In his bed, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
He was shaking. What the hell had just happened? What had he let happen?
“Angel. What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to make you happy. To show you there is no reason to deny your desires. Or mine. Have I not made you happy? Your body is happy. But I still need you, Declan. I need you to touch me.”
“Jesus, Angel. I can’t believe this.”
“I’m real. I’m a woman, Declan, not a child. And I want you.”
She took his hand, and before he knew what she was going to do, she held his palm to her breast.
Her flesh was warm, her nipple going hard beneath his fingers. He couldn’t force himself to pull away for a moment. When he finally tried to, she held on tighter.
“Please, Declan. Please don’t send me away again. I need you. And you need me. You cannot tell me you don’t.”
It was nearly impossible to think, his brain still half-dazed from coming. But he had to say something. Had to do something.
“Angel, this isn’t right. I can’t do this. We can’t do this.”
“We already have, Declan. And it was beautiful, as I knew it would be.”
He swore he could feel her pulse beating in the full flesh of her breast as she leaned into his touch.
“I’m here for you. For you, Declan. This is where I am supposed to be. You can’t tell me this is wrong. I won’t believe it. I love you, Declan.”
Love.
Jesus. Why did hearing her say that to him make his heart pound right out of his chest? His mind was going a hundred miles an hour. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Angel.”
“You cannot deny you feel something for me.”
He couldn’t.
Goddamn it.
“Of course I do! But this is…I don’t know anymore.”
“Feel this, Declan.” She held his hand closer, crushing her breast beneath their twined fingers. “Feel how my body heats for you. Feel my desire.”
She moved his hand down, over the soft cushion of her stomach. Lower still, in between her thighs. He was helpless to stop her. And when she slipped his fingers into her sweet, wet cleft, he was paralyzed.
“Ah, God…”
She sighed quietly, her breath coming out in a warm puff of air that grazed his cheek like a kiss.
“You are the first man to touch me, Declan. And it is better than anything I could have imagined. Your hand feels so different than mine. Larger. Stronger. And yours.”
She held him there, pressed against her mound. His heart was beating wildly. Totally out of control. He was out of control. Fucking helpless.
“I need you,” she said again. “I need you to touch me, Declan. I need you to quench this thirst. I feel as if I’ll die of it.”
Holding on to his hand with both of hers now, she slid it back and forth, over her cleft. Her flesh was soaking wet, slippery. And all he wanted was to touch her, taste her. Have her.
He knew in his head it was wrong. But his body felt right.
He couldn’t resist any longer. He could not do it.
“Declan, please have me. I will beg you until you do.”
Her hips were undulating against his hand, and he moved then of his own accord, sliding his fingers into her wet heat.
“Oh…” Her voice came out on a soft, whispered sigh.
“Angel.” His voice was gruff, thick with desire in his own ears.
“Yes…”
“I want you.”
“Yes, Declan. Now.”
He came up onto his knees and pulled her close so that they were kneeling face-to-face. She couldn’t begin to describe, even in her own dazed head, what his body felt like against hers. Hot, naked skin, the hard planes of his chest. His hands strong around her waist.
“Closer, Declan. Hold me closer.”
He did, his arms nearly crushing her. She loved it. Craved it. Couldn’t get close enough.
He breathed into her hair and she inhaled his scent—the forest, as always, but darker this time. This time she could smell his desire. She wanted to take him in her mouth once more. She wanted to do everything, every single thing Asmodeus had ever told her about.
Her body was on fire, her heart soaring. When Declan pressed his lips to hers her body surged with a need she’d never had a name for.
Her demon lover had never taught her this. Kissing. She knew what it was, had read
about it. But to feel this…
Declan’s soft, soft lips, pressing onto hers. His tongue slipping out to lick at her lips, then opening them. The wet tip touching hers, then twining. So, so sweet. She didn’t understand how his tongue in her mouth could make her feel what she did—as though his tongue were between her thighs. She was wet, hurting with desire.
She arched her hips, pressing hard against his body, and the length of his rigid shaft pushed against her belly.
Soon he would be inside her. Unbearable, to have to wait one more moment. Unbearable, yet exquisite. And the kissing went on and on. Lovely.
He pulled back, his lips moving over her cheek, down her throat, and every single touch was like some tiny climax on her heated skin. She had known desire before, but never like this. She was shaking all over. And as Declan lowered his head, his mouth feathering over the full flesh of her breast, she fell against him, her legs weak, useless.
He laid her down then, murmuring to her. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was his hands stroking her skin: her breasts, her belly, even her collarbone, the insides of her arms, her calves. He explored her in a quiet frenzy. And as badly as she wanted to touch him she was unable to move. Unable to do anything but lose herself in response.
His fingers went to her nipples, caressing, teasing, until they were nothing but two hard points of pure sensation. When he moved down to take one nipple into his mouth, it was better than she could have possibly imagined. The pure heat of his mouth, the sucking, sucking. Pleasure was like a knife, stabbing into her body, deep, deeper.
“Declan, yes…”
His hands were on her breasts, pushing them together, and he released one nipple only to take the other. Once more he sucked, softly at first, then harder, and she was so close to coming she could barely stand it. She wanted to squeeze her thighs together to ease the hammering ache there. But instead she parted them, needing to invite him, to feel the night air on her soaking wet cleft.
“Declan,” she whimpered. “I need you.”
He grunted, but she didn’t need words. No, all she needed was his hands rough on her skin, finding her thighs, spreading them wider. Then his hair brushing the insides of her thighs as he bent over her sex.
