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I take a half step back, unwilling to turn around. I’m all too aware that I’m scared if I were to turn my back, she could run.
“I will not hurt you or chase you if you decide to—”
“I’m not leaving you.” She swallows thickly, her hands closing into fists before opening again. She looks back up at me, “I knew who you were.” Her voice tightens and she clears it.
“You were stunned.”
“I didn’t know,” she says and closes her eyes, her shoulders sagging slightly and she doesn’t finish the thought.
“I don’t want you to mention things like you just did, unless you must.”
She nods without peering up at me.
My phone goes off, a text from my brother.
Fuck.
Glancing between my phone and a very lost Braelynn, I text my brother I won’t be making it tonight.
There’s no fucking way I could sit still ruminating over what just happened.
Her softly spoken question catches me off guard as my brother’s incoming text comes in. “Was it quick?”
“Does it matter?”
She blinks once before shaking her head. “I guess not,” she whispers, her voice tight. Again she seems out of place standing there, absorbing not only what I’ve done, but also what she won’t be leaving.
I’ll be damned if she can walk away after this. I gave her a chance. One more than I should have.
After tossing my phone that pings and vibrates with another unread message, onto the corner chair, I loosen my tie.
“Strip down and lie on the desk.”
Peering up at me, she gives a short nod before obeying. Her movements are slow, but steady.
My tie falls to the floor as she passes me, and every small sound is exaggerated. My blood rushes in my ear as my hand slips to the small of her back. She leans into the touch, glancing over her shoulder. Her dark eyes meet mine and I can’t wait for her to strip down and lay out how I like her. My arm wraps around her waist and I pull her into me, crashing my lips against hers.
Her hands grip my shoulders, pulling me in close. Thank fuck.
“Declan.” She whispers my name but in only moments she’ll be moaning, screaming it even. I tear at her clothes and she clings to me.
When I finally plunge deep inside of her, I groan, “Mine,” and her legs wrap around my hips, keeping me there as she kisses me. She kisses me. Finding my lips, devouring them, and loving me how she should.
Braelynn
Secretary work hasn’t ever been my … desired profession. All Declan really has me doing is copying and pasting numbers, filing away invoices. It’s nothing dramatic and nothing that that requires much thinking. Occasionally some numbers don’t add up and I send it to some admin email to review. I’m not certain who it goes to, but whoever it is replies that they’ll take care of it each and every time.
It’s none of my damn business as far as I’m concerned. In the corner of Declan’s office, propped up on the leather high-back chair, I click away, making progress every day and waiting for … more pleasurable orders. Half of me wonders if Declan even needs me to do this. Or if he simply wants me occupied while I wait for him.
Usually I can get myself to concentrate on the numbers and the records, but tonight it’s impossible. I can’t focus. My heart pounds thinking of what he did. A hollow pit has opened up inside me and it seems to be taking over my whole body. Every breath I take makes that pit feel more frozen, heavier and as if it’ll stay like that forever.
I contributed to a death.
There’s no way of avoiding it or denying it. If I hadn’t told Declan about Travis, then Travis would still be alive. A chill flows down my shoulders. There’s no question of it in my mind. Once Declan knew he wouldn’t allow Travis to keep living. Knowing that I caused this to happen leaves a place inside of me empty.
The thing that makes the emptiness stark and almost shocking is that I should be … sadder, or scared. More terrified and regretful. I should be shaken to the core that Travis is dead, and that I caused it to happen.
But I’m not. I’m glad he’s gone.
With a deep, steadying inhale, I acknowledge the truth. I’m glad he’s dead. I have some remorse, but not enough to make me feel as though I’m a terrible person.
My mom didn’t raise me to take revenge on people. She wanted me to be able to stand up for myself. She wanted me to be able to set boundaries with others and keep myself safe. But revenge was never the way we lived our lives. “It takes too much of your precious energy, nena,” she’d tell me. “Make your life better. Don’t make other people’s lives worse.”
