He doesn’t move, just watches me, eyes dark and steady.
“Thanks,” he says quietly. “Didn’t want to look like a mess.”
“You never do.”
The space between us hums, then I clear my throat and step back.
“Sit,” I say, pointing to the table.
I grab the nearest roll of tape, mostly for cover. “Any pain?”
He shakes his head, eyes on me. “Just the usual.”
“Which is?”
After a beat, quiet but unflinching, he says, “Missing you.”
I laugh under my breath and roll my eyes.
“Pretty sure it’s chronic,” he continues.
“Mm-hm. I didn’t know there was a comedian under all that grumpiness.”
I check the brace anyway, running my fingers along the edge where it meets his skin. He shifts slightly under my touch, muscles tensing.
I lean in closer. “I like it.”
“Charlie,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “I locked the door.”
I should step back. We both know it. But the quiet between us feels different now—safe, intentional, earned.
I rest a hand on his knee, meaning to steady the brace, but he catches my wrist instead. His thumb brushes just once along my pulse, like he’s checking more than circulation.
“Charlie.” His voice is rough now, quieter. “Tell me to stop.”
I hold his gaze, heat pooling low in my belly.
“Don’t.”
Declan’s eyes darken as he leans closer. His scent, a mix of sweat, soap, and something uniquely him, wraps around me and pulls me in.
His thumb brushing the sensitive skin on my wrist. I feel the hard line of his thigh beneath my hand, warmth seeping through the fabric of his joggers.
His other hand slides up my arm, unhurried, like he’s memorizing every inch of me. My breath catches as his fingers skim the curve of my shoulder, then the side of my neck. I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze, and his thumb grazes my jawline before he leans in.
His lips brush mine, and heat rolls through me so fast my breath stutters. It’s gentle, but it lights something wild and urgent in my chest. I feel the tension in his body, the flex of muscle under skin, the restraint he’s holding by his teeth.
My fingers dig into the edge of his knee brace as I press forward, closing the last inch between us. His lips part, and I taste the salt of his skin, the faint bite of mint from his gum. His hand slides down my back and pulls me tighter against him, and I feel the hard press of him against my hip. My pulse kicks up. My body aches for more.
Declan breaks the kiss, eyes burning into mine as he pushes me back—gentle, but unarguable. His hands roam over me, slowand thorough, like he’s memorizing every curve, every dip and rise.
“Lie down,” he says. His voice is rough, but there’s a tenderness in it that makes my knees go weak.
I obey. My heart races as I lay back on the padded table, scooting to the edge. The cool vinyl under my back is a stark contrast to the heat of his stare, and I shiver when his eyes track down my body like a promise.
He steps closer, his brace a sharp reminder of what he’s still fighting through. But right now he doesn’t look vulnerable. He moves with a confidence that steals my breath—every step purposeful, every touch intentional.
My breath hitches when his fingers catch the bottom of my shirt. In one smooth motion, he peels it up and over my head, then his hands slide to the clasp at my back. A quick tug, a soft snap, and the bra is gone too—my skin suddenly bare to the cool air and his stare turns darker.
