Page 40 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Returning to my home after family dinner, I’m still dancing around the living room, high on the energy of the night. The echo of my own laughter fills the empty house as I float from room to room, glancing at my phone every other second.

Declan hadn’t stayed long once we’d gotten back to my place, and part of me wonders if I scared him off by being a little too much, a little too demanding, a little too Marshall.

I pause and rest my head against the wall, letting out a soft groan of frustration.

The moment we walked in the door, I’d looped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips to his.

He returned my kiss with the same fervor that matched the night until I surged against him, so damn ready for him to take it further.

That’s when he stiffened. I immediately pulled back. When he brushed a lock of hair off my forehead, I knew he was going to bail. His eyes had a haunted look. “Kalie. Tonight was…overwhelming.”

At least he hadn’t lied. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t asked him to stay.

I knew he needed time to process the chaos of the evening.

I didn’t want to push him, so I let him go.

But now, alone, I can’t help but wonder if I gave up too easily.

I run my fingers through my hair, restless, feeling like I’m coming down from the world’s most intense adrenaline rush.

It was a good night.

I can’t shake the fear that I’ve blown it by letting him in too much. Too fast.

That I’d gotten under his skin in a way he wasn’t ready for. I’m not sure how much I can ask of a man who hasn’t had any kind of normalcy in years. But the fact that he came to the farm tonight, that he was willing to be part of my family—even just for an evening—has to mean something.

I tug on my bottom lip. It has to mean something, right? Even if he’s not willing to admit it to me yet. Even if he’s not willing to admit it to himself. I draw a breath and anchor myself against the wall.

He hasn’t texted since he left, and that leaves me more unbalanced than I’d care to admit.

I’m torn between reaching out and letting him come to me.

It’s like waiting for the gun to go off at the start of a race, adrenaline and anticipation pumping through my veins. I feel the need to move, to run, to—

My phone buzzes, and I nearly drop it in my haste to grab it off the counter. My eyes scan the message, and I flush at the words that are on the screen.

Declan:

Open your door.

Now.

The text from Declan sends a shiver of excitement darting down my spine. Without thinking, I move to unlock the door and fling it open. He steps inside without waiting to be asked, his eyes raking over me from head to toe.

My heart races as I wait for his next move.

“All night, I’ve fought this,” he growls, pulling me into his arms before crushing his lips against mine.

His tongue delves deep, tasting and claiming me as his own.

His hands roam over my body, teasing and taunting me with his touch.

One hand finds its way under the fabric of my camisole, the other down the back of my pants teasing at my G-string.

I arch into him, needing more contact. Needing him to touch me where I ache with longing.

He deepens our kiss. The taste of him makes me wild, the feel of his rough hands sending shivers down my spine.

“Turn around,” he commands softly, his voice a low rumble in my ear. I hesitate for just a moment, then slowly turn and brace myself against the wall.

He steps forward, kicking the door closed behind him. Once it’s just the two of us, he presses closer, his body aligning against mine from behind. His body is like a furnace pressed against mine and pure, sensuous energy.

One hand grips my hair tightly as the other slides down my stomach to tease at the dampness between my legs.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, nibbling my earlobe. “You want this, don’t you?”

I moan softly, bobbing my head up and down.

I’m unable to form words as he continues to nibble up and down my neck, increasing the excitement pulsing through my veins.

Declan nips at my bare shoulder, then eases the sting with his tongue.

A shiver of pleasure rips through me. I moan his name, “Declan…”

His hand slides under my camisole and up. Snagging my bandeau bra along the way, he sweeps both over my head—exposing my breasts to the cool evening air. One hand cups the weight of one breast—tugging, twisting my nipple. I arch into his fingers, wanting more.

Wanting him.

I’m babbling about how I want his mouth to surround my nipples, how I want him to get me off with his tongue. He snarls, “Next time.”

Then I feel the fingers of his other hand catch along my waistband, and he tugs them down below my hips. His primitive growl erupts before he traces his index finger along the solitary line of my G-string. “You mean to tell me this is all you were wearing when you were dancing tonight?”

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Please, Declan.”

“Please, what?”

“I need more.”

He chuckles darkly, his breath tickling my ear. “You’re going to get more.”

With one swift movement, he pulls his hand away from my breast. I whimper at the loss. That is until he uses both hands to yank my pants and undergarments down to my ankles. “Step out.” Once I do, I feel exposed and vulnerable.

Looking over my shoulder, those nerves settle when I see the intensity on his face.

For just a second, time stands still. Until he drags a finger from the nape of my neck down my spine, in between the cleft of my cheeks, in between my thighs.

He rims my dripping entrance. “Is this where you want me, firebrand?”

My legs, strong legs that have carried me thousands of miles, quiver.

He slides his finger in one thrust. “Ahh!” My body clutches at his digit, throbbing. My eyes roll back, and I’m afraid I’m about to come. When I tell him that, he smirks before adding a second and thrusting lazily. “I always wanted to feel fire. Burn on me, Kalie.”

So I do. I detonate, squeezing his fingers as I explode. My world rightens when I feel his body press against my back, even as my slickness slides down my thighs. Before I can ramp up for a second round, he pulls away.

I let out a mew of disappointment. That is until I see him reach for the buckle of his belt.

Twisting until I can admire the striptease in front of me, I bite my lip at the thick arousal he reveals. “Let me touch you.”

“Not this time, firebrand. I need to be inside you.” Before he shucks his slacks completely off, he reaches inside his wallet for protection.

After sliding the condom on his cock—a cock that has a barbell right behind the head which causes my juices to leak even more—he pulls me forward against him.

His hand slides beneath my thigh to align us.

I wrap it around his hip before he nudges the other to encase his waist. Bracing me back against the wall, he positions himself at my entrance, slowly pushing inside until he’s fully sheathed within me.

I gasp at the feeling of being so full, so owned, with the extra pressure of the metal nudging my walls. I can’t help but beg for more. “Please…”

His hands grip my hips tightly as he begins to move, thrusting into me with a rough rhythm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through me.

“You’re mine,” he growls, grips my hips tighter, pulling me on and off him.

“Fuck,” I cry out, my voice echoing in the silence of my living room. “More, Declan.”

He grunts in approval, increasing the pace of his thrusts. His free hand braces against the wall as he controls the pace of our movements.

I’m about to fall off the edge. I gasp, “So…so close. Please…”

Then I fall over, every muscle inside me desperate to pull him over with me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as shudders of completion rip through my body. Turning my head, I run my tongue up the side of his neck.

“God…Love…More…Kalie…,” he grunts. A few final thrusts, then Declan drives in deep, holding still as he empties himself inside me.

We’re barely standing, panting heavily. Sweat trickles down from the corner of his temple. My hand comes up to brush it aside. Despite the primitiveness of it, our coming together was perfect. It was us. It was ripping open our souls.

“You’re mine,” he repeats softly, leaning forward to press a kiss against my sweaty forehead. “Always.”

“And you’re mine.” It comes out breathless, like I’ve run a marathon.

But why am I worried I won’t be able to hold on to the prize at the end of the race?