Page 26 of Declan

Escape from the pain and memories.

Nothing fucking worked.

Not a damn thing.

Until that kiss.

Now I felt broken in a new way. Old and new clashed together in a maelstrom of feelings.

Fuck Declan.

God, what was wrong with me?

I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to block out the pain. The anger, regret, guilt. I’d made a mess of my life.

Declan’s hand captured mine and he pulled it across his torso and pressed my palm under his heart.

Over his tattoo.

Fresh tears leaked from the corner of my clenched eyelids. The battle was lost, I couldn’t hold it inside.

“Took something from you.” Declan’s rough voice hit my ears. The throaty timbre made me shiver. “And as I was taking, you were still giving me what I needed.”

I had?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

God, was that my voice? I sounded raspy and out of breath.

Declan cleared his throat. When he explained, I heard it, the torturous pain.

“You know me better than anyone. You know where you can touch me and how.”

I did know, not from trial and error. Not because I’d asked or gone on a discovery of his body but because I recognized the signs. I knew because, like him, I couldn’t tolerate gentle explorations. When we came together it was animalistic, wild, full of pent-up sexual need. So I knew how to touch him roughly, scratch and claw. Lick and bite. But never skim or rub. And in return, he didn’t pin me down, he didn’t press his chest against mine. He fucked me on my hands and knees, bent over a piece of furniture, I was on top, or he’d keep himself on his knees with my legs wrapped around him and pound into me.

Never missionary. Never touching. Never kissing or cuddling.

So when he’d grabbed my face and kissed me, I’d kept my arms lamely at my sides and hadn’t reached for him. But that had more to do with me not knowing what the hell to do. I’d never kissed a man before. The first one who tried I’d nearly bit through his lip. After that, it was spread far and wide—never attempt touching my mouth.

But right then, I was touching him, and he’d placed my hand where he’d wanted it.

What the hell?

This was not us.

“Why am I touching you now?”

He didn’t answer, his hand over mine just pressed harder. His heart was thumping so violently I could feel the tremor vibrating across his chest all the way to where mine was against the right side of his body. Actually, now that I was paying attention, I felt him simply trembling all over.

He didn’t like my hand on him. I felt his pain turn into panic.

“Dec, honey, don’t do this.”

“It’s not for my sister,” he weirdly stated.

“What’s not?”

“My ink. My Violet. My daughter. It’s her, not my sister.”