Page 40 of Possession

His laugh was soft and he squeezed my hand. “Liam lets me hang most of the stuff I do out here. The weird shit is reserved for my room.”

“The weird shit?” The swear word sounded foreign on my tongue and he laughed a little louder.

“Yeah, it’s more personal, and I don’t know, I’d rather it not be on display for just anyone.” He tugged me away from the abstract painting. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

He led me past the kitchen and down a short hall. There were only three doors. One of which was open. The bathroom was small, and it, too, was decorated in mostly gray and black. Declan opened the last door and it felt ridiculous to be nervous, but I was. Fear and excitement, though fear was winning, covered my skin with expectant goose bumps, and I wished he hadn’t released my hand as we walked through the door. Declan pulled his phone from his pocket and placed it in a docking station. He turned on his stereo, flooding the room with a smooth rhythm. I should’ve kept my eyes on him, I should’ve known what was coming, but I was barely able to conceal my gasp as I took in my surroundings.

Every wall was covered with us.Me. Him.Memories.Most were twisted into painful images. There was only one painting that stood out from the anger, the hate, and the sadness. It exuded light and the entwined forms were in love, and kissing, surrounded by a buttered warmth of yellow. If I allowed myself to close my eyes, I’d hear“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”playing in the background. I’d smell poultry spice and my mother’s yams. I lifted my fingers to my lips and I felt his mouth on mine as if I was in that hallway again on Christmas day.

“That’s a new piece.” Declan’s voice sifted through the memory pulling me back to him, to the present. “I painted this a little while ago. I’d had a nightmare, and then I fucking blacked out, and when I woke up the next morning…” He pointed to the painting. “I was covered in paint.”

“It’s our first kiss,” I whispered.

Declan didn’t confirm my statement, he just sat on his bed and watched me as I stared at each painting. My eyes always present in each. Sometimes I could sort out the memory and some I couldn’t. I wanted to ask him about each one, but it felt wrong to do so. Each piece was a private moment, a secret thought carved out by his hand, and the torment… I felt it to my very core.

“I can see your suffering.” I turned to look at him. “It haunts this room.”

His eyes focused solely on me. “It was the only way I could exorcise the demons after you left. I had to paint them, Paige, I had to set them free anyway that I could, or I would have lost myself to my psychosis. Liam encouraged it, cheap therapy.” He laughed without humor.

I sat next to him on the bed. “I’m glad you had Liam.”

He moved just enough that he was facing me. “You didn’t have anyone, did you?”

I shook my head fighting back the tears. He shouldn’t have to pity me, he had enough misery of his own. I lay back, my arms at my sides, closed my eyes, and let the smell of Declan’s black comforter pull me under. His room was saturated in the scent of him, of paint and his detergent. “When I married Clark, I deluded myself into thinking it could work. I ignored how he treated me, how his touch made me physically ill. I forgot what it was like to feel real love. Declan, I just let it go. It hurt too much to remember. I was lucky not to have anyone, because I’d been able to pretend it had always been that way.”

The bed shifted, and I felt the weight, the heat of his body settle next to me. His fingers dusted along mine, and each breath I took became a fight for survival. My heart hummed out uneven beats as our fingers danced and teased and then finally wound together. I felt the bed shift again and I opened my eyes. Declan was lifted on one elbow looking down at me.

“You deserved to be loved, no matter what you thought of yourself then, you deserve to be loved.” His voice was low and rich, and I held my breath as he leaned forward.

He hesitated, just above my mouth, and his eyes watched me cave to his will as our breath mingled for two agonizing heartbeats before he stilled my shaky lips with his own.

He kissed me with a gentle edge. My lips rediscovered his, starting with the top and then tasting the bottom. He groaned as my tongue licked at the seam of his mouth, and his hand moved from my cheek only to cradle the back of my head. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding easily into my mouth, just like always, as if we’d never parted. He still tasted of spearmint, and the bristles of his beard against my skin had me begging for the burn. I twisted a hand into his hair and I pulled him closer, kissed him harder, as I placed my other hand on his chest curling the fabric of his shirt with my fingers. The beat of his heart drummed just below my fist and its tempo matched mine. Fast. Wanting. Free. Two people finding their way home.

I didn’t want to wake up from this new dream. I’d been stuck in a nightmare for almost ten years, but the landscape of it had changed with this kiss and its splashes of red mixed with the pink sweetness of remembering.

He pulled away, but not before nipping at my upper lip. His eyes were alive, his pupils fully dilated, almost completely eclipsing his flawless shade of blue. He kissed me again, but this time the urgency was gone. He painted my lips with soft strokes of heat as I brought my hands to his face. The coarse feel of his scruff was different under my fingertips and, as I kissed his upper lip one more time, I smiled against his mouth. He leaned back and gave me a smile of his own before he buried his face in the space between my neck and shoulder. His lips trailed a short path before he exhaled. The combination of his breath and his beard tickled my neck and I giggled.

I giggled. I hadn’t giggled in forever.

“Fuck, I missed that sound.” His voice vibrated against my neck and down every limb, and echoed in every pore.

“Me too.”

Breathe.

The tip of my nose trailed along the deep hollow between her shoulder and collarbone.

Breathe.

She’d left me fucking breathless.

Paige’s nails scratched at my hairline and I let my eyes fall shut. I’d surrendered to the moment. She’d tasted different. The sweetness of youth had become something more feminine, more real. I couldn’t describe it, but if I could paint it, it would be in a vibrant purple.Lush.It’d been the only word that spun through my head as my mouth consumed hers.

She giggled again, and I lifted my head once more to look at her face. Her chin was red from my beard and her lips were swollen. Even her nose was pink. The blue in her eyes turned to shadow and smoke as she waited for more, waited to see what I would do next. Every muscle in my body wanted her, needed to feel the release only she was ever capable of giving me. My hand rested on the flat plane of her stomach, my thumb just under the hem of her sweater. Her skin was too soft, inviting me to taste it, to do more than I knew either of us was ready for. I tried to ward off my thoughts, calm my raging pulse, and cool the need that was building quickly.

Breathe.

She’s so close.

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