Page 31 of MidKnight
Declan chuckled.
“I’m dead serious. Brendon’s snaggle tooth makes him look like he could eat children.”
“Maybe he has,” Declan’s grin was wider now.
I stroked his hair. “I got the best one of the bunch.”
“You got the one dropped on your doorstep.”
I lifted my leg and draped it over him. “I beg to differ. But we’re getting off-track. You were going to tell me more about your deluded mother.”
Declan cleared his throat and continued, reaching his free arm across my waist so his hand could trace lazy patterns in the oil that coated my spine. “She always came in wanting my shirts more starched or criticizing how scuffed my shoes were. Maybe it was her way of chiding my nanny for not taking better care of me. But, it always kind of felt like she was critiquing me.”
He fell silent for a second, lost in memory. I waited, knowing he was sharing a part of himself with me that he had to hide at court. I’d never seen Declan anxious. Never seen him break down. But he said he knew how I’d felt when I woke. I waited patiently.
He was quiet when he spoke again. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but maybe my mother had the same obsession that I do. I’ve always been obsessed with perfection. One of my quirks. Drives my butler mad.”
I gave a naughty grin. “So, you’re saying I shouldn’t go sneak into your room at night and rearrange all your things?”
Declan laughed and hugged me to him so he could swat my butt. “Definitely not. That would make you a bad girl.”
“If I promise I won’t, will you pretend I did and punish me anyway, sometime?”
His eyes grew dark with lust. “Anything you want.”
I raised my eyebrows suggestively but said, “I want to hear the rest of this story. I want to know my Declan.”
He bit his lip at that. At first, I thought it was because he was nervous to tell me about what made him panic.
But he said, “Yours?”
I moved my hand from playing with his hair and caressed his cheek. “Mine.”
His hand came from my back and grabbed my hand as it stroked his face. He pulled my hand down and placed it over his heart, between us. There was a long moment where we were lost in each other’s eyes before he continued.
“As I said, perfection became an obsession. As I got older, it got harder and harder to deal with things that weren’t perfect. Every time I made a mistake, I hated myself. Grew anxious. Had this overwhelming feeling come over me. The same kind of thing I saw when you woke up. Panic.” His hand stroked mine where it lay against his chest.
“How did you learn to control it?”
He pursed his lips. “I found an outlet.” He blushed and didn’t hold my gaze.
“What outlet?” I breathed.
“The whip,” he whispered.
It took me a few seconds to process what he’d said. But then I gasped and pulled my hand away from him. I sat up in bed, pulled on his shirt, yanking it upward. “Roll over,” I commanded.
“Bloss, it’s not—”
I pushed him over. “You hurt yourself?” My fingers were already tracing over the faint pink scars I could see on his lower back.
“I know I’m not normal—”
He stopped talking when I bent and put my lips on one of the scars. I kissed it. And then its neighbor. I yanked at his tunic shirt, pulling it higher, kissing each little red line I saw. Some of them were thick and big, they looked like they’d been deep.
I moved to straddle Declan’s back. I made sure I kissed every single scar he had. When I was done, I rested on top of him, my cheek on his spine.
“Are you … disgusted by me?” he whispered.
