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“Declan,” I say softly. After a moment, he blinks and looks down at me, his grip loosening gradually until it’s as gentle and soft as it had started. I move my hands to bracket his neck, mirroring his gesture. My fingertips just reaching the short, tightly cropped hair at the base of his neck, tease the ends, enjoying the soft but prickly feel against my skin. “Touch me. Erase him forever.”
I want Declan’s hands on me, everywhere Glenn’s have ever been, rewriting the past, reshaping me for a bright, new future. I don’t want to take anything of the previous years with me on my new journey. Just fond memories of a time when I did something for myself, without concern for anyone else.
Declan hesitates, seeming to engage in some internal war. And loses.
In a rush of movement, he swoops down and captures my lips. The kiss is fierce, filled with a wild intent that thrills me to my toes. His hands transfer from my neck to my nape, fisting the long strands and pulling to the point of pain. I don’t care. I want it rougher, more passionate. I’ve never experienced true passion, and Declan’s actions promise to rectify that, here and now.
In turn, I throw myself into the kiss. Thrusting my body against his, I scrape my nails across his scalp and my tongue duels with his for dominance. He is a fantastic kisser, but we’re were both fighting to taste one another, to overtake the other, and I’m not about to back down. I want to overpower this man, to show him that I’m just as strong and powerful—worthy.
Releasing one hand from my hair, Declan skims his palm down my waist, stopping to cup and knead my right breast, and then he goes lower, gathering my shirt and pulling it up. His fingers yank roughly at the cup of my delicate white lace bra, and the tearing of fabric reaches her ears at the same time I feel the cool, air-conditioned air kiss my heated flesh. He tweaks my nipples as he bites at my lips. Deciding that turnabout is fair play, I grapple with his shirt with both hands, finding his fiery skin with my eager palms, and scratch my blunt nails over each hard ridge of his abs, all the way down to the waistband of his jeans where they disappear inside.
I delved in to continue the journey of discovery.
What I find confirms my suspicion. He isn’t smallanywhere.
Boldness is the name of the game tonight, and I’m going for broke. I grab onto the thick shaft of his hard cock and stroke as best I can in the tight confines. With a grunt of assumed pleasure, Declan does the same to me. With zero fanfare, he invades my shorts and panties, coating his fingers in my slick heat before slipping two thick digits deep inside.
My lips part on a gasp, and he takes full advantage of my momentary weakness, taking over the kiss and my body in one fell swoop.
Pleasure so great it’s blinding envelopes me, and I have brief flashes of coherency in which I run a finger over the blunt head of his cock, collecting the bead of silky moisture and using it to pump him in time to him fingering me.
We’re breathless, panting into each other’s mouths, our hands working hard enough to cramp…and then Declan abandons the act altogether, forcing me to free myself from his clothing or risk personal injury, before sweeping me into his arms and carrying me to the hard, uncomfortable, decade-old futon pushed up against the northern wall of the cabin.
With deadly efficiency I would expect from a man like him, he tears my clothing off, uncaring of buttons and zippers, of delicate fabrics, laying waste to all of it. He performs the same treatment on himself, until we’re both naked, our bodies pressed flush to one another, covered in a sheen of sweat despite the cool air inside, and without asking, without any finesse at all, he drives into me.
Instantly, an orgasm rips through my body, taking with it any shred of sense, leaving me clutching onto him for dear life, while Declan chases his own orgasm, joining me moments later with a shout of surprise that echoes my own experience.
We come down slowly together, our skin wet with perspiration and our bodies sticky with our shared passion. Declan, still hard as a rock and buried inside me, pulls his head back and asks, “Wanna do that again?”
I have no objections. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I tilt my hips to take him deeper, and we repeat the act well into the night until both are so depleted, we crashed into a sleep deep enough to rival the dead.
Twenty-One
~Declan~
I awoke the following morning, not because of the heat that had invaded the cramped room—the air conditioning didn’t seem to be working—but because the bed beside me was empty.
It took a moment for my brain to come online and remember where I was at, but once I recalled my surroundings and the fact that Brenda was missing from the bed, I leaped up like a shot, my heart racing.
Had she run off in the night? Had she set me up?
Fool! How could you be so stupid?I have never once let my guard down and for good reason. It was how you got caught—killed, even. I’d broken all of my rules, and now I was standing on uneven ground, unsure what I might find waiting for me once I left the room.
Would cops be swarming the place? Or would I find Brenda in the kitchen, making breakfast for us both? A sniff of the air tells me there is no food cooking, only heightening my paranoia.
Dressing quickly, I pull my gun from its holster and check the clip before cautiously exiting the room. My ears pick up nothing. Not a sound anywhere nearby, almost as if cotton has been stuffed in my ears or the cabin has been vacuum sealed. The sensation increases my discomfort. What could be responsible for that? Is it possible it’s just my heightened senses overcompensating, making a mountain out of a molehill?
Maybe Brenda was sitting outside enjoying the morning from a fresh perspective.
I hope that’s all it is; otherwise, I’ll have to hunt her down and kill her.
In the living room, my suspicions are confirmed. Brenda is nowhere to be found. I don’t have to look outside or search the premises because I can feel her absence, the physical draw I held for her gone. She bailed on me.
The question is, did she simply leave and was making moves toward her new future, or has she turned me in and made me her scapegoat?
I hope that whatever she’s up to, she chooses well. I’m not the type to forgive and forget.
It’s best not to hang around. Combing through the cabin, I retrace my steps from last night into the morning, making sure that nothing is left behind that could trace back to me. Once I’m satisfied that I’ve cleaned up any evidence and wiped down all of the surfaces I may have come into contact with for fingerprints, I’m out the door and in my SUV, still hidden in the tree line, and make my way back downhill and toward the city limits.
