Page 48 of Craving the Edge

I pulled my phone from my back pocket. I didn’t know why I did it. An old reflex, maybe. A stupid, stubborn habit of reaching for someone who was never there. My thumb hovered over Carla’s name. My fingers typed out a message before my brain could catch up.

Thinking of you. Hope you’re good.

Simple, short, and pathetic.

I hit send. The little blue bubble appeared on the screen. While I waited for a reply I already knew wouldn’t come, I scrolled up. Months of my life laid out in blue. A long, one-sided conversation with myself.

My screen stayed dark. No notification appeared. Not a flicker of life from the other side of the world.

I stared at the last message I’d sent, the words small and hopeful on the screen. If this was all I was worth to her—a text she couldn’t be bothered to answer—then what was I even holding on for?

Maybe Billie was right about more than just Declan. Maybe Carla didn’t matter anymore. After all this time, all the unanswered calls, maybe the connection was finally as dead as it felt. All that was left of our relationship was my stubborn attempts to hold on to something that was long gone.

I locked the screen and shoved the phone back into my pocket. It was time to focus on what was real, on the people who were actually here. I thought of Declan. His presence was an undeniable fact. Complicated and temporary, sure, but it was real.

The rest of the day bled away in a dull ache of anxiety. Every time the phone rang, I expected it to be a hospital, the police, or worse, someone calling in Gary’s debts. But it was just gym queries and wrong numbers. Between calls, my body betrayed me, circling back to Declan. The scratch of his stubble on my inner thigh, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress. His cock stoking deep inside me. His tongue on my clit. I tried to focus on spreadsheets, on class schedules, on anything but him, but it was useless. Worry and want twisted into a tight knot in my stomach.

By closing time, my anxiety had won out. I moved through the lock-up routine on autopilot. I was turning off the main lights over the mats when the front door opened, the steak of the hinges ridiculously loud in the quiet.

My head snapped up.

Declan stood in the entry, silhouetted against the streetlights. He wore a simple grey hoodie and dark jeans.

My breath caught. My entire body went tight.

Every rational thought about Gary, about the gym, about my own safety, evaporated. It was replaced by a sudden, brutal need that slammed into me, stealing my breath and all of my coherence. I watched the way the worn cotton of his hoodie stretched across his shoulders, the easy, powerful grace in his stride. My gaze dropped, tracking the line of his hips, the fit of his jeans.

I wanted to drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. I wanted to feel him get hard on my tongue, to wrap my hands around the back of his thighs and hold him there while I took him right to the back of my throat. The urge was so violent, it made my knees feel weak. I’d let him fuck me, let him pin me down and fill me up, but I hadn’t done that. And God, I wanted to.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry, and forced myself to look away. My hands shook. Maintaining a professional distance felt like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a tissue.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little rough.

“I’m not going back to yours tonight,” I blurted.

He stopped a few feet away. His expression gave nothing away.

“I can’t,” I added, the explanation feeling flimsy. “I have to deal with this mess Gary’s left me in. I need my head on straight, and I can’t think when I’m with you. I just…get lost in it. In you.”

A flicker of something—disappointment, maybe—showed in his eyes. It was there for a second then gone. He didn’t argue, he just closed the distance between us.

His hands came up to cup my face, his thumbs stroking along my jaw. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine. It wasn’t a demanding kiss. It was slow, deep, and smouldering. A kiss that short-circuited every defence I had. The taste of him flooded my senses and my problems didn’t just fade. They ceased to exist.

My hands fisted in the front of his hoodie, clinging to him. I kissed him back with a desperation that made a liar out of me. My tongue met his, and a low sound escaped my throat. I couldn’t get enough. I was drowning in him…that’s why I couldn’t go with him.

I broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to breathe. My forehead rested against his. “I want you so bad,” I murmured. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

A slow grin spread across his face, the sight of it making my stomach flip. His hands slid from my jaw down my back, settling on my arse, pulling me flush against him. I felt the hard ridge of his erection through his jeans.

“Same,” he growled. “All I can think about is fucking you. Pinning you down and claiming every last inch of you. Making you come until you can’t think.”

A sharp gasp escaped my lips. My body clenched, a wave of heat pooling between my legs. I was losing the battle. “Declan. Stop.”

He chuckled, a soft, rumbling sound. He didn’t let go. “I know. You need your head on straight. I get it.” He paused, his thumbs stroking the curve of my arse. “Let me take you home.”

“No. That’d just be tempting fate.”

He laughed again, and loosened his grip, letting a sliver of air between us. “Alright.” He leaned in and pressed one last, brief kiss to my lips. “Goodnight, Char.”