Once I felt her orgasm slowing, I pulled back to look at her. With her head tilted upward in pleasure and her body shaking from the way I’d made her come, she was a fucking goddess. More than ever before.
In high school, she’d still been a little clumsy and awkward, still growing into her body. Now, she’d flourished into a woman, and knew exactly what to do with her curves.
After a moment, she’d gathered her breath and sat up. Her arms wrapped lazily around my neck and she pressed her face into my shoulder, licking and sucking at the crook of my neck. I downed the rest of my glass of whiskey. There was no point in letting it go to waste after all.
When I set the glass down, I picked Alyssa up to head to the stairs. She was coming to bed with me and I wouldn’t accept any arguments. I’d barely taken two steps before the pain in my chest was too much. Placing her on the ground, I took a handful of deep breaths to shake the agony. I needed something stronger than the alcohol to dull the sensation.
“Are you okay?” she asked, tracing her fingers over my back.
Bent over and trying to breathe, I shook my head. “Just need a minute.”
“Dec, are you sure . . .” She trailed off, but the way her eyes glanced over my body before settling on my hard-on suggested that she was asking whether I wanted to continue.
Straightening, I nodded. “I’m fucking positive about this.” I needed her more than I needed the oxygen in my lungs. When I met her eyes, the emotions hidden within nearly fucking slayed me. There was so much hurt, so much . . . doubt. “Are you?”
She nodded, but ended it with a shake of her head. “I just . . . I need a minute.”
I frowned as I felt her pulling away. She stepped closer to me, placed her hand over my heart and kissed me like she meant it.
“Just one minute. Please?”
With a nod, I granted her the time she needed. I wanted her to come to me willing and ready. When she did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let her go again. Not easily.
“Thanks.” She kissed my mouth, dragging her tongue across my bottom lip. “You go ahead. I’ll be up shortly.”
I walked up the rest of the stairs, my head full of promises of better fucking tomorrows.
Alyssa was back in my life.
My head finally acknowledged what my heart and body always knew: she was the one thing I wanted. The one thing that I needed to make my dreams complete. All the denials were just ways to convince myself that I didn’t need her. How could it get any better than what we had?
CHAPTER TWELVE: NO STRINGS
FOR FIVE MINUTES, I waited on the king-sized bed upstairs, wondering what kept Alyssa. I’d expected her to be in the room almost instantly—or maybe hoped was the better word—but she wasn’t. With each second that passed without her coming to finish what we’d started downstairs, I grew more and more impatient. Just as I was climbing from the bed to check on Alyssa, she came into the bedroom wearing only a smile. In each hand, she held a fresh glass of whiskey.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Lys,” I said, holding my arms out for her.
She put the glasses on the bedside table and climbed onto my lap. With the look of the devil in her eyes, she opened her mouth and showed me the cube of ice that was already sitting between her teeth. Before I could even begin to fantasise what she planned with it, she pushed me onto the bed and helped free me of my boxers. Even though it was tempting to just lie back with my eyes closed and take whatever pleasure she dished out—like I would have if it had been anyone else in my bed—it wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to watch her, to study her every movement, so I propped myself up so I was resting on my elbows. Even though the position renewed the ache in my chest, it was worth it for the view.
My breathing sped as she fell to her knees at the side of the bed. With her gaze locked on mine, she wrapped her mouth around my erection, rubbing the ice from the base to the tip with her tongue, repaying my actions in the kitchen with her own version of the sweet torture. The contrast between the ice and the warm cavern of her mouth was fucking unbelievable. It was a hundred times better than my little fantasy earlier. A thousand.
In long movements, clearly designed for pleasure but not release, she traced her mouth, tongue, and that blasted, blessed ice cube over my cock. She fucking knew what she was doing and I grew harder than I’d ever thought possible. I longed for her to move faster, suck harder, but I also wanted her to keep going at the same steady pace so that I could enjoy the sensation for as long as possible.
When I tangled my fingers in her hair, desperate to speed her motion, she pulled away completely. An audible protest escaped me. I didn’t want her to stop—I never wanted her to stop. Before I could argue too much though, she climbed up my body, dragging her lips, tongue, and the ice cube over the skin of my hips, stomach, and chest. Bucking my hips, desperate for contact, I grabbed at any part of her I could reach. Hair. Waist. Back. Side. Breast. My hands were in constant motion over her warm body.
With soft movements, she touched the bruise on my side, kissing each of my injured ribs with tender affection. Gentle fingers rubbed another ice cube over the area. I fell back against the bed as a moan fell from my lips.
She straddled my hips and her lips pressed to mine. She pushed the ice cube in her mouth against my tongue and I brushed it back against hers. The heat and the cold fused with her taste and I was in heaven. When I grew overwhelmed by the sight of her lust-filled eyes staring straight into me—no doubt providing a new image to be burned into my mind as I raced around the track—my eyelids sank closed. Her hand found my cock, trailing from base to tip before she rubbed the head against her slick skin.
“Jesus Christ,” I groaned at the sensation.
With her hand and a twist of her hips, she guided me into her warm, wet centre.
“Holy fuck, Alyssa!” I cried out, as my eyes flew open, startled but oh-so-aroused.
I could barely breathe as the feeling of being bareback inside her took over my every function. It was just as enjoyable as it had been the last time. Her flesh was soft and tender and warm. Utterly unlike the clinical feel of a condom and utterly fucking enjoyable. I didn’t want a kid though, or an STD, so I tried to pull out and away. It wasn’t that I thought she’d be unprotected or have an infection, but I couldn’t know for sure—we hadn’t exactly had the “are you safe and clean” talk. “Shouldn’t you wait until I get some protection on?”
With a breathless moan, she lifted her hips before shifting down tight against me again. My fingers found her hips and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from crying out from the pure, unadulterated pleasure
“You usually wear one don’t you?” It was a question but held an edge which indicated she already knew the answer.
Clutching her hips, I nodded. “Always.”
“Then it doesn’t matter. I’m clean and I’ve got a Mirena.”
“A what?”
“Do you want all the gory details or do you want to keep going?” she asked, a look halfway between indignation and amusement on her face. Without waiting for an answer, she rocked her hips over me again.
“I just . . .”
She raised herself off me before sliding back down again.
“. . . oh fuck . . .”
With a moan escaping her, she bucked her hips.
“. . . don’t . . .”
Twisting her body slightly, she shifted the angle and allowed me deeper inside of her.
“. . . oh shit . . .”
She placed her hands on my chest, before leaning forward to kiss my skin. My hands found her hair and she looked down at me with a devilish grin.
What the fuck was I saying?
It took me a moment to recover my equilibrium while she fucked me and nipped at my skin with that sexy-arse smirk on her lips.
“. . . want kids,” I finished my thought finally.
She stopped moving, and her smile fell. I wondered why she paused, but could only think it was the reminder of our one other n
ight together—the night after the formal. Knowing I needed to bring her back to the moment, I pulled myself up into a seated position and wrapped my arms around her waist. Her face was impassive, and I was certain she was seconds from walking away from me—which would just leave me with my hand and a headful of her to keep me company. Desperate to avoid that situation, I kissed her neck and shoulders, trying to draw her attention back to me. I clutched at her hips and used the hold to move them over mine.
Alyssa wrapped her arms around my neck and leaned her weight away from me, giving me full control. Her back was arched and her neck extended as she leaned back, tipping her head, allowing her erect nipples to point to the ceiling.
Despite the fact that I was buried so deep inside her, I wanted more. Holding her tightly, I rolled us both over so that her back was on the bed. One at a time, I lifted her legs and rested them on my shoulders, tilting her hips off the bed. I leaned over her, pinning her beneath me. In long slow strokes, I took her over and over, rubbing my pelvic bone deliberately along hers. She moaned in ecstasy underneath me. Grabbing her hips, I set a perfect, relentless pace, burying every inch of myself inside of her. I pulled almost all of the way out before thrusting hard into her again. Caressing her body, I kissed her greedily, wanting to get my fill but knowing it would never, ever be enough.
I pushed harder and faster, adding my fingers into the mix to press against her clit until she was writhing in ecstasy beneath me. When she came, her walls tightened around my length and drove me to release too.
“Holy fucking hell!” I cried out as my body convulsed against hers. My arms gave way a little and I fell onto her. She wrapped her arms and legs tightly around me and held me in place.
It was perfection.
The sensation of releasing inside her with no barriers was just fucking bizarre. More sticky and wet than I would have imagined, but somehow that made it all the more sexy. When I regained some control over my body, I pushed myself up just enough to look at her. “So, what’s a Mirena?”
She laughed loudly, her body shaking against me, tightening the hold she had on my cock and causing my body to quiver. I captured her mouth with mine and moved my tongue passionately against hers.
I love you, my mind screamed. And I knew without doubt the sentiment was the truth. As much as I’d denied it over the years, I was one hundred percent in love with Alyssa Dawson. I just couldn’t force my mouth to make the words. Not in that moment at least. It seemed contrite, as if I were saying it out of some weird obligation because I’d just fucked her. As if love had anything to do with fucking.
Pulling out slowly, I stood and offered her my hand. When she was standing, I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her into a tight embrace. I let her presence wash over me and relished in its calming effect.
“Thank heavens for fucking without complications,” she said after a beat. Her voice shook slightly and her breathing was still irregular. It almost sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “I really needed that.”
She kissed my cheek and pulled out of the embrace before making a hasty retreat from the room. Confused, I watched as she pulled the door closed behind her. At first, I figured she must have been going to clean herself up, but then I heard her bedroom door close.
What the actual fuck?
My stomach sank down to my feet as I replayed what I could remember of our conversation in the kitchen before we’d started. She’d asked me if I could fuck without complications. She’d asked me if I would do it again. She toasted to fucking without complications.
Oh God.
No strings.
Oh fuck.
Just fucking.
Oh hell.
I ran to the toilet and vomited up all the alcohol I’d had.
Oh Christ.
My stomach twisted. I hurled again. Palpitations stole my heartbeat. The symptoms of a new panic attack washed over me, rendering me almost helpless. I grabbed the edge of the sink and dragged myself to my feet. I flushed the toilet and rinsed out my mouth. I couldn’t break down there. Not just then. Alyssa could come out and find me, and I couldn’t let her see how much she fucking affected me. Not when there were no strings attached for her. Fucking without consequences.
How could I be so fucking stupid?
While I tried to focus and think of anything but the wave of panic and fear rising within me, I stood with my grip firm again the sides of the sink, desperate for oxygen. I pushed myself forward, back toward the safety of the bedroom. Sanctuary. Where I could let go and let the panic take me away. Maybe this time it wouldn’t let me come back. Maybe this time I would be lost forever. I felt sure of it, and the certainty grew with every laden step back to the bedroom.
Holy fucking heaven in hell.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Pressure constricted my chest. I couldn’t walk. My knees buckled weakly beneath me.
Fucking hell.
I crawled the last of the distance, inch by agonising inch past her bedroom door. It was closed.
Just like her fucking heart.
Sounds echoed out from beneath the door. It might have been sobbing, but it could have just as easily been laughter. Either way, I couldn’t face her.
Finally, I was in my bedroom, but it smelled of sex, and of Alyssa. I saw the two untouched glasses of whiskey in the corner. I crawled over to them, picking them up and downing them one after the other. I shrugged into a pair of pyjama pants and staggered back out of the room, my head spinning in vicious circles the whole time. When I reached the stairs, I stumbled down trying to ensure I didn’t make too much noise and disturb her—the fucking harpy who’d decided to completely fucking ruin my life. She’d tricked me and brought me back to life with her magical touch, just to leave me dead inside once more.
I wanted to be angry with her. To hate her. But I couldn’t. Even though she’d ripped my heart out and stomped it into the carpet, I couldn’t hate her. She didn’t know how madly in love with her I was. Fuck, I didn’t even know until a few minutes earlier. I pushed myself into the kitchen, yanked the bottle of whiskey off the bench, and slumped to the floor.
To wipe away the pain, I drank deeply straight from the bottle. I barely acknowledged the tears running down my cheeks. Whenever I felt the need to try to breathe, I drank instead. I didn’t even realise that I’d emptied the bottle; instead I continued to try to drain it further. Hugging the empty bottle tightly to my chest, I began to sob. Once the sobs started, and the lack of oxygen really kicked in, the full throes of my panic hit me. My heart raced and I was utterly breathless. My palms were sweaty and I was both too hot and too cold all at the same time.
I was going to die.
It was a simple, inescapable fact.
My heart was going to stop beating at any second because it was beating much too fast, I was certain of it. I tried to breathe in, but all I managed were weak, wheezing gasps. I tried to stand, even though I didn’t know where I was planning on going. All I knew was that I had to get the fuck away from there. Away from her. I pulled myself up along the counter, desperate for something undefinable.
I took a tentative step away from the counter, relying on my own legs to carry my weight. It was a monumental error. My head whirled from the alcohol I’d downed—easily over half a litre. My chest ached from my struggles to breathe.
The floor slipped away underneath my feet and I heard a loud smash an instant before my face impacted on the hard surface.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A BIG EFFING COMPLICATION
WHEN I CAME to I had no idea where I was or even when I was. I assumed my head was pressed to the floor, but it didn’t make sense because it was too soft.
Much too soft . . .
My head pounded.
Not just pounded. There was a fucking jackhammer attached to the inside of my skull. It wasn’t the normal hangover pounding though, which gave the feeling of too much blood pulsating against my temples in a regular, thudding rhythm. Instead, my whole brain felt swollen and at
least two sizes too big. My face ached and burned; the whole right side tingled with non-existent flames. My tongue was swollen and my teeth felt loose inside my jaw.
I tilted my head to one side and instantly regretted it. The pounding wasn’t just confined to my head; it ran down the length of my body too. Every inch of my right side throbbed with a blinding agony similar to the one I’d experienced after Alyssa’s brother beat the shit out of me.
What happened?
Bits of memory filtered back in, as well as a feeling that this was all too familiar.
Ice.
Whiskey.
No consequences or complications.
Oh fuck!
Alyssa . . .
She was what happened.
I raised my hand to run it through my hair, but felt a tugging sensation when I tried to move it, which stopped me. My other hand was wrapped in something warm, someone’s hand maybe. I would have to open my eyes to figure it out—together with finding out where the fuck I was, because I sure as fuck wasn’t still in the kitchen at Danny’s flat—but doing so would allow reality in. And pain. With the throbbing in my head, even the smallest amount of light would only increase the agony. All of that would come when I opened my eyes, as well as awareness and the need to face Alyssa before she left. A groan left my throat, scorching the dry surface, before sticking to my parched tongue.
“Oh, Declan, thank God.” Alyssa’s strained voice was beside me, yet all around me. It came from the side of the bed with the warm, possibly enclosed, hand. The volume of her voice sent a new ache through me and my head pounded harder than before. The words, and the way she made it sound like she actually gave a shit about me, made my heart throb with an agony ten thousand times worse than the one which held my body captive.
Declan Reede: The Untold Story (Complete Series) Page 23
