was driving
me crazy. I needed to meet her, at least to tell her to steer clear
of me. I wasn’t what she wanted, not really, and I definitely
wasn’t what she needed.
“Declan?” She
stepped closer, all sweetness with those big eyes and her silken hair
tumbling down her shoulders.
“I’m not a good
guy.” Breathing hard, I willed myself to stay away from her. I
wanted to hold her so badly, but instead I balled up my fists and
kept them at my sides. I wanted to say more, but my voice stuck in my
throat. Blood pumped fierce like lightning through my veins.
“Yes, you are,” she
insisted in her innocent, clear voice.
Why did she believe
that about me? She didn’t know me, had no idea what I’d seen and
done. I was a deadbeat, no family, kicked out of foster homes. I’d
broken into a store and stolen electronics. Hell, I’d stolen a car.
That’s what got me sent away. I wanted to confess it all, tell her
everything, make her see I was all wrong. But deep inside, part of me
wanted her to help make things right.
Standing before me,
tentative, shaking, she brought her hand to my cheek. My eyes closed.
Her touch was light but the sensation was so strong, her soft skin
against my rough jaw, whispery smooth. She brought her thumb to my
lower lip, stroking me as if she’d been dying to do it, as if she’d
been aching for my lips the way I had hers.
I couldn’t help it. I
was on her in a heartbeat, my mouth to hers, crushing her against me.
Her lips, so plump and sweet, parted for me. Her hands came up to
touch my chest, my shoulders, grabbing and clinging as if she never
wanted to let go. I drank her in like a man dying of thirst. She was
all I could think about, all I could feel. Somehow I led her over to
the bales of hay stacked in the corner and pulled her down on my lap.
She settled, sighing against me, our lips never parting.
We didn’t do more
than kiss. Crazy, I know. I’d never been a gentleman, not even with
the first girl I’d kissed. She’d been another foster kid, 15
years old when I was 12. She’d taken off her top and given me a
lesson on how to make the most out of second base.
But with Kara, I just
held her and kissed her for hours. She shook in my arms as I held her
close, worshipping her mouth, her cheeks, kissing her eyelids, her
ears, caressing her neck. We didn’t break apart until the sun
threatened to come up and break over the horizon. Even then, I’d
tell her to leave and we’d kiss some more. I’d tell her to leave
again and it still wouldn’t happen because neither of us truly
wanted it to. The minute she finally did leave my arms, walking up
the hill in the ghostly pale light of new dawn, I ached for her all
over again.
She came to me the next
night, too. I headed out to the barn, quiet and stealthy, knowing I
shouldn’t but unable to stop myself. She met me soon after and we
were in each other’s arms again without even a word of greeting. We
couldn’t waste time on things like that. Why say hello when we
could wrap our arms around each other and taste, breathing into each
other and using our tongues and lips to express it all.
I tried hard to keep
things slow and sweet. I feathered light kisses along her cheekbones,
down her neck, on her soft pink lips. The sounds she made were like
nothing I’d ever heard. I wanted to record them and listen to
nothing else, especially her breathing when it picked up and got
jagged, ragged and needy. Then her soft sighs of pleasure, sweet and
content. Or her moans, when I’d lick her slow and deliberate at the
hollow of her neck, feeling her pulse under my tongue, teasing and
sucking on her. And then, when I’d devour her, when I’d kiss her
deep and own her, claim her tongue and mouth, her mewling, desperate
cries for more. I could listen to that soundtrack forever.
When we got too heated
up, I’d slow things down. That’s why I had us meet in the barn,
not in my cabin. I knew in my cabin things would get out of hand
me crazy. I needed to meet her, at least to tell her to steer clear
of me. I wasn’t what she wanted, not really, and I definitely
wasn’t what she needed.
“Declan?” She
stepped closer, all sweetness with those big eyes and her silken hair
tumbling down her shoulders.
“I’m not a good
guy.” Breathing hard, I willed myself to stay away from her. I
wanted to hold her so badly, but instead I balled up my fists and
kept them at my sides. I wanted to say more, but my voice stuck in my
throat. Blood pumped fierce like lightning through my veins.
“Yes, you are,” she
insisted in her innocent, clear voice.
Why did she believe
that about me? She didn’t know me, had no idea what I’d seen and
done. I was a deadbeat, no family, kicked out of foster homes. I’d
broken into a store and stolen electronics. Hell, I’d stolen a car.
That’s what got me sent away. I wanted to confess it all, tell her
everything, make her see I was all wrong. But deep inside, part of me
wanted her to help make things right.
Standing before me,
tentative, shaking, she brought her hand to my cheek. My eyes closed.
Her touch was light but the sensation was so strong, her soft skin
against my rough jaw, whispery smooth. She brought her thumb to my
lower lip, stroking me as if she’d been dying to do it, as if she’d
been aching for my lips the way I had hers.
I couldn’t help it. I
was on her in a heartbeat, my mouth to hers, crushing her against me.
Her lips, so plump and sweet, parted for me. Her hands came up to
touch my chest, my shoulders, grabbing and clinging as if she never
wanted to let go. I drank her in like a man dying of thirst. She was
all I could think about, all I could feel. Somehow I led her over to
the bales of hay stacked in the corner and pulled her down on my lap.
She settled, sighing against me, our lips never parting.
We didn’t do more
than kiss. Crazy, I know. I’d never been a gentleman, not even with
the first girl I’d kissed. She’d been another foster kid, 15
years old when I was 12. She’d taken off her top and given me a
lesson on how to make the most out of second base.
But with Kara, I just
held her and kissed her for hours. She shook in my arms as I held her
close, worshipping her mouth, her cheeks, kissing her eyelids, her
ears, caressing her neck. We didn’t break apart until the sun
threatened to come up and break over the horizon. Even then, I’d
tell her to leave and we’d kiss some more. I’d tell her to leave
again and it still wouldn’t happen because neither of us truly
wanted it to. The minute she finally did leave my arms, walking up
the hill in the ghostly pale light of new dawn, I ached for her all
over again.
She came to me the next
night, too. I headed out to the barn, quiet and stealthy, knowing I
shouldn’t but unable to stop myself. She met me soon after and we
were in each other’s arms again without even a word of greeting. We
couldn’t waste time on things like that. Why say hello when we
could wrap our arms around each other and taste, breathing into each
other and using our tongues and lips to express it all.
I tried hard to keep
things slow and sweet. I feathered light kisses along her cheekbones,
down her neck, on her soft pink lips. The sounds she made were like
nothing I’d ever heard. I wanted to record them and listen to
nothing else, especially her breathing when it picked up and got
jagged, ragged and needy. Then her soft sighs of pleasure, sweet and
content. Or her moans, when I’d lick her slow and deliberate at the
hollow of her neck, feeling her pulse under my tongue, teasing and
sucking on her. And then, when I’d devour her, when I’d kiss her
deep and own her, claim her tongue and mouth, her mewling, desperate
cries for more. I could listen to that soundtrack forever.
When we got too heated
up, I’d slow things down. That’s why I had us meet in the barn,
not in my cabin. I knew in my cabin things would get out of hand
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