Chapter 118: Hundred and Eighteen

The hike was supposed to exhaust me, but as I lay in the unfamiliar bed of the resort guesthouse, staring at the wooden ceiling, sleep felt like an impossible luxury. My body was heavy from the hike, still sore from the stumble I’d taken earlier, but my mind refused to rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Declan’s face. The way he had crouched down, brushing dirt from my skin as if I were breakable, a fragile little doll, the way his eyes had burned when he touched me.

I rolled over, willing myself to think of anything else. Noah, the emails piling up in my inbox, even Jacob. But the image of Jacob’s cold stare only made Declan’s warmth more dangerous in comparison.

A soft knock broke through my spiraling thoughts.

I froze, clutching the blanket up to my chest, my breath caught in my throat. It was late, well past 1 AM. Everyone should be asleep. Another knock, firmer this time, though still hushed, as if whoever it was didn’t want the others to hear.

I already knew.

“Willow,” came his voice, low and rough.

I slipped out of bed on shaky legs, bare feet brushing the cool floorboards. I cracked the door open, just enough to see him standing there in the dim corridor light, hair mussed, expression unreadable.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, heart pounding so violently I thought he might hear it.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment he didn’t answer. His gaze searched my face, desperate, haunted, before he said, “How’s your ankle?”

“Better.”

Every nerve in my body screamed at me to shut the door. To tell him to leave. To remind both of us of all the reasons this couldn’t happen. But my hand didn’t move.

Instead, I stepped aside.

He slipped in, quietly closing the door behind him. The small room felt immediately smaller, the air thick with tension. I backed up, but only until the edge of the bed pressed against the backs of my legs. Declan stood there, barely

two feet away, looking at me with an intensity I couldn’t stomach. “You shouldn’t be here,” I managed. My voice cracked.

“I know.” His reply was sharp, immediate. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps before turning back to me. “I tried to stay away, Willow. I swear I did. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is you. It’s always you. I am

going mad.”

I shook my head, willing the tears stinging at my eyes not to fall. “Don’t do this. Don’t make this harder.”

“You think it’s easy for me?” His voice dropped, frayed with anguish. “Watching you pretend? Watching him…” He broke off, dragging in a ragged breath. “Do you know what it does to me? Knowing you’re his, when you were never meant to be?”

“Declan,” I whispered, my chest aching at the rawness in his words. “Please.”

He stepped closer, so close that the heat of his body seeped into mine, that familiar pull between us threatening to consume me. “Tell me you don’t feel it too. Tell me, and I’ll walk out that door right now.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came. Because I couldn’t. Because it would be a lie.

The silence was answer enough.

His hands came up, hesitating just an inch from my face, waiting for me to push him away. But I didn’t move. And when his palms finally cupped my cheeks, it felt like breathing after years underwater.

“I hate you,” I whispered, tears spilling now. “I hate you for this. For ruining me. For not letting me forget.”

His forehead pressed to mine, his breath shuddering. “And I hate you. You took my son from me. You kept him form me. But I don’t know how to stay away from you, Willow. I never did.”

The kiss was inevitable. Weeks in the making. His mouth crashed onto mine with a desperation that stole the air from my lungs. I clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, even as my mind screamed at me to stop. But my heart, my

traitorous, aching heart, only wanted more.

It wasn’t gentle. It was years of longing, regret, fury, and love all colliding. His hands tangled in my hair, mine slid up his back, clutching as if letting go would kill me. When he lifted me, setting me down on the bed, my body arched

into his like it had been waiting, starving, for this exact moment.

I was his. I had always been, and would always be.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against my skin, lips tracing down my neck.

I should have. God, I should have. But instead, I whispered, “Please don’t stop.”

When his body pressed fully against mine, I felt whole in a way I hadn’t in years.

His hands found my waist under my top, squeezing slightly, his nails digging into the flesh. He lifted my shirt, still staring at my face, like he couldn’t believe this was me. I couldn’t either. It felt like a fever dream. His hands on me, his body on top of mine. The way he was looking at me, like he used to.

He bent down, laying a soft kiss on my belly button. I arched my back, making way for him. Urging him to go on. But he had stopped. I felt his hand on the bruise on my waist from where Jacob had grabbed me tightly earlier.

“How did this happen?” Declan looked at me.

“Oh just… I don’t know, maybe when I fell today.”

He kept staring at me. “It isn’t fresh. Did Jacob do this?”

He closed his eyes, clenching them shut, like he was trying to calm himself down.

“He just grabbed me too tightly. Its okay.”

Declan kissed the red bruise on my skin. It sent a shiver through me. He kissed down my body, worshipping, tasting, memorising every inch of me as our clothes came off.

He looked better than he ever had. He had been hot then, really hot, but he had put in even more work over the years. My body had changed, though. Giving birth, the hectic reality of life. But he didn’t seem to mind.

“I missed this,” he murmured before he captured my nipple in his mouth. “My dove. So sweet.”

I moaned when he bit me there. It was a familiar pain I had forgotten.

He came up to kiss me, capturing my lips in his. Smooth, and quiet. Hot, heavy, soft, all at the same time. I felt him press into me, and I opened my legs, feeling him slide inside.

I sighed. God. I had missed this, missed him. I felt like my body was made for him. Nothing ever felt like this. Nothing like him being inside.

“I love you,” he whispered against my collarbone, beginning to move inside me, voice breaking. “I always loved you. Even when I tried to hate you. Even when I hated myself.”

Tears slipped silently from my eyes as I pulled him closer. “I love you too,” I admitted, the words shattering me as much as they freed me. “I never stopped.”

When it was over, we lay tangled together, our breaths still uneven. His fingers traced lazy circles against my skin, as if memorizing me all over again. I stared at the ceiling, my chest tight with the weight of what we’d just done.

Reality would crash in soon enough. But for now, in this fragile, stolen moment, I let myself pretend. Pretend that the world outside didn’t exist. Pretend that I belonged here, in his arms, where I had always belonged.

Because the truth was undeniable: no matter how hard I fought it, Declan was the one place I could never stay away from.

And now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to anymore.