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Declan
It’s Sunday.She isn’t supposed to be here.
She’s supposed to be eating her way through half of Gino’s menu and watching the Sox game with her dad. Calling the ump a myopic cocksucker and cheering when the pitcher throws a strike.
Tess should be at home.
Where it’s safe.
Where there are witnesses.
Where I can knock on her door and ask her to please talk to me for just a second, to just hear me out, so I can plead Henley’s case while her father glares at me in the background.
She shouldn’t be alone.
And she sure as fuck shouldn’t be alone with me.
Because this is what happens.
Every. Single. Time.
I’ll feel like shit when it’s over.
I’ll apologize and tell her it won’t happen again.
She’ll tell me she hates me.
And I’ll tell her I’m glad.
She’ll tell me to stay away from her.
And I’ll tell her I will, even though I know it’s a goddamned lie.
Because I tried and I can’t.
I can’t do it.
That’s what will happen when this is over.
Knowing that doesn’t stop me.
I don’t even tap the fucking breaks.
She says my name. Or least she tries to.
“I told you last night.” I use the grip I have on her to pull her even closer, a quick jerk that plants me between her thighs. Pushes them open. Steals her breath.
I stretch over her, my hands on either side of her head, elbows bent just enough to close the cage around her. “We aren’t finished.” When I said it last night, I meant it, same as now. Watching her walk out on me, it took every shred of decency I’ve managed to cultivate over the last nine years to not chase her down. Drag her back. Take her to bed and keep her there. Make her come so much and so hard she can’t remember her own goddamned name. Until she’s as fucking wrecked as I am. Until she admits that I’m right.
Because Tess and I aren’t finished.
We’ll never be finished.
I know that.
I’ve always known that.
“You’re right.” She looks up at me, her hazel eyes wide. Cheeks flushed. Tongue pushing between her lips to lick at the ring she has hooked in it. “We’re not finished.”