Declan's Demand

“I can make this more uncomfortable if you like.”

My face heats and I peek back at the patrons of the Japanese steakhouse who stare boldly at us. I can’t hear their words, but I know something like, Declan’s new toy must be traveling quickly amid them. Shame has me hanging my head down low, and Declan merely picks up my chin.

“Chin up, princess. Can’t have your crown slipping.”

Ignoring him, I tear my chin from his light grasp. Shame fills me at the situation I’m in, but what options are left?

He clucks at me and speaks low. “If you don’t look at me, I may have to kiss the shit out of you right here right now.” His voice is low, making my eyes dart up into his chuckling expression.

“You wouldn’t.” Unsure, I back up in the booth with nowhere left to go, hesitating and nerves vibrating.

“Hell, why wouldn’t I kiss you? Is this any worse than sucking my cock in the confessional?” he taunts, tossing his napkin down.

I’m scared by how unpredictable he can be. He pulls me into his lap despite my meager protest. Onlookers raise their eyebrows, and before I can protest overly much, he kisses me senseless. Hands pull pins from my hair and I’m transported back to his office at the club. Anyone who didn’t know I belong to Declan before surely knows by now.

Dessert is merely a consolation after a dinner I can barely swallow. A little cake, coffee, and a dinner mint before my deflowerment. For a change, Declan is a perfect gentleman. Because my ankle is throbbing from when Jason kicked it the day before, he insists on carrying me to the room I occupy, promising to return after he makes a few phone calls. It’s all business, he says as he unclasps the straps on the ankles of my heels—silly things I could barely walk in, given the pain I’m in now. There is no way to hide the bruises that travel up my leg—or the rest of my body—from the encounter with LeHavre. This may be the only time I have with Declan.

Together.

Not together, because he isn’t mine. Not any more than I am his, despite what he claims.

I’m left alone with my thoughts for an hour, and lay my head down on the bedding, feeling sleepy, waiting. The alcohol from dinner helps me drift off, dreaming of a dark, mysterious man who is both my savior and the cause of my pain.

Warmth tickles me awake.

“There you are,” Declan murmurs, kissing my thigh and slipping his hand under the dress so he can drag it upward and part it wide.

I don’t know if I want this to be a dream or not. “Don’t you have your own room?” I speak into the pillow, hoping he’ll give me one last reprieve. He doesn’t.

“Sweet Sydney, we’ve been over this. You are in my room.”

I jolt up in the bed. My dress is high on my thighs and cool air hits my damp core, making me squirm. This doesn’t surprise me the way I suppose it should.

“I thought—”

“Stop thinking so much. That’s where your trouble begins.” His eyes are laser focused on mine and his chin rests on my knee.

I settle deeper into the comfort of bedding and watch the man trailing his hands over my needy skin.

“I don’t suppose you’ll stop?” I ask, wishing I could pull the pillow from behind my head and bury my face in it. Of all the things we’ve done together, or I’ve had done to me, this feels far too intimate.

“Not on your life. Debts must be paid, the devil appeased, and all that good stuff, my dear.” Declan crawls over me, turning me in his arms and pinning me down.

My heart pounds heavy beats, slamming into my chest, leaving me dizzy and breathless. Never in a million years could I have imagined feeling this way for a man so hard and ruthless. My parents taught me better. They expected better, and then one half of my world died, leaving me in abject limbo. I sought the sun, scraping by for a breath of fresh air while my father sought the darkness and drink to drown his sorrows.

“I swear if I had a penny for all the thoughts going on in that head of yours, Sydney.”

I clear my throat. “Bad pennies.”

Declan’s face falls with a strange look before he rucks my dress up over my body. “Come back to me then.”

I lay spread out for him, braless and wearing black panties which he quickly pulls off, tossing those to the floor.

“Too many clothes on you.” I try pulling his shirt out of his pants.

“Bossy girl.”

I’m feeling cheeky tonight after his teasing at dinner, a little drunk maybe, but still in control of my faculties.