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The man I’d said goodbye to with my body.
The man I’d tried to flee.
Now, Declan was at my side, his proximity overwhelming, a human furnace in an already scorching day. He’d started a fire in the yard, a jarring sight amidst the baking dirt and heat. Flames jumped and snapped, a violent burst of life in the drought-weathered terrain.
Declan broke the stifling silence, his voice grating against the midday lull. “You know, Clover,” he began, his tone deceptively casual. “People always leave me.”
His words hung in the heat, like dust particles caught in a shaft of sunlight. He prodded the fire with a piece of wood, sending a shower of sparks toward the ruthless blue sky.
“Been abandoned, discarded, thrown away like a piece of trash,” he continued, his gaze fixated on the unnatural dance of the flames. “My father left me. My mother. My foster parents passed me around like trading cards.”
His profile was enhanced by the vivid backdrop of the afternoon, his normally calm demeanor twisted into a portrait of desperation and obsession. His eyes flickered to me, a spark of mania igniting within them.
“But not you, Clover,” he asserted, his voice hard and determined. “You’re not leaving me. You can’t.”
His words bore into me, their weight heavier than the suffocating Texas heat. They wound around us, binding tighter than any physical restraint. I was entrapped, not just by his physical presence, but by the sheer energy of his emotions. His possessiveness. His manic determination.
“I won’t let you,” he murmured, his declaration barely audible over the crackling fire. His stare held mine, a promise and a threat entwined in the deep blue of his eyes.
I sat there, stunned into silence, the scorching heat of the fire battling against the chill that had taken root within me. The bright Texas day had taken a dark turn, and I found myself trapped under Declan’s fierce declaration and the relentless weight of the midday sun.
“Declan, this is too much. Maybe we should talk about this—”
He cut me off. “You want to know how serious I am about this? Come here. Let me show you.”
Declan had started a fire, a wild, fervent thing that crackled and popped in the midday heat. He’d taken hold of my wrist, his touch both gentle and firm, guiding me closer to the blaze. I was caught in the spectacle of the fire and the magnetic pull of the man beside me.
His grip slackened, and he moved toward his motorcycle, rummaging in the saddle bag with an intent I couldn’t fathom. A coil of unease began to unspool within me, curiosity and apprehension vying for dominance. Was this another power play, another means to bind me tighter to him?
Yet despite my fears, an unfamiliar anticipation stirred within me. A vulnerable curiosity, a morbid fascination with the man who oscillated between tender lover and ruthless captor. As I watched the fire, its hypnotic dance mirrored the chaotic whirling of my thoughts.
Returning to the fire, Declan held something behind his back, his demeanor suggesting a hint of playfulness that was as mesmerizing as it was unsettling. “What do you have?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
His reply came in a growl, as raw as the wind whipping across the Texan plains. “Strip, Wildflower.”
Confusion washed over me, and I instinctively stepped back, taken aback by his command. He set something down on the ground. I stuttered, the word a mere puff of air escaping my lips, “Wh-what?”
“Strip, baby. Let me see your creamy skin,” he insisted, his voice layered with a possessiveness that sent a tingle running down my spine, a chilling counterpoint to the oppressive heat of the day.
I paused, caught in the crosshairs of his intense stare, his command lingering in my mind. His words were a challenge, a threat, and a promise, all at once.
“Why?” My question emerged as a choked whisper, caught in the dry desert air.
His answer was swift and brutal. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tear your clothes off anyway. You can be in control, or I can. Your choice. Run, and I’ll chase you. I’d love nothing more than to chase you down, Wildflower.”
My breath hitched, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my veins, a staccato rhythm of fear and exhilaration. The rational part of me screamed to flee, but a wild, reckless desire held me in place, tantalized by the man before me and the thrill of his demand.
Summoning a bravery I barely felt, I inhaled deeply, my hands trembling as I began to shed my clothes. With each piece that fell to the ground, Declan’s eyes left mine, tracing the path of my undress, his eyes a searing caress that branded my skin.
“Breathtaking,” he whispered, his fingertips lightly tracing the curve of my hip, causing a jolt of electricity to spark along my skin. I held my breath, shivering under the weight of his stare, his reverence making me feel cherished and desired in equal measure.
Declan stepped closer, his presence filling my senses, his shadow merging with mine under the harsh Texas sun. His hands found their way to me, exploring the contours of my body with a deliberate slowness that seemed to both respect and claim every inch of me. His touch was both gentle and firm, a silent declaration of possession that made my breath hitch. “What are you going to do to me?” The words emerged as a ragged whisper.
His response was simple, but it sent a ripple of anticipation spreading through me. “I’m going to make you feel good, Wildflower.”
Before I had a chance to process his words, Declan’s weight was on me, pushing me to the ground, my wrists held captive on either side of my head. I gasped, a mix of shock and fear quickening my heartbeat. He leaned over me, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “And then, you’ll understand why you can’t leave.”
The crackle of the nearby fire seemed to grow louder as he unfastened his jeans. I squirmed, my attempts to free myself met with a stronger restraint. His eyes held a glint of mischief, an unspoken challenge. His lips found mine, sparking a rush of electricity that buzzed in my chest as our tongues danced an intimate tango. His fingers traced paths of fire over my skin, eliciting responses I didn’t know I was capable of.
