Page 45 of One Night Only
He doesn’t move, he doesn’t so much as breathe, and slowly, very slowly, I ease myself onto his lap so I straddle him. One of his hands goes automatically around my waist to steady me. The other, still holding the whiskey tumbler, does the same, the cool condensation of the glass making me shiver through my dress.
Neither of us does anything for a long moment as if waiting for the other to put a stop to it.
“Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“Do you have a next step or is this as far as you planned?”
I sit, settling my weight fully on him. A muscle flutters across his jaw.
“Declan?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.” I kiss him.
Our first night together was pretty spectacular, I’ll give him that. I remember laughing with him in the bar, laughing with him in my bed. I remember the feel of his hands and the shape of his lips as they whispered words that made my toes curl. I remember everything.
He was the one who took control that night but now he seems content to let me take the lead, barely holding me other than that light pressure on my hips as I move over him, unhurried despite the tightening coil inside me. I’m teasing him, I know I am. But it’s all I let myself do even as my fingers itch to run through his hair, to slip under his shirt and feel hard muscle under soft, warm skin. I wait for him to make the next move, to take control. I want his hands lower, his lips harder. I want more touching, more tasting of him.
Only he doesn’t seem to get the hint.
I nip his lower lip and feel him smile beneath me. I grind against him, hoping for a telling sound but he just laughs, a breathy chuckle that only makes me want to try harder. His thumbs make a firm, circular motion against my hips that has me shuddering as I imagine the same pressure on others part of me.
I won’t see him again. This I tell myself as I slowly grasp his shirt in my fingers. This I chant as one of his hands finally travels a heated path upward, stopping on the sensitive skin just beneath my breast.
One more night. One more night and I promise myself he’ll be out of my system.
I don’t know how long we’re at it when I hear faint voices somewhere from inside the hotel. Only then do I pull back. But just enough to break contact with him, our faces inches apart.
Declan’s grip tightens around me, the glass has vanished somewhere in the last few minutes. I didn’t even notice him putting it down.
My breathing is heavy, his annoyingly calm, though I can feel enough of him beneath me to know he isn’t wholly unaffected. And again, I know what I need to do. I know I need to go back upstairs, back to my room, alone, before anyone can see. Before we can take this any further.
But I don’t move.
He scowls suddenly as if hearing my thoughts and then, without breaking eye contact, pushes me smoothly off his lap and takes my hand, guiding me back inside.
11
Why do I do this to myself?
Whydo Ialwaysdo this to myself?
I can’t go one week without making a bad decision. Just once I would like to make the right one. Just once I would like things to go as planned. Like a normal person who isn’t a self-destructive maniac.
I turn my head, watching Declan sleep beside me.
I’ve already peeked under the covers to confirm we are both very naked.
This was not supposed to happen.
This wasnotpart of the plan.
“Hey,” I whisper, giving his shoulder a nudge. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t so much as stir. The man sleeps like the dead.
I settle back against the pillow, trying to decide what to do when my phone buzzes on the floor beside me. I lean over to get it, almost falling off the damn bed as I check the screen.
