Chapter 25: Twenty Five

Declan’s apartment was quiet when we stepped inside. I remembered it vividly from the one night I had spent here. That one night after the bar, before everything spiraled into labels and rules and forbidden fantasies. The lighting was warm and low, casting soft shadows across the hardwood floors. His bookshelf stood tall in the corner, filled with paperbacks stacked horizontally and vertically. A T-shirt was casually tossed on his couch.

I stood near the doorway while he locked the door behind us. My balance was better now, but my head still felt foggy. Everything was dulled. Emotionally, physically. Except him. He was sharp.

Too sharp. His presence filled me.

He turned to me, eyes sweeping over my face. “Sit down,” he said, gently. “You need water. And food.”

I didn’t argue.

He guided me toward the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, he returned with a glass of water and a plate with a plain sandwich on it, just toast, cheese, and turkey slices. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt like care.

“Eat,” he said, pressing the plate into my hands. “I’m serious.”

I took a bite, mostly to make him stop hovering. He sat beside me, close but not touching. His posture was stiff. He was sitting with his fists clenched in his lap, while he stared at me. He was seated like he was trying very hard not to be near me. Like sitting this close to me might undo all that control he liked to pretend he had.

“I’m not that drunk,” I mumbled between bites.

He gave me a look. “You fell on your face in a parking lot, Willow.”

“Okay,” I admitted. “Maybe a little drunk.”

He exhaled, leaning back. “You scared me.”

That caught me off guard. I looked at him. “You were mad.”

“I was mad because I didn’t know what I’d find when I got to you,” he said, voice quiet but edged. “Mad because the thought of you walking home alone, that drunk, made me sick. Its so stupid, Willow. And so unsafe. And I got mad because - ”

He stopped himself.

Because.

The word hung there like a thread we both knew he didn’t want to pull.

I set the plate down on the table, my half eaten sandwich on the plate.

“I’m okay,” I said softly. “Really.”

“You’re clearly not,” he ran his fingers through his hair, “You’re so irresponsible.” He groaned, “These stupid fucking things you do. It makes me want to be responsible for you. You need that.”

I turned toward him. He looked tired. Beautiful. His eyes were slightly red, like he really needed to sleep. I reached up, almost without thinking, and touched his face, my fingers brushing along his jaw, then his cheekbone.

He went still.

“You make it so hard,” he said hoarsely. “So fucking hard to stay away from you.”

“Then don’t,” I whispered.

He didn’t move.

Not for a second.

Then he leaned in, so slow, so close I could feel the heat of him before his lips even touched mine.

But they didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he rested his forehead against mine, and I could feel him breathing, slow and uneven against my face.

“I really shouldn’t,” he murmured.

“But you want to,” I said, my voice barely there.

He closed his eyes.

And that was answer enough.

“Declan,” I whispered, barely audible. “Please.”

He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His eyes searched mine, jaw tight, every muscle in his body straining.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said quietly.

“Yes, I do.” My voice cracked, but I meant it. “I want you. Just… tonight.”

His eyes fluttered shut, as if the words physically hurt him. “Willow…”

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” I whispered. “Not right now. I don’t care about what happens tomorrow. I just… I need this. I need you.” I looked into his eyes, “You know how much I want you.”

His breath hitched.

And then he exhaled, deep and ragged. Like he was surrendering.

“When you beg like that,” he said, voice low and broken, “I forget how to be good.” He shook his head, “I’m irresponsible, too.”

I swallowed, my heart in my throat.

He reached out and cupped my face with both hands, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. For a moment he just looked at me like he hadn’t seen me in a while. Eyes, searching and wide. Lips slightly parted. Then he kissed me, soft at first, hesitant.

And then he wasn’t hesitant anymore.

There came that hungry passion I was used to with him. His mouth claimed mine, slow and searing, like he’d been starving for it. I kissed him back just as fiercely, hands tangled in his shirt, dragging him closer until there was no space left between us.

He pulled me into his lap, his hands at my hips, breath hot against my skin as he murmured, “Just once. This can’t happen again.”

I didn’t answer. I just kissed him harder.

And when he finally lifted me in his arms and carried me to his room, I knew he didn’t believe it either.

How could we stay away from each other? Not when his hands on me felt like they were made to touch me. Not when his name on my tongue was a sin, but at the same time, a prayer.

He threw me on the bed, letting me lie down while he stood over me, undoing his shirt buttons one at a time. He threw his shirt on the floor, revealing his muscular body. God, when did he even find the time to work out this much?

I sat up slightly, making quick work of pulling off my top. He watched, his eyes hooded. When he saw I wasn’t wearing a bra, his eyes darkened. “Fuck, Willow.” He climbed on the bed with me, his hands encircling my waist, gripping tightly. “You looked so beautiful, tonight. I wanted to steal you away from your friends. Fuck you right there in front of everyone to show them who owns you.”

He kissed my neck, lightly tracing his lips down my skin, making me moan. “Say it. Who owns you, dove?”

“You do,” I cried as his fingers closed around my nipple. “Take me. Own me.”

“Damn right I do, baby.” He bent down to hungrily lap at my nipples, capturing one with his teeth while he lightly pinched the other.

“My beautiful girl.” His voice was soft. He undid the button of my pants, pulling them off in one long move. “Lay back,” he said, “Let me enjoy you.”

He moved downward, pulling my panties off and throwing them on the floor. He grabbed my thighs, pushing my legs open, and dipped his head. I felt his tongue right on my clit. I bucked, and that made him laugh.

If I thought he was good with his fingers, he was better with his mouth. He ate me out like he had been starving for days. I think I came twice just like that.

When he got up, he captured my lips again. My juices and the taste of him mixed in my mouth. He bit my lip. “I need to be inside you,” he murmured against my lips. “Sorry,” he whispered, “If I get too rough. I can’t help myself.”

He entered me slowly, filling me up inch by inch. I felt it all, him filling me up. I was so full, he felt so big. He picked up the pace, thrusting into me hard and fast. I grabbed his back, digging my nails into his skin as he moved inside me.

I knew I would be so sore the next morning. But I would like that, to feel this memory of him deep inside my body.

For now, I let the pleasure build inside me, letting him take me to the apex one more time again. He pulled out of my body, finishing on my stomach with a groan.

He cleaned me up lovingly, with a warm washcloth, kissing my hands, my face, and I thought God. I wish I could have him like this everyday.