by H. Maloney
Declan comes back a little while later and sets our spoils on the tailgate. He hands me my beer before climbing in and sitting back with me.
“You should consider being a bartender. That was a primo handoff, sir,” I compliment.
“I try, but I’m going to leave it to you. I feel like there’s an unspoken rule: Bartendee must stare at Bartender’s tits during beverage serving.” He leers at my chest comically, causing me to laugh.
“Hmm, well, I do have you there.”
We settle back and start in on our burgers. “So, Declan,” I say between mouthfuls, “tell me about yourself.”
He shrugs. “Not much to tell.”
“You don’t get off the hook that easy.”
He compromises. “Here, let’s try it this way. What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” Duh. He just stares at me though. Ugh. Typical man.
He finally responds, “Well then, you better start asking or we’ll be here for a while.”
“Okay, how about your family? Tell me about them.”
“My parents died a few years ago and I’m an only child.”
I say with sympathy, “That sucks. I know how you feel. Mine died too, car accident.” He nods absently, no further comment.
Fine. “Okay, so you were in the Marine Corps, right?”
He nods and chews through a large bite of his burger. “Eight years, four tours.”
“Why did you join?”
“Same reason any nineteen-year-old joins. Tried the real world, lost direction and didn’t like it, so I went where they would tell me what my direction was. Was a pretty sweet setup, if you don’t count the whole ‘getting shot at’ routine.”
“Is that why you got out? You got tired of getting shot at?” I’m honestly curious. Seems to me that kind of exhaustion would present itself within the first six months, but what do I know?
“Something like that.” He’s staring at his French fries hard, like they have the answers. I peek over, just in case they do. They don’t. I let the subject drop.
“So, what about the MC? I know you served with a few of the guys. Why didn’t you join?”
He laughs a little, more to himself than anything. “I thought about it, but I thrive on structure, and being in a motorcycle club is not conducive to any kind of structure. Decided to open my own business where I wouldn’t be behind a desk more often than not.”
That’s smart. I nod in acceptance. “And the fighting?”
“Pure adrenaline, baby.” I shiver when he calls me ‘baby,’ and he sees it. “Less deadly than bullets, same rush.”
“That’s debatable. Someone could snap your neck.”
Declan laughs. “You know it’s not mortal combat, right? No one’s fighting to the death?”
“It’s still dangerous!”
“Of course it is. Where would the fun be if it weren’t?”
I roll my eyes. Men.
We clean up our trash and situate ourselves just as the movie starts. I pull my other blanket over my lap and he slips an arm behind my back to curl at my waist. Butterflies begin to lose their shit in my stomach and my heart warms. It feels like there’s no safer place in the world. Perfect fucking night.
We’re maybe an hour into the movie when Declan starts to play with my hair, running his fingers through it and tugging on the ends. I roll my head onto his shoulder, giving him more room. I love the sensation of having my hair played with; it’s so relaxing.
He leans his head down to ghost his lips along my temple and I sigh happily. When Ryan Reynolds is lying there naked on-screen though, I can’t help it, sitting up for a better view. When Deadpool manages to cover up again, I go to lean back, disappointed it’s over so quickly. Too quickly.
Declan takes the opportunity to reposition me before I can sit back. He shifts a leg around me and scoots me over so I’m between his legs and using his chest as a backrest. He brings his arms around me and resettles the blanket so it’s on both of us.
I turn my head to look back at him. “Ha! I knew you’d get cold,” I say softly, but no less triumphantly. Don’t want to disturb other movie viewers, after all.
Without saying anything, he brings his lips to meet mine and shifts his hands under the blanket. I’m so distracted by what his kiss is doing to me it takes a minute before I realize he has a hand up my shirt, softly stroking my stomach. I break away quickly and look around us to make sure no one is paying attention. They aren’t.
“I have to get my confidence back. You were interested in some other man’s thighs. I don’t know that I can handle it.”
He sweeps his hand up to cup me through my bra while he’s talking, and I quickly readjust the blanket higher. My body is shaking, half from excitement, half from fear. “Someone’s going to see!”
He leans forward and bites my lip gently. “Not if you’re very, very quiet. Think you can do that?” Declan starts kneading my breasts and I groan. “That’s not a good start, baby. You don’t want to tip everyone off. I know the movie is rated R, but I’m not sure this is what they had in mind.” He positions my head forward again to face the movie and brushes the hair from my neck, pressing his lips there in its place. I shut my eyes, just absorbing the incredible sensations he’s stirring up in my body.
He unhooks my bra under my shirt like a pro, which I refuse to think about now, and starts pulling on my nipples. I’d warn him he’s got them hard enough to cut glass, but I think he’s got it covered, rolling and pinching them, sending zings of electricity straight to my core. What is it about this guy that has me feeling so out of control?
He keeps playing with my left breast and moves his right hand into the waistband of my jeans to my pussy—over my underwear, unfortunately. He starts stroking softly, with the barest of touches. My whole body tenses in anticipation of a firmer touch. I need more. When he gives it to me, I have to slap a hand over my mouth to smother my whimper of relief.
Declan’s fingers still. “I have to stop now. You couldn’t be quiet enough.”
My pounding heart lodges in my throat. “No,” I manage to squeak out.
He nuzzles my neck and takes his hand from my pants and shirt, re-hooking my bra against my sensitive nipples. “People are looking over here.”
“I don’t care. Let them look.” I’m desperate.
“You won’t feel that way when they arrest us for public indecency.” He chuckles.
I roll my eyes. “Fiiine. The next time I get left hanging like this though, I’m going to murder someone.”
All too soon, the movie ends and we’re back on the highway to my place. When we get there, he pulls up into a space but instead of just waiting there with the car idling like I expect, he takes the keys from the ignition and climbs out of the vehicle. Oh, a gentleman. I could get used to this. When I unlock my front door and walk in, I turn to him. He has his arms braced on the door frame, putting his glorious physique on display. I let my eyes crawl down his chest and abdomen to the impressive bulge outlined in his jeans and yes, his thighs. My gaze lingers, and I essentially end up asking his thighs if they want to come in.
He drops his arms and steps forward, putting a hand under my chin to lift my face close to his. He draws in slowly and when his warm breath fans my face, my eyes flutter closed in anticipation. He presses a soft, much-too-brief kiss against my lips and backs away, dropping his hand from my face. “No. I think I want to make you pay for staring at another man’s thighs.”
My jaw drops. He’s not serious, right? Right?
Declan starts laughing at my expression and says softly, “Goodnight, Meg.” With that, he turns around and walks out, closing the door behind him.
Motherfucker.
CHAPTER 10
MEG
The next day, I’m at Corps Strength, taking advantage of my membership and running on a treadmill, trying to work out my pent-up frustration before class. When I hit the five-mile mark, I lower the speed some to start my cooldown.
M
y text message sound interrupts Linkin Park in my headphones. Looking down at the screen propped on the treadmill, I see a waiting text message from Declan asking what I’m up to.
Meg: Getting some cardio in before class.
Declan: I had you pegged as the overachiever. I love being right.
Meg: Overachiever? Says the guy with rippling six-pack abs?
Declan: ;-) Glad you noticed.
I slap my hand over my mouth to cover my laugh. Walked right into that one.
I head over to the open area with mats covering the floor and pick a spot in the corner to set down and start my stretching. I run through a few basic poses that I find really help loosen me up. I’m in downward-facing dog stretching my hamstrings when my phone chirps again. Maintaining my position, I scoot the phone over to take a look.
Declan: If you could rotate yourself maybe fifteen degrees to your left, you would make my day much better.
Apparently, I have an audience now. No pressure.
Meg: You perv. I’m exercising here. Isn’t there a rule about student-teacher harassment?
Declan: Sure is. “Teachers should harass the students, or better yet students should harass the teachers.” I’m an equal opportunity employer.
Meg: What mental pigmy wrote those rules?
Declan: I did. And you’ll be praising these rules later when I’m directing my harassment to your pussy.
I drop from my latest pose onto my butt. Meg: That escalated quickly.
Declan: Not quickly enough. I’m dying for another taste of you. Without having to stop this time.
I look up, suddenly paranoid someone’s looking over my shoulder and reading the dirty messages on my screen. Satisfied no one is in the area, I look back at my phone.
Declan: I know you want it too. You almost came from just a few strokes of my fingers. Imagine how good it’ll be when I finally get inside you.
Oh, God, I could imagine. I really could.
Declan: See you soon.
Soon? I check the time. Shit. He worked me up just to torture me. Now we have to go through class together with a room full of oblivious strangers.
Fine. Two can play at this game.
***
I have done my utmost for the past thirty or so minutes trying to taunt him back. I can’t do it with words like he did, but I use my workout attire to my benefit. Sweaty brow? Well, why don’t I use the hem of my shirt? What? It exposes my stomach and part of my sports bra? Darn, I’m sorry! Except I’m not. It’s so worth it to see his eyes dilate and watch him pick up a pad to hold in front of him. Definitely not because his erection is very clearly swelling beneath his gym shorts, which would be obvious if anyone cared to look. And boy, do I care to look. I snicker to myself.
He throws me an evil look that I question, but only for a minute before he calls out a partner change. That jackass. The reason for his smile becomes apparent when he pairs me with the fiercest person in class. Leslie is not kidding around; she’s a woman on a mission. Unfortunately, that makes her an undesirable partner. She hits so hard it hurts through the pad, and when it’s her turn to put you in a chokehold, she grips hard enough to cut off circulation to your brain. I’m curious to know what happened to her, but at the same time she scares me. So, yeah, I’m going to take a pass on that heart-to-heart.
We’re doing sixty-second drills with punches and it’s my turn to hold the pad. Closing my eyes because it’s too scary to watch, I brace myself. About forty seconds in, the constant hammering has caused my grip to slip and she lands a direct hit on my left shoulder. I fall to my ass and let out a louder than I would have liked “Son of a bitch!” Everyone in the room stops to stare. Leslie just looks confused.
Declan quickly comes over and squats in front of me. “Hey, you all right?”
Gripping my shoulder hard in an effort to stem the pain, I grunt out, “Hurts like a bitch.”
“Come with me, we’ll take a look and get you some ice.” He grabs my waist and lifts me to my feet so I don’t have to let go of my shoulder. If I weren’t in so much pain, that would’ve been so hot. Stupid Leslie.
Walking me out of the room, above my head he calls out, “Hey, Mark, go take over drills.”
He leads me down the hallway and into a room with a padded table in the center and a counter with a sink running along one wall. Closing the door behind us, he lifts me again by the waist to sit me on the table. “All right, let’s take a look.” I stare at him.
He waits a minute then clarifies, “You have to move your hand out the way for me to see.”
I continue to just look at him. “No, I think I’m good. Thanks though.” I’m terrified of loosening my grip and letting the pain flood back.
“Come on, don’t you want my hands all over you, rubbing you down?” he needles, eyebrows wiggling in an effort to make me laugh.
My eyes narrow, recalling he’s the one who put me in the situation to begin with. I liked Pottery Rob as my partner, and Declan was the one who changed us out. Suddenly overcome with anger, I release the hold on my shoulder to poke my index finger into his chest. In the back of my mind, I notice the pain isn’t really so bad anymore, but I ignore that nugget of knowledge in favor of my anger which takes center stage and I can’t seem to stop it. “You. This is your fault!”
“My fault?” He’s confused.
Well, allow me to un-confuse him!
“Yes, your fault. You’re the one who took away Pottery Rob. I love Pottery Rob,” I shout, punctuating my last statement with repeated pokes of my index finger against his chest. He still looks baffled.
“Pottery Rob was a better partner! He didn’t have a Xena: Warrior Princess complex going on! He wouldn’t have punched me,” I explain, exasperated that he’s still not understanding and falling to his knees in apology. “You’re my problem! Every time I talk to you, you leave me more frustrated and angry than the last! What is with you? Why do you keep doing this to me?”
A look of confident understanding smooths his previously furrowed brows, and my eyes narrow in return. “What? Why are you smiling? You aren’t supposed to smile. You’re supposed to apologize!”
He leans forward, propping his hands on the table on either side of my body, caging me in. He’s so close I can feel his breath against my lips. “No, Meg. You don’t want an apology. Lucky for you, I know exactly what you want.”
My anger transforms to lust as quickly as it came on and I feel my eyelids grow heavy. Sensing victory, he moves in, pressing his lips fiercely to mine. I’m still on the edge from his earlier teasing, and I immediately open my mouth to give him access. Which reminds me… I pull back. “Wait! I’m still mad at you!” He pulls me to the edge of the table by my thighs and fits himself between my legs, his swollen cock pressed deliciously against my center. Sensations start zinging every which way through my core.
“I know you are, but I also know why. Do you know why, Meg?” He rubs against me, successfully distracting me, working his hands from my waist to my breasts. Overcome and desperate for more, I grab his hair with both hands to pull him towards me, feeling only a twinge in my shoulder at the movement. I need his mouth again but he resists, holding his face just a hairsbreadth from my lips. “I asked you a question.”
“You did? 42.”
He chuckles. “No, Meg. I asked if you knew why you were angry.”
Oh, right. “Yes, because you let me get punched. Or close enough.” He moves away just long enough to pull my tank top over my head. He leans right back in where he was and brushes my abdomen with the cotton of his T-shirt. I need his skin, not cotton. I reach out to grab the hem of his shirt and yank up. He lets me, and soon our upper bodies are almost skin to skin, with just my sports bra remaining. Stupid bra. He grips my ponytail hard and brings his mouth back to mine. I reach around to undo the four hooks at the back and quickly sling it off my shoulders. It’s perfect, his chest hard and warm pressed against my soft and increasingly heavy breasts. I groan at the sensations.
He bites my lower lip firmly then moves his mouth down to suck on one nipple while a hand rolls and pulls on the other one. I push his head harder against me, hoping he’ll take more of me in his mouth. As usual, he resists and I groan in frustration. I need more and he’s going so slow—too slow.
He removes his mouth and lightly pushes me flat against the table, leaning down over me. Declan follows me down and tongues the sensitive spot beneath my ear. I lift my legs to prop my heels on the edge of the table and groan when his cock fits right back against me where it belongs. I gratefully start to grind, but he lifts away. I let out an unladylike noise of frustration.
If he walks away now, I’m going to stab him.
Declan laughs huskily and trails his hands from my chest, down my belly to hook two fingers on the waistband of my spandex workout pants. I lift a little to help him get them off me, leaving me lying on the table like a sacrificial lamb in only my boy-short panties as he stares at me.
“You’re angry because I’ve worked you up and left you hanging.” He trails his hands up the inside of my thighs and I shiver. One hand brushes against my core so softly it’s not even enjoyable. It’s tortuous, almost cruel, and I begin to pant. “You’re angry because I’ve been taunting you, never coming through.” Declan finally, finally, moves to add my panties to the pile on the floor. “Shit. You’re so fucking wet.” He’s right. He torments me with his fingers only briefly before entering me with them.
“Yes,” I answer—unnecessarily, in my opinion, but shit if it gets him to hurry up… “Please, I need you now. More.” His fingers start plunging in and out and I can feel myself get closer to orgasm, but I want more of him. I lean up and fit my mouth to his. Declan starts mimicking his fingers, thrusting his tongue in and out of my mouth. I reach forward with both hands to pull him closer to me.
Suddenly, I feel him curl his fingers and start rubbing at a spot so sweet inside me my whole body freezes, including my lungs. I can’t breathe, but I need more. “Oh, God, oh, God. Again, please. Please, don’t stop.”
