Page 38 of Declan

And that body, Jesus Christ.

The way she danced, like she had no clue how dangerous it was. Like she wasn’t already living under my skin.

Every sway of her hips, every toss of her hair, every time her lips curved into a smile, it chipped away at the control I’ve been holding onto for years. Thin, fraying threads that snapped one by one until all I was left with was need.

The kind that doesn’t go away.

The kind that eats you alive.

So I told her to come here. Sent her off like it wasn’t the worst idea I’ve had in a long time.

Because it is.

It’s a bad fucking idea.

Because I don’t trust myself around her tonight.

I’m angry.

At her.

At me.

At all the time we’ve wasted pretending like we’re not inevitable.

But I’m also hard as a fucking rock, strung so tight with want it hurts to breathe.

She does that to me. Has always done that to me. It’s like my body recognizes her before my brain can shut it down.

I drag a hand over my jaw, my breath coming faster now. I’m not just pacing, I’m spiraling.

If she walks through that door.

If she gives me even the slightest hint that she wants this, too.

I don't know if I can stop myself.

And I'm not sure I even want to.

Before I can convince myself of anything else, the door swings open.

And there she is.

Lena walks in like she fucking belongs here and damnit, I like it more than I should. Like some part of me has been waiting to see her here, in my space, where I don’t have to share her with anyone else.

“Declan?” Her voice is soft, unsure. She sees me, standing in the center of the room like I’ve been waiting for her all my life, but she doesn’t know what to do now that she’s actually here.

Neither do I.

I take a few steps toward her, heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else.

Our eyes lock, and I swear I feel something ignite under my skin. Fire, pure and unrelenting, racing through my veins like gasoline just found a match.

“Why the fuck did you go to Twisted Souls tonight?” I demand, the words slipping out before I can rein them in.

She flinches. Just slightly. Like she wasn’t expecting that to be the first thing out of my mouth. But just as fast, she recovers, her spine straightening, her eyes narrowing into sharp, defiant slits.

“I was invited,” she fires back, chin tilted, daring me to push further.

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