Page 40 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

twenty-three

LEA

Declan sets my world on fire as his lips trail down my neck, making me wonder why I ever denied myself. He touches me like I’m made of glass. It’s sweet, but after weeks of trying to forget him, of convincing myself this was a mistake, I don’t want careful.

I want him to consume me.

My hands slide down his muscled back, feeling the way his muscles shift beneath my palms, and I tug him closer, grinding my hips against his. He groans against my skin, the vibration sending shivers down my spine. But still, he’s slow and a little hesitant.

I’m going to have to show him.

With a surge of boldness, I push against his shoulders. He looks confused for a moment before I maneuver him onto his back, straddling his hips. His eyes widen, darkening as I lean down to kiss him briefly before sliding down his body, leaving a trail of kisses on my way.

“What are you?—”

“Shhh,” I murmur. “I want to show you. ”

His abs tense as I wrap my fingers around him, and he’s as hard as I remember from the bathroom. But unlike that day, when I’d been a storm of emotions and consumed by both fear and longing, right now I know exactly what I want. And, God, am I going to show him.

“Jesus,” he gasps, his hips lifting involuntarily as I stroke him slowly.

“Nope, just me,” I quip.

I lower my head, maintaining eye contact as I run my tongue along the underside of his cock, from base to tip. His entire body shudders, and it sends a thrill through me, knowing I have this effect on him. He mutters a curse, one hand coming to rest gently in my hair.

I take him into my mouth, slowly at first, watching his reaction, and the way he holds my gaze makes my pulse quicken. His eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with desire, but there’s something else there too—a vulnerability that makes my chest tighten.

I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper, and his eyes roll back, his fingers tightening in my hair. I lose myself in the rhythm, in the taste of him, and in the sounds he makes—half-strangled moans that grow more desperate with each pass of my tongue.

“Wait,” he gasps suddenly, tugging gently at my hair. “Stop. I’m too close.”

I pull back, licking my lips. “That’s the point.”

“No,” he says, breathing hard. “Too soon… Too quick…”

“Dec, it’s fine,” I laugh. “There’ll be a thousand other chances?—”

“No, you don’t get it…” He laughs and gets a twinkle in his eye, even as I continue sucking him. “I’ve been thinking about you all week, yet I haven’t?— ”

It takes me a second to figure it out, then I laugh as I sit up, faking a pout. “Declan Andrews, are you saying you’ve abstained while you waited for me?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he smirks. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about you all the time?—”

Something warm unfurls in my chest. “You’ve been thinking about me?”

A disbelieving laugh escapes him. “Are you kidding?” He sits up, cupping my face. “Every night. Every goddamn night, Lea.”

The raw honesty in his voice makes me brave. “Me too,” I admit. “Every night. I kept replaying what happened at your apartment.”

His eyes darken further, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That’s a lot to live up to.”

There’s something in his tone—half-joking, half-serious. I realize with a start that he’s nervous. Declan Andrews, star hockey player, talented artist, and the guy who drew female nudes in class without batting an eye—is nervous about pleasing me.

It makes me want him even more.

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” I tease, but I soften it with a kiss to let him know I’m not really worried.

He flips us, pinning me beneath him again. “Challenge accepted,” he murmurs against my lips, and I feel his hard length pressing against my inner thigh.

His hands are everywhere—sliding up my sides, cupping my breasts, and thumbs brushing over my nipples until I’m arching into his touch. When his fingers find me, I’m already embarrassingly wet. He groans appreciatively, sliding one finger inside me while his thumb circles my clit.

I gasp, and in this moment everything feels like a perfectly completed puzzle.

“You look so fucking good,” he murmurs, pressing his face into my neck. “I’ve been dreaming about this—about you—for weeks.”

He adds another finger, curling them inside me, and I cry out, clutching at his shoulders.

My nails dig into his skin as pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter at the base of my spine.

Letting go with him feels as good as last time, but now it feels like he’s supporting me to do so, taking the leap with me.

And it’s hot .

“Declan,” I gasp. “Please—I need?—”

He understands instantly, reaching for his discarded jeans and pulling a condom from his wallet. “Glad I replenished these—” he laughs.

I take the condom from him, rolling it down his length.

His eyes flutter closed at my touch, his breath catching.

When it’s on, he positions himself between my thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my pussy.

The way he shudders slightly tells me he’s holding back an urge to plow deep into me.

And, this time, he doesn’t ask.

He pushes forward slowly, filling me inch by inch.

But it’s not enough. He’s being too careful, because he’s worried I’ll break.

But I want him to see that I’m stronger now, and I can take it.

I wrap my legs around his waist and urge him on.

More, more, more. And when he’s finally fully inside me, I see stars.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his forehead pressed against mine.

He starts to move, slow and deep at first, each thrust deliberate.

I clutch at his back, his shoulders, or anywhere I can reach, trying to pull him closer, deeper.

Then he picks up the pace driving into me with increasing urgency.

The headboard knocks against the wall, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I hope Em doesn’t come back early.

“Declan,” I moan, feeling the tension building. “Oh god, I’m close.”

“Come for me,” he urges. “Let go of what you’ve been holding on to.”

The combined sensations push me over the edge. I come with a cry that he muffles with his mouth, swallowing the sound as my body clenches around him. The pleasure is overwhelming, radiating outward from my core in waves that leave me trembling.

As the waves of pleasure subside, I collapse back against the pillows, gasping for breath. Declan is still inside me, hard and pulsing, his muscles tense as he holds back his own release.

“I’m not done with you,” I murmur against his ear. “Not even close.”

He laughs, half-groaning. “I almost am. You’re going to kill me, Altman.”

“Lucky you’ve been saving up,” I tease, squeezing my muscles around him.

“Fuck,” he says, his eyes practically rolling back in his head.

It sends a thrill through me. “Hey, Dec?”

His eyebrow arches. “Yeah?”

“I want you to take me from behind,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the heat flooding my cheeks. I don’t usually ask for what I want so directly, but with Declan, it feels different. Safe. And if I’m taking the leap with him, I may as well go all the way. “Please. ”

Something flashes in his eyes—hunger, maybe, or surprise—before he nods, pulling out slowly. I whimper at the loss, and feel suddenly empty without him, but then his hands are on my hips, guiding me as I roll onto my stomach. I rise onto my hands and knees and look back at him over my shoulder.

Then I smile. “Just like this.”

His eyes rake over me, and I’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, yet so completely comfortable. I’m no longer looking for any excuse to push back or run away, but instead inviting him in. And I know, in my marrow, that I can trust him to be kind and caring, and to not hurt me.

His hands caress my ass, gripping gently before sliding up my spine to my shoulders and back down. Every touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake. When his fingers dip between my legs, finding me still slick and swollen, I moan, dropping my head to the mattress and letting him have me.

“You like this,” he observes, sliding a finger inside me.

“Yes,” I gasp as he adds a second finger, stretching me. “God, yes.”

“Tell me what you want,” he says, his fingers moving slowly in and out.

I swallow hard. “I want you inside me. Deep. Hard.”

I feel him shift behind me, positioning himself, and I push back impatiently, taking him in. We both groan as he slides home, filling me completely in one smooth thrust. He starts to move with slow, deep thrusts that have me clutching at the sheets.

His pace quickens, the sound of skin against skin filling the room alongside our heavy breathing and half-formed words. One hand leaves my hip to slide around and between my legs, finding my clit and circling it with his thumb in time with his thrusts.

“Declan,” I moan, my arms starting to give out. “I?—”

“I’ve got you,” he says, his voice strained. His chest presses against my back as he leans over me, his free arm wrapping around my waist to support me. The new position drives him impossibly deeper, and I feel myself tightening around him again. “I’ve got you, Lea.”

My second orgasm builds faster than the first, a tidal wave gathering force.

Declan’s thrusts grow more urgent, less controlled, and I know he’s close too.

His fingers continue their relentless circles on my clit, pushing me higher and higher, and with my head buried in the mattress I reach around to grip his legs.

“Look at me,” he says suddenly, his voice raw. “I need to see you.”

His hand leaves my waist to gently turn my face toward him. It’s awkward, this half-twist, but when our eyes meet, something electric passes between us. I’m sure my face is a mess, but still he kisses me—messy, desperate, and perfect—and I’m lost.

I gasp against his lips. “I’m?—”

“Me too,” he groans, his hips snapping against mine. “Fuck, Lea. Together.”

The orgasm hits me like a lightning strike—sudden, searing, and overwhelming.

I cry out as my body convulses around him.

Through it all, Declan’s eyes stay locked on mine, intimate in a way I’ve never experienced before.

His pupils are blown wide, his expression one of pure ecstasy as he comes with a shuddering groan, emptying himself.

We collapse together onto the bed, a tangle of sweaty limbs and rapid heartbeats.

For several minutes, neither of us speaks, too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Declan’s arms encircle me from behind, pulling me against his chest in a spoon.

His lips press gentle kisses to my shoulder, my neck, or anywhere he can reach.

Eventually our breathing steadies, our heartbeats slow.

I’m half-dozing, in that gooey post-sex moment of total bliss.

But this time, it’s different. That morning in his apartment, my mind had been hammering me with ‘what ifs’ and shouting at me to run.

But now, I’m perfectly content to stay wrapped in Declan’s arms forever.

“Are you OK?” he murmurs against my hair after a while.

“Mmm,” I respond eloquently. “Very OK.”

His soft laugh vibrates against my back. “Good.”

A comfortable silence settles over us. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my arm, and I feel more relaxed than I have in months. Maybe since those first few golden weeks in Europe, before I met Chris, when it was just me and my sketchbook and endless possibility.

But something nags at the edge of my consciousness, a question that needs asking. It builds slowly, rising like the tide until it’s impossible to ignore. Because, while I decided to make the leap with Declan, and I know what I want, I need to know he still wants it?—”

“So…” I start, trying to sound casual. “Are we really doing this?”

“Doing what?” His hand stills on my arm. “We just did it.”

I turn in his arms, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Not that , you idiot. This .” I gesture between us, suddenly feeling awkward. “You and me. A… relationship.”

The word hangs in the air, loaded with implication. I hold my breath, watching his face. He’s quiet for a moment, and for a split second the negative voice in my brain screams that it told me so, that this was a mistake. But then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face .

“I’d like that,” he says.

Something warm blooms in my chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The word is final.

Strong.

Reliable.

“What about Mike?” he says.

“I don’t think we should tell him,” I cut him off. “Not right now, anyway.”

As I say it, Em’s words ring in my ears. Mike should be happy if I’m happy, and if he’s not, then that’s too bad. But if he doesn’t know, then it won’t matter anyway, right? And Declan and I can work together to tell him when the time is right.

“We’ll tell him when you’re ready.” I feel him smile against my skin as he kisses my body. “So, does this mean I’m forgiven for being a dick about your art?”

I laugh, snuggling into him more, if that’s even possible. “That depends. Are you going to keep being a dick about my art?”

“Never. Your art is amazing. You’re amazing.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “And what about lying about playing hockey?—”

“I guess hockey players aren’t so bad,” I say. “I mean, Linc does have a delectable pair of legs?—”

He gives an exaggerated sigh. “Thinking of other men already?”

“Depends,” I say, stretching contentedly, “if you’ve recovered enough for another round?—”

His brows lift suddenly, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “Another round, huh? Ambitious….”

“I’ve been told I’m an overachiever,” I quip, reaching down to wrap my fingers around him. He’s already half-hard again, and my touch makes him twitch.

“Christ,” he laughs, his hips jerking. “What have I gotten myself into?”

I peer up at him through my lashes. “I think the question is, who are you going to get into?”

His laugh turns into a groan as I stroke him firmly. “You will be the death of me, Lea Altman.”

“But what a way to go,” I say with a wicked smile, and then I’m sliding down his body, ready to show him exactly how much of an overachiever I can be.