Page 26 of Wicked Devotions: Part 2

I don’t deserve him, but fuck if I’ll ever give him up. I won’t give any of them up. Never.

“I love—” My voice breaks, the sentence too terrifying to finish out loud. “I love the way that feels. Just like that.” I groan as he takes me all the way back in his throat. “Fuck.”

His mouth is hot and hungry as he starts to bob his head up and down my length, keeping perfect suction while he’s at it. I can feel my balls tightening as the pleasure bears down on me. Is he going to take my cum and swallow it down?

I suck in a lungful of air as he slips a finger in my crack, softly pressing against my asshole. Fuck I wish he had lube handy so he could fully slip inside me. I grab his hair, halting his movement up and my cock.

“I’m going to cum, so if you don't want it shooting down your throat now's the time to stop.” I manage to get the words out, keeping my release at bay.

He swats my hand away and takes me all the way to the back of his throat, gagging just a bit as I hit him over and over. The first second of my orgasm makes me see stars. Each subsequent jet of cum shoots from me down his throat and sends heat rocketing from the center of my body outward.

He swallows around me, cleaning my cock with his tongue. It’s filthy and so fucking sexy. I just want to bend him over and fuck his ass over and over until he’s screaming for me to stop. Except he wouldn’t ask me to stop, he’d meet me need for need, every single time.

He falls back onto his ass, lips shiny from my cum and his saliva and watches as I pull my pants back up. I hold my hand out to help him to his feet and use his momentum to pull him back against me. As our lips meet once more, I kiss him slowly, savoring the way I taste on his tongue. I want so badly to tell him I love him. The words flow through me like blood through my veins, but I can’t get them out. So instead I hope he can sense it through my actions, through the kiss.

The sound of a door slamming is the only thing that could break us apart. Measured footsteps move up the stairs, it’s not Declan coming up. I step aside and let Emerson open the door. Cillian stands in the hallway, looking us both over.

“Cillian?” Harper says from her open doorway.

“Yes?” He turns to her. “Did the bath help?”

She nods. “Was that Declan?”

“It was. He’s in the gym, likely imagining my face on the bag he’s no doubt punching at the moment. I just wanted to come check on you and make sure you’re okay before I leave.”

“I am.” She steps forward and wraps her arms around him in a hug. “Thank you for today. I needed it, even though we didn’t get answers for everything.”

He returns her hug, giving her a fatherly kiss on top of the head. That’s when I notice the splatters of blood on his sleeve and his busted knuckles. He looks to us next.

“Declan might need a few minutes to gather himself before you go out there. He’s still pretty angry and worked up.”

“I’m actually going to go check on him.” Harper shoots us both a look. “If that’s okay?”

“I’m fine with it,” I say.

“Same,” Emerson adds. “Don’t take it personally if he’s a dick.”

She scoffs. “I’m not afraid of his tantrums.” She disappears downstairs with Cillian on her heels.

“How long should we give them before we go check on them?” I ask.

He shrugs. “An hour?”

I grab Emerson by the shoulder and push him back into his room. “Let’s see how much we can do in an hour.”

Chapter

Ten

HARPER

The sound of fists hitting a punching bag filters through the door as I climb the stairs to the gym above the garage. Each impact is followed by a soft grunt. Declan’s profile is backlit by the last golden rays of sun shining through the slats of the blinds. His hair has flopped down onto his forehead and is beginning to clump on the ends as sweat beads on his temples.

Either he doesn’t hear me walk into the room or he’s ignoring me. I’m not sure which because either one is just as likely as the other. He’s stripped his shirt off which affords me an incredible view of his muscles as he continues to take his anger and frustration out on the bag swinging in front of him.

I lean back against the wall to wait him out. Hopefully he exhausts himself to the point where our conversation won’t turn into an argument. But as he continues to steadily hit the bag, showing no signs of slowing down, my hope dwindles.

It’s not a surprise to me that he’s upset. I knew he’d be pissed, but I don’t regret going. Are my father’s words echoing in my mind as we speak? Yes, of course they are. Hearing your father call you a whore isn’t going to be easy, no matter who you are. But the more I think about the interaction, the surer I become that my father knows exactly who is stalking me.

---