Page 48 of Worth the Risk
Before I can fully recover, Declan is moving up my body, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that tastes of me and him together. I can feel him hard against my thigh, his control slipping as he rocks against me with obvious need. My hands slide down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart before continuing lower to wrap around him. He hisses in a breath at my touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
“Maya,” he whispers, his voice strained. “I need?—”
“I know what you need,” I murmur, guiding him toward me. “I need it too.”
He reaches toward the nightstand, fumbling for a moment before producing a condom. I watch as he tears the packet open with his teeth, the small action somehow intensely erotic. Whenhe positions himself above me again, there’s a vulnerability in his expression that catches me off guard.
“Are you sure?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from my face with gentle fingers.
In answer, I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him closer. Our eyes lock as he enters me slowly—inch by deliberate inch—the stretch and fullness making me gasp. He pauses, giving me time to adjust, his forehead pressed against mine as we share the same breath, the same heartbeat. When he begins to move, it’s with a restraint that speaks of both consideration and barely leashed desire.
“You feel incredible,” he whispers against my ear, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. “So perfect around me.”
I tighten my legs around him, urging him deeper, wanting more of this connection that feels both new and somehow inevitable. My hands explore the muscles of his back, feeling them flex and tense with each controlled thrust. There’s something almost reverent in the way he’s moving within me, as if he’s savoring every sensation, memorizing every response.
“More,” I breathe, nails digging into his shoulders. “I need more of you.”
His rhythm changes at my urging, thrusts becoming deeper, more insistent. The careful restraint he’s maintained begins to crack as his breathing grows ragged against my neck. I arch to meet each movement, feeling the tension building inside me again, different this time but no less powerful.
“Look at me,” he commands softly, and when I open my eyes, the intensity of his gaze nearly undoes me. There’s something rawand unguarded in his expression that makes my chest tighten with an emotion I’m not ready to name.
Our bodies move together with increasing urgency, the room filled with the sounds of our pleasure—soft moans, whispered encouragements, skin against skin. When he shifts his angle slightly, hitting a spot inside me that sends sparks shooting behind my eyelids, I cry out, my body clenching around him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, one hand sliding between us to circle my most sensitive spot. “Come for me again, Maya. I want to feel you.”
His words and touch push me over the edge, and I’m falling, drowning in sensation as pleasure crashes through me in waves. This time, he follows me over, his rhythm faltering as he buries his face against my neck with a deep groan that vibrates through my entire body. I feel him pulsing inside me, his arms trembling slightly as he holds himself above me, careful not to crush me with his weight.
For several minutes, we stay like this, connected and breathless, his heartbeat thundering against my chest. When he finally pulls away to dispose of the condom, the loss of contact leaves me feeling strangely bereft. But he returns quickly, gathering me against his side, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.
“We’re really in trouble, aren’t we?” I trail off, unable to articulate the tangled emotions welling up inside me. The weight of Monday’s meeting looms larger now, a shadow stretching across this perfect moment.
“Probably,” he agrees, his voice soft in the dim light of his bedroom. He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple thatfeels like both a promise and an apology. “But right now, in this moment, I don’t care.”
I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow as the city continues its own rhythm outside his windows. “I don’t either.”
14
The conference roomfeels different at 10 AM on a Monday morning, though I can’t quite put my finger on why. I’m sitting at the same mahogany table where Highland’s initial fate was discussed months ago, but this time Maya is beside me, her presentation materials spread across the polished surface like battle plans.
She’s wearing a professional navy dress that brings out her eyes, her hair pulled back in a style that’s both polished and approachable. Her hands are steady as she connects her laptop to the projection system, but I catch the slight tremor in her fingers that betrays her nerves.
“Ready?” I ask quietly.
“Ready,” she replies, though her voice carries the weight of everything Highland’s community is counting on.
The board members file in—Harrison, Patricia, Donovan, Melanie, and Roderick—all carrying tablets and wearing the kind of neutral expressions that reveal nothing about their intentions. But I notice Harrison’s slight frown when he sees theextent of Maya’s preparation, the comprehensive materials that suggest this isn’t just a community wish list.
“Miss Navarro,” Harrison settles at the head of the table. “Thank you for joining us this morning. We’re looking forward to your presentation.”
“Thank you for the opportunity.” Maya moves to the front of the room with the same determined energy she brought to my office six weeks ago. “I’m excited to share Highland Community Center’s vision for historic preservation and community-business partnership.”
For the next forty-five minutes, Maya delivers a presentation that’s masterful—clear, comprehensive, and compelling. She walks through Highland’s twenty-year history, demonstrates the community impact of their programs, and presents detailed financial projections for mixed-use development that incorporates historic preservation.
The numbers are impressive. Transit-oriented development incentives, historic tax credits, and premium pricing for authentic neighborhood character combine to make preservation potentially more profitable than demolition. Maya answers technical questions with confidence, addresses concerns about construction costs with realistic estimates, and demonstrates that Highland’s preservation could be both good business and good citizenship.
I watch the board members’ faces as she speaks, noting Patricia’s obvious interest and Donovan’s thoughtful questions. Even Melanie seems engaged by the financial projections. For the first time since this collaboration began, I feel genuine hope that we might actually win this.
When Maya finishes, the conference room is quiet. The board members review her materials, occasionally murmuring to each other, while Maya returns to her seat beside me. I catch her hand under the table, squeezing gently in what I hope feels like encouragement.
