Page 35 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

twenty

DECLAN

I bury my face between Lea’s thighs, flicking my tongue against her clit, ignoring the voice in my head asking if this will actually solve anything.

The taste of her fills my senses, tangy and sweet.

Her mouth’s grip on my cock tightens as she moans around me, the vibration sending shockwaves up my spine.

Fucking it out so you forget about her? The trecherous voice in my head continues. Good luck with that…

I double down on my efforts, sliding one finger inside her while my tongue circles her clit. Her hips buck against my face, and I use my free arm to hold her steady. The fact that I can make her lose control like this gives me a surge of satisfaction that’s almost as good as her mouth on my dick.

Almost.

Her technique is mind-blowing, mixing pace and intensity as she takes me deeper than I thought possible without gagging. I wonder briefly where she learned to do this, then immediately shut down that train of thought, because I don’t want to think about any other guy who’s been with her .

I don’t want to share.

She pulls off me with a wet pop, the sound just about the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. “Need me to slow down?”

“What? No—fuck—” I lose my train of thought as she takes me all the way to the base, her nose pressed against my skin. “Holy shit.”

I dive back between her legs with renewed enthusiasm, determined to match her efforts. Her thighs begin to tremble against my ears—a tell-tale sign she’s close. Good. I want her to come undone for me, to lose herself so completely she can’t pretend this doesn’t mean anything.

Because I know it does.

At least for me.

Her movements become more erratic as she approaches orgasm, her mouth slipping off my cock as her focus fractures. I don’t mind. Watching her lose control is its own kind of pleasure. I curl my finger inside her, finding that spot that makes her whimper, and increase the pressure of my tongue.

Her back arches off the bed, her body going rigid before dissolving into shuddering spasms around my finger. I keep up the pace—both finger and tongue—for a moment, making sure she explodes, then slowly shift down the gears, gentling my touch as the aftershocks fade.

Before I can catch my breath, she’s on me again, taking my cock deep into her mouth with renewed determination. Her hand wraps around the base, stroking in time with her bobbing head. The dual sensation is overwhelming, and I’m teetering on the edge within seconds.

“Lea, I’m going to—” I gasp as she takes me deep again, then I push her head away. “Keep that up and I’m going to explode, and I still want to fuck it out… ”

The impish grin she gives me as she wipes saliva from the corner of her mouth is so fucking hot. “Well, I’m all yours…”

She lies on her back and opens up for me, and at that moment, it’s just about the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen. And what makes it hotter is that she chose this. She wants to be with me. Once or a million times, I’m not sure, but even the one time is making my heart sing.

It would have been all too easy to take her to bed last night, while she was drunk and upset, and scratching desperately to find anyone—anything—to cling onto. She was in my bed, asking me to sleep with her, but I’d listened to my conscience and restrained myself from doing so.

Now, in the cold light of day, I know this is her decision.

She picked me, and this.

And that means she might choose me again.

She wants to fuck it out, I don’t, but ultimately it’ll be up to her if this is a one-time performance.

She’s clearly got some issues to deal with, and I’m starting to wonder if her reaction to finding out about the hockey team and her hyper-sensitivity to art criticism was just masking a summer heartbreak that hasn’t yet healed.

But I still want her.

And want to help her heal.

As I take my clothes off and scramble for a condom in my bottom drawer, I steal a glance at her, and she looks both pensive and eager.

I wonder, again, if she wasn’t expecting to feel something about someone so quickly after Chris, and if some of the emotional ups and downs have been her body’s response to that.

I slip the condom on and smile down at her. “Lea, are you sure about this?”

She nods. “I want you, Declan. One time. ”

I don’t need a second invitation, although I’m hoping I might get one in a few days’ time.

Positioning myself between her thighs, I line up my cock and push into her slowly.

The sensation is overwhelming—tight heat engulfing me inch by inch.

Her face contorts in a mix of pleasure and adjustment, and I freeze halfway.

“You OK?”

She bites her lip and nods. “Just… it’s been a while.”

The thought that she hasn’t been with anyone since that Chris asshole gives me a primal satisfaction I’m not proud of.

I lean down, pressing my forehead against hers, slowing my entry to make sure she’s both OK and can handle it.

Then, when she’s ready, she puts her hands on my hips and pulls me closer to her.

“We can stop,” I murmur, though my body screams in protest at the mere suggestion.

“Don’t you dare.” She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper.

Holy fuck.

We stay like that for a moment, me buried in her as deep as I can go, adjusting to the sensation. Then she shifts her hips slightly, and all my restraint instantly evaporates. I begin to move, establishing a rhythm that has her clutching at my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin.

“Fuck… Declan…” She sounds breathless, almost surprised.

I want to laugh at the irony. This was supposed to get her out of my system?

Each thrust only embeds her deeper into my consciousness.

Every moan, every whimper, and every flutter of her inner muscles around my cock—it’s all being seared into my memory, an emotional tattoo that will be with me for life .

This isn’t casual.

Not to me, anyway.

And this isn’t something I’ll be able to walk away from.

My strokes grow harder, deeper, drawing those beautiful little gasps from her lips.

Her eyes are closed, her head thrown back, exposing the elegant line of her throat.

I lean down to kiss her there, tasting the salt of her skin.

I cup both of her small, delicate breasts in my hands, caressing her nipples until they’re firm.

“Look at me,” I command softly. “Because I want to remember this forever.”

Her eyes flutter open, green meeting blue, and the connection feels like a physical jolt. Something passes between us, something beyond the physical joining of our bodies. For a brief moment, all the walls come down—no lies, no pretenses, and no emotional shields—and we feel connected.

Just us.

Her eyes widen, and I can see the exact moment she realizes this too. Panic flashes across her face, quickly masked by renewed physical passion as she pulls me down for a desperate kiss. It seems like the obvious thing to do, but I know that it’s a defense mechanism.

She’s running.

Even as our bodies move together, even as we share this most intimate of connections, she’s running from whatever this is becoming.

The realization stings, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.

The building pressure in my core demands attention, and from the way her movements are erratic, she’s close too.

Suddenly, the thought that this might almost be the end, might be the last time with her, pulls me back from the edge. But soon enough, I’m back there again, determined to give her everything and experience all of her. I want to make her come, more than once, and have her say my name.

Then I want to hold her.

And if that’s all I ever get, if it’s all done after that, I’ll deal with it then.

But God, that’s not what I want.

“Come for me,” I whisper against her ear, reaching between us to circle her clit with my thumb.

“Declan,” she gasps, and I can hear the pleasure and uncertainty in her voice, as if she’s fighting a similar battle in her own head.

She shatters, her body arching beneath mine, inner muscles clenching around me in rhythmic pulses.

The sight of her—flushed, breathless, and completely lost in pleasure—tips me over the edge.

With a groan that seems torn from somewhere deep inside me, I follow her into blissful oblivion, emptying myself completely.

It’s everything I wanted and so much more.

Afterward, as we lie tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin, I study her face in the early morning light. I touch every inch of her. I inhale her scent and kiss her forehead. All of it, to memorize every part, in case this is the last time I get to do this.

Her eyes remain closed, but I know she’s not asleep. She’s thinking. Probably regretting this already, rebuilding the walls that momentarily came down during our passion. This “one-time thing” was supposed to get it out of our systems.

But it didn’t work.

Not for me, anyway.

After a while, she looks up at me, and I meet her gaze. And she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Her cheeks are flushed, her curls wild around her face, but her eyes are startlingly clear. Too clear. Like she’s already calculating her exit strategy.

“That was…” I begin, not sure where I’m going with it, but hating the silence.

“Good,” she finishes for me, sitting up suddenly. “Perfect.”

She detaches from me and swings her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her clothes. I watch her dress—panties, bra, jeans, and tank top—and seeing her do something so normal for what feels like the only time does something funny to my chest.

“So,” she says, not looking at me, “we got it out of our systems?”

I prop myself up on one elbow, studying her carefully. “Did we?”

She glances at me, then away quickly. “That was the plan.”

The plan.

Right.

The plan she came up with when she was drunk. The plan that sounded dubious then and sounds even more so now that I’ve had her in ways I’ve been dreaming about for weeks. But I can’t tell if it’s a two-way street.

“And you think it worked?” I press, because apparently I’m a masochist.

She shrugs. “It should. That’s what people do, right? Fuck to get over people?”

“Not in my experience,” I say. “But maybe if that’s what you want to happen…”

She looks around the room. “I should go.”

“Don’t.” I sit up, the sheet pooling at my waist. “I can make breakfast.”

She’s already standing, searching for her jeans. “I have… things to do. ”

“Lea—”

“This was supposed to be simple, Declan.” She finally looks at me, her eyes a mix of frustration and something that might be regret. “One time, that’s all.”

“And was it? Simple?”

She pauses. For a moment, I think she might be honest—might admit that what just happened between us was anything but simple—but instead she nods and pulls on her ankle boots.

“Yep. Mission accomplished,” she says. “Completely over it now.”

Bullshit. Complete, utter bullshit. But what am I supposed to say? She’s made up her mind, and I’d be as much of an asshole as Ben if I kept pushing her past the point she was comfortable with.

“So I’ll see you at the project meeting?” she asks, hovering by the door.

I nod, trying to match her casual tone. “See you then.”

She hesitates, just for a second, and I think she might say something real—something honest. But then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that feels like the period at the end of a very short story.

I fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Some vaccine.

All I feel is more infected than ever.