Page 54 of Declan

From the man and his brother and every motherfucker who tried to tell me

Who to be and how to act without giving a single fuck for the real me

Tell me how you’re different,

How this entire production isn’t some theatric ruse

For ratings, monetary compensation, emotional manipulation

For some misplaced inclination that I owe you

And now you own me just because I smiled at someone not even close to you

Tell me it’s not a game where I’ll come out the loser

Once you’ve ate me up and spit me out, how you won’t love me

And leave me after you’ve sipped my very soul from me

And how I won’t be left wanting due to my own shortcomings

Once you’ve had your fill and I no longer fit the bill

And I’ll be tossed out as you’re over it

Because from where I’m standing, it all smells like messed up fucking bullshit

She’s standing on the far side of the stage, and the rain begins again, quickly soaking her as she stares at me, chest heaving, the yearning in her gaze palpable.

I sigh, and my exhalation is picked up in my headset that has magically been turned live, and so, giving up any semblance of showmanship and skill, I reply fervently, “Love isn’t a strong enough word to convey the depth of my feelings for you, Issa,” I chuckle wryly then continue, “Love—even in all caps—pales in comparison to the level of adoration I possess for you. I want to ravish you and consume you all at once. I will crawl at your feet every day of my life just for you to hold even one-tenth of the emotion I feel for you. All you have to do is accept that I’d sooner die than ever cause you pain as I am your salve just as you are my salvation.”

I take a step toward her, then two, entirely unsure what she’ll do now that she knows the real me, now that I’ve fully shown her exactly how insane I am for her but also committed to putting her in the cage with the door locked if it comes down to it.

“What’s it gonna be, doll face?” I ask softly, the emotion in my voice vibrating throughout the arena as fifty thousand fans remain silent, waiting to see how this entire scene will end.

With her walking away from me or her walking toward me.

She stands as if frozen to the spot, her eyes on mine, and I see the indecision mixed with fearful yearning. I want to go to her, to race across the stage, scoop her up, and force her to take this path with me, but I don’t. Instead, I make myself stand still, waiting to see what she will do of her own free goddamn will.

I wait for one beat, then two, almost giving up when, suddenly, her hands come up in front of her almost helplessly, and she brings the mic to her mouth and says brokenly, “Declan Hughes, I fucking hate you so much.”

My heart drops for a split second, but then she tosses the mic to the ground, and she takes a step toward me instead of away from me. I rush across the stage, meeting her more than halfway as I stoop down and yank her up and into me, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other up over her shoulder so my hand is fisted in her wet hair, knocking the headset to the ground.

She wraps her arms around my neck, her legs hooking around my hips, and I clutch her to me, our mouths fused together as we allow our bodies to convey what our words left out.

Still kissing her, I turn and carry her off the stage, leaving the soundtrack of fifty thousand people roaring their approval in our wake.

20

Giving and Taking

Issa

Welurchthroughthecurtain, stumbling against the wall, and I find myself pressed up against it, his lips moving against mine, our tongues dueling for dominance in a war we’ve both already won.

I tighten my arms around his shoulders, my hands coming up and fisting in his hair, a moan falling from my mouth as I grind my throbbing pussy against the hard ridge of his cock.

I pull back, relaxing my legs in an attempt to stand, but he adjusts both of his arms so his hands are gripping my ass, holding me against him. He tears his lips from mine, working a damp path across my cheek and down my neck as he asks, “And where do you think you’re going?”

---