Page 38 of Downfall

Declan shrugs. “Far be it from me to judge your Daddy kink.”

He ducks as I hurl a pillow at his head. “I am not into men in their fifties!”

He laughs, but something changes on his face. Something I can’t quite read. “Okay, okay. Then what are you into?”

Suddenly the air shifts. It’s hot and thick, the breeze still floating through the window doing nothing to cool my flaming cheeks. We’ve never talked this way. We’ve talked about almost everything else under the sun, but never this. I know from the rumors that Declan is not inexperienced when it comes to sex. At least once a week, there’s another girl in the bathroom talking about how he split her in half or how she almost couldn’t fit him in her mouth. At the same time, he doesn’t know I’m a virgin. Maybe he assumes so because there are definitely no rumors about me, but he doesn’t know for sure.

“Guys my own age for starters,” I say because it’s the only thing I can think of.

“Exactly your age?” he presses. “Or is there wiggle room for, say, a few months?” I freeze in place as I bend down to find the remote. Declan turned eighteen in October and my birthday was in April, so even though we’re currently the same age, he’s technically older. “I guess there’s a little wiggle room.”

He tosses his head, shaking away the wet hair stuck to his forehead. “Noted.”

With that one word, my pulse kicks into overdrive, my heart banging against my chest. This is it. My chance to tell him how I feel. I open my mouth to say something, what, I have no idea, when he plops down on my bed, his soggy jeans squeaking against my comforter.

“Declan! You’re all wet.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“Take your pants off.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Thought you weren’t into older men?”

“I told you there’s wiggle room,” I snap back before I can think better of it. Despite the fact that this is so different for us, the banter seems easy. We’ve never really flirted before, but that’s what this is, right? It feels a lot like flirting. Maybe I can do this.

But then Declan peels off his damp jeans and shirt before settling back down on my bed. It’s not like I’ve never seen him like this before. We’ve been to the beach together, but seeing him half-naked in my bedroom feels different, especially after the flirting. Declan’s lean but fit, his body sculpted from years of playing lacrosse. My eyes shamelessly rake over him, but when they get to the dip of his V and that thin line of hair that disappears into his boxer briefs, I turn away.

He pats the side of the bed for me to sit next to him and I do, my hands fidgeting the whole way over.

For the next half hour, we watch the movie, eating our snacks and commenting here and there on the plot. Declan cracks another joke about me being attracted to Roger Thornhill, and I finally relax a little. Everything seems to have gone back to normal between us. A wave of relief washes over me, but it’s tinged with disappointment.

I had an opportunity, and I let it go.

Then he touches me. It’s just a hand on my thigh at first. A slight tilt of his head. He's questioning, asking for permission. I nod. His hand inches up higher, teasing the waistband of my leggings. Another question in his eyes. I blink, nodding faster this time. His fingers dip below the band, feeling, exploring. My eyes squeeze shut. He stops, so I open them.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he says. His voice is so soft. So different from the normally teasing, smug boy I know. He bites his lip, the silver lip ring catching between his teeth as his hand slides lower, and I gasp when his fingers find my heat. “Is this okay?”

“Please,” I whisper, and he gently pushes them inside me. I begin to rock back and forth against his hand, chasing the high until I shatter and attempt to stifle my scream as I bury my face in his shoulder.

When I finally float back down to earth, I realize he’s still holding me, smoothing my hair with the flat of his palm. The movie is half over at this point, but I can barely hear it over the thud of my heartbeat and the rush of air in my ears.

“Skylar, I—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish. Instead, I crash my lips against his. He cradles my cheeks, his tongue sliding past my lips to deepen the kiss. He tastes like cherry and salt from our snacks, and I never want this kiss to end. It does only when I force myself to break away so I can speak.

“More,”I say, breathless. “I want more.”

I jolt upright in bed. Sweat slides down the side of my face, the memory of my first time with Declan hanging in the air like a ghost. I wish I could say it was just a dream, but it wasn’t. It happened. The flirting, the movie, the orgasm, and then what came after. He let me tell him that I loved him as I came again while he was buried inside of me.

He didn’t say it back, but he made a promise. One he broke the next day.

I squint through the darkness, and that’s when I notice the dark outline at the foot of the bed. Kneeling on the mattress, I see him, his chest rising and falling with each breath. How long has he been there?

The night comes back to me in fragments. Declan storming in to claim me at the bar, the ride home, our argument. Oh God, I came onto him and he rejected me. But then I couldn’t sleep and he—we—I can’t even think the words. I ran out of his room while he was still holding the washcloth out to me. I didn’t even bother putting my underwear back on. I came back to bed to forget everything, but the memories followed me even in my sleep. Apparently, he also followed me and fell asleep on the floor.

How could I have let that happen?

The man’s words are like horny catnip. How was I supposed to resist when he was talking me through it like an erotica narrator?

Collapsing back down onto the bed, I decide it’s finally time to get some advice. This arrangement is unhealthy at best, toxic at worst, and while I’m still not willing to back out of it, maybe there’s a way we can at least survive the next five weeks. As I feel around for my phone, my hand catches on something. It’s the ring. He didn’t put it on my finger last night. He left it on the nightstand instead. I try not to think about what that means and type out a group text to the girls. Normally, I’d talk to Ash but he’s too close to the canvas.