Page 18

fifteen

. . .

[India]

After taking a second to calm my racing heart while my scream peters out in the small space of the second-floor guest bathroom, I anxiously giggle. The sound is giddy and youthful since my nervous system is completely out of whack.

Because Declan Wylde is glaring at me through the steam-covered glass shower door, and he isn’t moving.

What are you doing here? should be my first question.

Instead, I shut off the shower and open the glass door outward, allowing him an unfiltered view of my bare body.

One that has changed over the years, grown a little thicker in some areas despite a healthy diet and workout regime.

If he reads the vulnerability in my actions, he ignores it.

Or maybe I’m just quick to cover up my initial concerns.

The ones that tell me he’ll reject me. He’ll judge my body or my boldness.

“You’re eye-fucking me,” I state brashly as I reach for a towel and slowly wrap it around myself, tucking the thick terry cloth tightly above my breasts.

Declan closes his eyes a second. His mouth pops open. Then it snaps shut. He half-heartedly lifts his hand, weakly pointing behind him with his extended thumb, before dropping his arm like it took too much effort to raise his limb.

Slowly, his lids open. “In your dreams.” His voice is rugged and rough, and I chew my lower lip because he remembers. He recalls what he said to me and what I said to him right here in this very bathroom all those years ago.

In your dreams . What a childish retort, and yet . . .

“In my dreams, you’re fucking me.” My response might be almost as childish, taunting and teasing, daring him. Maybe I’m even daring myself to be a little stronger in expressing myself, a little more empowered to seek what I want.

Declan swallows hard, his gaze pinned to my face. With a shaky hand, I swipe through my soaked hair, the curls tangled and twisted.

Then again, maybe this is a bad idea .

“How long has it been?” he croaks out taking a giant step forward.

I tilt my head, not remembering this question as part of our first encounter. Then I recall we’d been playing a game earlier that night.

“Since I’ve been kissed?” I clarify.

Declan nods robotically.

“I can’t remember,” I admit with an embarrassed whisper. I’d stopped counting the months. The timeframe was too humiliating. It spanned backward into my former marriage.

Declan’s head keeps nodding like a damn bobblehead, until he abruptly stops and starts moving his head side to side. “Truth. Tell me to walk away and I will.”

I should. I should scold him for being here, yell at him to look away, to get out. What is he doing here ?

But my tongue is thick, because of the way his eyes both plead for me to kick him out and beg me to pull him close. And God, do I want him closer to me.

My gaze drops to the bulge in his thin dress pants which hardly hide just how turned on he is.

The sight of me has caused his dick to thicken, to lengthen, to pulse, and that’s the confidence bolster I need.

“Don’t you dare,” I beg, raspy and low. I’m almost ashamed of myself, but I want this more than I’m willing to admit.

I can remember a lot of things about Declan. The taste of his kiss. The feel of his hands. The sensation of being connected to him. However, I don’t need old memories; I want to make new ones. Ones that include this fresher version of me and wiser versions of us.

Our eyes only meet briefly before he cups the back of my neck and pulls me to him so forcefully, we collide. My breasts crush against his chest. Then his mouth is on mine, and I instantly melt.

While holding the nape of my neck, his other hand fists the towel over my hip, as if tugging at the material will bring me even closer to him.

His tongue is the sweetest invasion. His mouth a welcome mat. I haven’t been here in too long. This feeling. This desire. This yearning to?—

I pull back, clutch the buttoned panels of his dress shirt, and rip them apart. A few buttons fly haphazardly around the small bathroom, while others stay intact.

“What the hell?” Declan scowls, glancing down at the ruined shirt, before squeezing my neck and bringing my mouth back to his.

Within seconds, he’s tugged at the parts of his shirt still fastened together, while never breaking contact with my mouth.

“Should we talk about this?” he mutters against my lips .

“No talking,” I murmur, before nipping at his lower lip.

Declan pulls back and touches his lip with two fingers. I didn’t bite him hard enough to draw blood, and I’m about to declare such a thing when he yanks open the towel around me, forcing it to drop to the floor.

I take a step back, giving him another view of my naked form. Nipples erect. Flesh still wet. I swear he can hear my heart beating.

With his hungry eyes on me, I take another step back, placing my foot inside the shower. The water is off but the heat of the space lingers.

“What are you doing?” Declan tilts his head, watching me take a final step back into the stall.

“Dreaming,” I whisper.

The sharp clank of his belt-buckle unbuckling and the gentle snap of the leather being slid from his pants sends shivers over my damp skin.

“I’d say you’re tempting ,” Declan counters, a seductive smile curling his kiss swollen mouth.

“With my existence?” I tease, tilting my head, aware that I’m naked for his viewing, and enjoying every minute that his eyes roam my body, like he doesn’t know where to focus first. He wants all of me at once.

He softly chuckles, his gaze snapping back to my face. “Let’s be a little more specific here. What does the dream involve?”

I lick my lips, shifting my gaze to the edge of the open shower. Maybe I’m not as bold as I thought.

“Truth,” Declan commands, drawing my eyes back to him. He pauses with his hand on the waistband of his pants.

“You and me.” I slide my hand up the edge of the stall, noticing a tremble in my fingers. “This shower. The back wall.”

Declan unzips his slacks, letting them fall open to expose dark green boxer briefs. However, he doesn’t remove them, allowing the combination to hang low on his hips. The hardness behind the cloth barrier is even more evident.

With his eyes on me, he says, “Jesus, you’re still a wildfire.”

The compliment goes straight between my legs. I’m out of control, raging with desire, hot for him, and he’s drawn to the flame.

Proving his opinion, he takes a step toward me. Even though I anticipate his approach, I take another step back, bumping into the rear wall. Suddenly, Declan is over me, bracing one arm above my head while his other grips my hip and tugs my lower half toward him. His mouth covers mine again.

But he still has his pants on, inside the shower.

He’s left the shower door open, and when he pulls away, he spins me to face the side wall, and I catch the profile of our bodies in the mirror opposite the stall.

“Dare,” he whispers, his breath warm near my ear as his hands skim over my hips and up my spine.

“Watch us,” I whimper.

Turning his head, he sees our reflection in the mirror.

He’d told me to watch us on that first night, although there wasn’t much to see.

He’d taken me from behind, in a similar manner to our current position.

The mirror exposes only three-quarters of our bodies, hinting at what we’re about to do, but not providing a full view.

Looking at the reflection, I watch Declan shove his pants and boxer-briefs low enough to release what I remember as long and thick and eager to enter me.

“We do need to talk about one thing,” Declan groans as the warmth of his length comes to rest against the cleft of my backside.

“I’m on the pill.”

“And I haven’t done this in over eighteen months. ”

“What?” I turn my head, attempting to get a better look at him, to confirm what I’d consider impossible.

But Declan captures my mouth and slips his hand around my lower belly, dipping skilled fingers between my thighs. He’s quick to find where I need him most and I whimper against his lips. “Please.”

I spread my legs wider, and Declan bends slightly behind me. His other hand clasps his heavy length, using the tip to tease me while his fingers toy with my clit.

“Declan,” I demand, feeling an unfamiliar burn behind my eyes. The desperation for him is so overwhelming, I’m afraid tears will spill if he doesn’t— “ Ah .”

I cry out at the sudden rush, the sharp fulfillment, the fullness I haven’t felt in years as Declan settles inside me. He pauses, lowering his forehead to my shoulder.

“Just give me a minute,” he hums, jolting inside me, eager to unleash.

When he nips the juncture of my shoulder and neck, I cry out again, and Declan moves.

Sweet goddess , does he move . . . like he’s running bases, chasing the wind.

With my palms flat against the slippery tile, I fruitlessly attempt to hold myself steady as Declan pounds into me, and I meet him thrust for thrust, racing with him.

“Never.” He huffs. “Been like.” He exhales against my neck. “This.”

I smile to myself, pressing my forehead to the wall before reaching between my legs.

Gently, Declan slaps my hand away. “Let me,” he grunts, returning his fingers to that sensitive nub while he rocks in and out of me.

“All yours,” I whisper, admitting too much once again. How I have always wanted to be his. It’s only been him who can make me feel the way I do right now .

Defenseless yet invincible. Seductive and beautiful. Sensual yet special.

I reach behind me, seeking his hip, wanting to touch him somehow other than the connection we share with him inside me. The sensation spurs him faster.

“Dammit, India.” It isn’t a curse. He isn’t reprimanding me. His voice is sheer desire, and perhaps grit. He’s holding back, allowing me to get there first.

Bracing against the tile, I bend forward a little more and glimpse us in the mirror. Something about me naked, him half-dressed, pants dangling around his upper thighs, does the trick.

“Declan,” I cry out, filling the shower stall with the echo of his name before I stiffen, dragging him as deep as he can get inside me. I slap the wall and hang my head as my legs shake uncontrollably.

Silver stars dance before my eyes as I orgasm like I never have before.

What was that?

Our coming together takes on a new sound, pinging against the tile, as flesh slaps flesh before he pins himself inside my depths and pauses.

While my heart hammers, his cock pulses. His fingers imprint on my hips. His moan of my name is like a rush of wind swirling around us.

Eventually, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me upright.

His spent dick slips free from me. I’m not certain I can stand on my own two feet, but I don’t have to because Declan doesn’t let me go.

With one arm around my midsection, he reaches for the faucet, turning the shower back on, despite his pants.

And he holds onto me like he doesn’t intend to let me go.