Heels hanging from my fingers, I strutted back down the alley, fishing for myowncar keys as I saw my salvation around the corner.God, I can’t wait to get home.My car beeped and I opened the door, tossing my new shoes inside and nearly choked when I saw a gift on my passenger seat…
A bright yellow leaf with a smiley face drawn on it—in blood.
My heart started fluttering and my throat felt like a cotton ball as I picked it up by the stem. I slowly slid into the driver’s seat, slamming my door and glanced up at the rear-view mirror. There was a message there too.
C-U-NEXT TIME
“Oh fuck…oh f—” He’s been watching me in more places than the fucking woods I’m turning into a cemetery… “Fuckingbastard!” I beat my steering wheel hard enough to leave bruises on the heels of my hands.
…everything from the safety deposit box is missing…
I honestly don’t have a clue what to expect, walking into this apartment. The upstairs neighbors are starting a little person mosh pit. Somebody down the hall is having one hell of a night, if the smell of weed is strong enough to givemea contact buzz. If Declan says a single thing about the state of this house, the laundry I didn’t pick up off the floor this morning, or a stern look for the way our conversation ended earlier…then I’ve got a good mind to go join our stoner friends two doors down. I unlocked the door and dropped my heels on the floor next to it, immediately feeling sorry for them and scooping them up. And no, you didnotsee me pet them and apologize for the neglect. Mind your business.
I slowly walked past the kitchen island, afraid to touch anything. A dozen red roses sat in a vase in the center of it with two bags of Bugles, a fluffy white teddy with red hearts on the paws, a brand-new rosebud vibrator that I snickered at, and a bottle of Irish whiskey that’s never been opened. Something smells divine, though I don’t see anything on the stove.
The shower was running and the bathroom door was closed. I came outta my filthy clothes and hid them in the corner of our closet before I slipped into the steamy bathroom and saw Declan’s blurry figure in all his naked badassery through the glass shower. He had his palms braced on the tile wall and his chin hanging down, hidden by his curtain of wet hair, while the hot water ran over him. This isn’t how I expected tonight to go. Why is he doting on me if he’s upset? This is why I don’t do well with this kinda shit. I’m absolutely clueless. I stepped into the shower behind him and pressed my body against his back,sliding both arms around his solid midsection and resting my cheek against his skin.
“I thought you were mad at me,” I whispered. His chin poked over his shoulder, and when I looked up at those fuckingeyes…damn it, I’m such an idiot.
“I’m not mad at you, Bridget. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Wha—”
Oh, fuck. It’s—oh, my God…oh, I’m an asshole…
“I made lasagna. It’s in the oven, keepin’ warm. Don’t eat it though, it’s shite. I…I didn’t know you had to cook the noodles first.”
So, I’m lying to him. Keeping a marriage to our rival from him. Going behind his back and slicing up bitches…eating all his ice cream, leaving him with a mess and a pair of balls the color of the blueberry bitch fromWilly Wonka? There’s a special place in Hell for me. I fucking swear it. Add the notion that I have some weird attraction to a stalker I don’t even know? That’s a tier below pig shit. I sighed, my forehead catching all the water from his back as I hid my face in fucking shame.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked. “I—I know there’s not anything I can say to make this better. I’m a dick.”
“Wherewereyou?”
Call me damaged. I’ll accept it. The way this annoys me, yet simultaneously gets me so turned on…it’s maddening. I’m not trying to have a relationship where I have to check in like a horny teenager with a curfew, but when he talks to me with thattone. With thatdom-daddyedge to his voice and the Irish lilt that makes my knees weak…I cower under it like a dog that’s had its ass beat. It’s the reason I can’t run from Declan McCann. Can’t shake him off. Can’t let go. He’s got me by my metaphorical balls.
“I was running errands and I had car trouble.”
I mean…technically it’s not a lie.
Dec scoffed and turned in my arms, palming his wet hair back and trying to push past me to leave. I stepped into his way and pressed my palms to his chest. “Dec, come on.”
“Bridget, you don’t have to do that. Maybe it’s unfair for me to even ask. I try to give ‘ya everything you want. Lately it seems like it’s space. So, lemme continue to do my duty, lass.”
“I don’t want space.”
His jaw feathered, and that look was icy and hard. Mine was probably pathetic. “Whatdoyou want, Bridget Byrne?” There was nothing but the sound of running water for a few agonizing seconds and I followed the rivulets down his tattooed body until my fingers wrapped around his cock. More feathering. Harder stare. More fuel to that fire burning between my fucking legs.
“Lemme make it up to you…”
I gripped and stroked him until it was like steel in my hand, my inner thigh skating up the side of his hip. There was a split second between what I planned to do…and what hemademe do. His broad hand reached up behind my head and snatched both a fistful of my hair…and the air from my fucking lungs. My neck craned back in his hold and he leaned in, nipping my chin with his teeth before he forced me to my knees.
Yes…God, yes.
“Hands behind your back,” he growled. I obeyed. See? Sometimes, I do what I’m told. Water pelted my face while the head of his cock brushed my lower lip. I opened my mouth, and before I could get a breath, he slammed himself down my throat, making my eyes tear from the gag and the grip he had on my wet hair.
I looked up to the half-blurred image of a fucking god as he started fucking my mouth. The sounds he makes when I hollow my cheeks makes me feral. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it. He’s not always this aggressive, but I love it whenhe’s in this kind of a mood. Fucking is where I thrive. It’s where we become something dark and unnatural together. Declan lives to please a woman, but I’m a different breed. Pleasing me also means doing shit that the soccer moms whisper about at their snot-gremlins’ ball games. The kind that depraved sickos search for on the darker side of porn sites…and his entire profession revolves around research.
I’m more blessed than I fucking deserve. And it shows.
