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Tightly packed abs.
He’s standing over me, waiting for me to move. Say something. I want to touch him. Ask him to touch me. Make something happen because I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of letting Declan decide.
Just when I think I’ve gathered my courage, I lose it completely. I scoot over and make room for him on the bed like I’m supposed to. He lies down next to me and pulls me against him, makes me the little spoon, like he always does. When I try to turn over so I can look at him, he tightens his grip around my waist to keep me still.
“Declan.” I say his name softly.
“Go to sleep.”
Same as always.
Frustrated, I shift my hips, pushing my ass against him.
He backs up, putting space between us.
Suddenly frustrated and determined, I scoot back to close the gap.
He sighs and moves again.
So do I.
“Stop.” He growls it in my ear, the tone of it low and tight, humming down my neck.
“Stop what?”
He moves again.
So do I.
He moves again, this time ripping the pillow out from under his head to wedge into the gap between us.
“Declan?” I turn my head, angling it back as far as I can to look at him but all I can see is his chin. The bob and scrape of his Adam’s apple against his throat. “Are you making room for Jesus?”
“Yes.” The arm anchored around my waist pulls me in tighter. “Now go to sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep.” I reach between us and try to pull the pillow he’s shoved between us loose. His hand shoots up and locks around my wrist. Pulls it forward to tuck it tight against my ribcage. “I want to—”
“Don’t.” His fingers tighten around my wrist. “Don’t say it.”
“Why?” I try to turn around again but don’t move an inch. “Because what happened before was a mistake?”
“You said that, not me.” He’s trying to be quiet because he doesn’t want to wake my dad. He shouldn’t bother. My dad is sleeping on the couch, surrounded by a half a dozen box fans to combat the heat. There’s so much white noise in his ears that I could have The Boston College marching band in here and he wouldn’t hear a thing.
“Then why?” I stop trying to pull away because it isn’t doing me any good. “Why won’t you—”
“Because it was a mistake.” The hand around my wrist loosens. Lets go completely. “Because you’re seventeen. Because I’m almost twenty. Because I steal cars for your dad. Because I’m a giant festering asshole who hurts people,” he says, lifting a hand to run it over his face before dropping it to his side. “Because you have no idea what you’re asking me for, Tess and if you don’t stop, mistake or not, I’m going to stop caring about all of the above because I’m not a good guy and I’m barely hanging on.”
Declan has just laid out every reason why what I’m asking him for is a bad idea.
Too bad I don’t care about any of it.
“You’re not almost twenty. Your birthday was in January and I’ll be eighteen next month.” Reaching behind me, I find his hand and pull it forward, lacing my fingers between his. “I know what you do and who you do it for. I’ve always known.” Following my instincts, I tilt my head back again to press my mouth to the underside of his jaw. His throat. “I don’t care...” Pulling his hand lower, I feel a deep-seated groan vibrate against my slightly parted lips. “I know I should but I don’t,” I whisper, tracing my tongue along the tense cords of his neck. “I can’t. Not when I’m with you.”
He lifts his head so he can look down at me. His mouth less than a breath away from mine. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is rough, his words carried on shallow, ragged breath. He sounds broken. Like he doesn’t know what to do next.
“Then don’t.” I guide his hand lower, feel my breath catch in my throat when the tips of his long, wide fingers skim along my inner thigh. That’s all it takes, the feel of his hands on me to set me on fire. I open my legs, guiding his hand to their juncture. “Please, Declan…” I say softly, rocking my hip against the pressure of him between my legs. “Please. I need—”
He gives in, stroking me through my panties. “Fuck,” He growls deep in his throat when he feels how wet I am. “My way...” He pulls his hand free to grip my thigh, lifting it higher to hook my leg behind his knee. “we do this my way.” He whispers it against my mouth, the words pushed out on a shaky breath. “You have to do what I sa—”
“Okay. Yes.” I lift my arm and wind it around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair. “Your way,” I say even though I have no idea what it means. What I’m agreeing to. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. As long as Declan keeps touching me, I’ll do whatever he says.