Page 38 of Declan

“But you think I should give it to you?”

“I’ll take anything and everything you want to give me,” he whispers against my hair. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I’ll wait.”

I twist my body a bit, so I can press my cheek against his shoulder right where it fits perfectly, and I can’t help but smile as I feel the hard ridge of his dick pressing against my side. “We can do other things.”

“Oh, yeah?” he murmurs. “Like what kind of things.”

“Like oral things. Hand things.”

He presses his lower body into me, groaning softly at the contact as he whispers, “I could just dry hump you and come in my pants like a teenager. That might be fun.”

I laugh, slapping his chest lightly at his teasing tone. Then, I say, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why did you choose that song?”

His arms tighten around me, and I lean back in his embrace, meeting his eyes as he asks, “Which song, doll face?”

“At my concert. The one you mutilated.”

He raises his brows at me, his lips pressing together as he squints down at me. Then he huffs, “I most certainly did not mutilate it.”

“Okay, maybe mutilate is the wrong word. But you certainly changed it up in a big way. Why did you do that?”

He’s silent for a while, and I think he’s not going to answer, but then his words cut through the silence. “I wanted to give you a chance to tell your story the way it was meant to be told.”

“How did you know that was my story?”

He snorts, shaking his head as he replies, “I’ve been in this industry long enough to know the most likely truth behind that corporately engineered dance anthem was ugly and painful. I figured the only way you’d tell the truth was if I put you on the spot and challenged you into doing it.”

I frown, my eyes intent on his, and I see the truth in his gaze, which only intensifies my overall confusion. “Jessica wants us to record it.”

“We should,” he replies easily. “But only if you want to.”

“Won’t they give you a hard time?”

He snorts again, kissing the corner of my mouth as he replies, “Who?”

“I don’t know. Your label or your manager? Someone in charge?”

He pulls back and looks at me as he says, “I am all of those people, Issa. The only one who gets to decide what Declan Hughes does is Declan Hughes. So, if I want to sing a million middle-finger-waving songs with my wife, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“That sounds amazing,” I murmur dreamily. “Maybe someday, I’ll be able to do that as well.”

“Is that what you want?”

I nod emphatically, my cheek sliding along the wet skin of his shoulder as I reply, “Yes. I want to get all of my music back and make my own creative decisions.”

“What about your business decisions?”

“That’s Jessica’s department. I trust her to handle my business affairs without question.” He’s watching me with an odd expression on his face as if he wants to question my decision to allow Jessica to handle my business decisions unfettered, but he doesn’t say anything, so I ask, “Do you think that’s a bad decision on my part?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all, doll face. Jessica has your back just like you have hers, no question at all about that.”

“We’ve dealt with some pretty crazy shit together over the years.”

He frowns, his eyes lighting up with interest as he asks, “What kind of crazy shit?”

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