Wallflower (Whittaker Floral #2)

16. Declan

16

DECLAN

I couldn’t get enough of Hannah. I wasn’t even sure enough existed. I could’ve spend night and day with her, enjoying her humor, her intelligence, her raw sexuality, and I still wouldn’t have been sated. Every moment the two of us weren’t working, we were together. There was no question we were perfect for each other in isolation, but someday we had to expand our private little world.

We lay together, our bodies tangled, my fingers moving over her soft skin and enjoying the feel of her. “My brother invited us for dinner Friday,” I said casually. Hannah stiffened, her body a statue in my arms.

“Okay,” she responded slowly. Then in a very quiet voice, “Do you think he meant me, too?”

“Of course you, too.”

She made a tiny throat noise I couldn’t identify. “Are you sure? It’s okay if he’d rather just hang out with you.”

I couldn’t remember a single occasion where I’d met someone and worried they wouldn’t like me.This seemed like an entirely female problem. “I’m completely sure. You’re amazing.”

She smiled but looked unconvinced. “Will there be a lot of people? ”

“No,” I replied, hoping to reassure her. “Probably just us.”

“Oh,” she said, not seeming at all relieved.

“Do you prefer a crowd?” I asked curiously, and her eyes went wide.

“God, no. Small is better, but…” she trailed off, and I waited patiently to hear her other concerns. “I don’t know, they seem like fancy socialite Whittaker clients. What will we even talk about?”

I laughed a full belly laugh, and she looked at me, frowning even deeper as she turned a slight pink. “Hannah, Ellie is a teacher from a Podunk town in Nowhere, Illinois, and my brother is...my brother. Believe me when I tell you there isn’t much special about him. He’s pretty normal.”

She squinted at me suspiciously. “I think we have different baselines. For the sake of comparison, are you normal?”

I stared, perplexed. “Of course I’m normal.”

“Bah,” she cried out. “See? You’re not normal. You’re way too good-looking, for one thing. It’s given you a self-confidence normal people don’t have. Also, you’re independently wealthy. If you were fired tomorrow, you could shake it off and get back out there to find a new job.”

“That’s normal.”

“Not. Normal. If I lost my job, I would have about two months to find a job before I would have to live in my car, and I’d spend the whole two months staring at LinkedIn, feeling overwhelmed and crying. That’s being normal.”

Not building up a better savings cushion sounded more fiscally irresponsible than normal to me, but I refrained from comment. “Okay then, he’s abnormal , but in the exact ways I am, and you seem to enjoy talking to me. Besides that, I, in all my abnormality, find you to be the most spectacular person I’ve ever met, so stop worrying.”

She smiled and turned towards me. “You’re grumpy now.”

“Talking about my brother annoys me.”

“Why?”

A list of reasons flashed through my head. “I dunno.”

She raised her brow, smiling softly.“I think you do know, but you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want.” I pulled her closer, pressing my lips to the soft skin of her neck to get away from her scrutinizing gaze.

“You ever have one of those things you know is stupid and petty but you feel it anyway?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” she replied, her tilted lips the only indication she was lying. I smiled at her, wondering if she really didn’t feel those sorts of feelings often. “Hey,” she continued when I didn’t speak. “I’m joking, and I would love to hear what’s bothering you. Chances are you’re being harder on yourself than is entirely necessary.”

“To understand you need the whole story.”

“There’s still hours before the game starts, and I have nowhere to be.”

I sighed. “So, my brother and I, we’re two years apart—you know—and in our twenties we were real close. We talked on the phone nearly everyday—about sports and such—and even though I was going to school on the East Coast and he’d landed here and was starting his business, we had really similar lives. We were both dating a lot of women who were…” I trailed off, looking for the correct word.

“Models? Is the word you’re looking for models?” she asked, her mouth twisted.

I looked up at her brown eyes, currently nearly squinted shut with the disapproving look she was giving me. I kissed her softly. “Some models, yes, but until this week not one single woman I ached to see every moment I was away from her. Let me be clear, Hannah, a parade of naked models could come marching through here and I wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes off you.”

She looked doubtful. “What if the models were touching themselves—or each other?” she asked, her voice challenging.

I laughed, still amazed at how direct she tended to be.“My dear, I would very much enjoy watching that with you, but you’re the only one I’d want to be touching.” I brushed my fingers between her legs and she squirmed, giggling.

“Okay, I interrupted your story, but points to you for a good answer.”

“I was going to say we were both in a rut of dating women who tended to be vapid, so we could commiserate.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, I’m sure you were commiserating every weekend.”

Her jab put a smile on my lips, but I ignored it as I said, “Then about eighteen months ago he stopped calling, and when I’d call he’d put me off or cut the call short. And eventually I stopped trying to reach him and we mostly fell out of touch.”

“Why?”

“Well, that’s just it. I didn’t find out until afterwards that Ethan got a call from an ex and she told him she was dying and he needed to raise the eleven-year-old son he didn’t even know about.”

“Max?” she asked, wide-eyed with shock. I nodded.

“Supposedly Ethan avoided me because he wasn’t ready to deal with Mom and Dad’s disapproval, but it still hurt me.”

“Deck, it’s entirely reasonable to feel hurt after that.” She was stroking the back of my hair as my head rested under her chin, near her breasts. I circled a nipple with one finger absentmindedly.

“I didn’t tell you the shitty part yet. The part that’s really petty.”

“Hmmm?”

“When I found out Max was the best man, I was really pissed.”

“Oh.” I felt her shrug. “Did you take it out on Max?”

“Of course not.”

“So you had totally controlled and natural feelings of hurt and jealousy when you felt replaced in your older brother’s life?”

“I guess.”

“You monster,” she said with faux indignation. Her hand slid through my curls again. “Seriously, though, you didn’t do anything wrong, and you should tell your brother how you feel.”

“I don’t want to talk about it with E.”

“I understand, but don’t expect the feelings to go away unless you’re willing to talk to him. ”

I tweaked her nipple, and she squeaked. “Enough depressing stuff. Let’s talk more about the naked models touching each other.”

“Declan!” she snapped, but she was smiling as I rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed. I grabbed her wrists, capturing them above her head easily with one hand. The other hand found her clitoris, moving in lazy circles with my thumb while I sucked in a nipple and bit down gently. She moaned, lust in her eyes, and I switched to the other breast, nipping and flicking at it with my tongue.

I moved my hand out from between her legs just long enough to rip open and slide on a condom, and her hips thrusted toward me. My fingers brushed her again as I leaned my face close to her ear. “Tell me what you want. Beg me, Hannah.”

Her hips bucked towards me, her breath in quick pants. “I just want you. All of you.”

It was probably a euphemism, but the words sounded so good right then. She had no idea how much I wanted to give her all of me—to let her accept all the little damaged parts and love me anyway.

My control snapped like a rubberband pulled too taut, and I plunged into her. Hannah gasped, crying out my name, her hands clutching at me when I released her, grabbing and pulling me closer as her hips rose off the bed to meet each stroke. Neither of us could last long like this, and I grabbed her under her arms, pulling her towards me and kissing her deeply as I came, feeling the shuddering spasms of her orgasm around me. Her body was still convulsing as I came to rest on top of her. “Christ that was hot, Deck.”

I couldn’t speak—couldn’t respond—afraid of the feelings that filled my chest, and even more afraid those feelings might spring forth from my lips. Instead, I pushed her hair back from her face, my eyes trailing over each lovely feature, and dipped my lips to find hers.