Wasted Time (The Steel City #1)

57. Penny

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

penny

I wake up in the comfiest bed known to man, in the comfiest arms, which happen to belong to my absolute favourite man. I smile, still half asleep, and definitely still emotionally drained from last night. But I’m also happy.

I’m so happy.

I glide my hands over the arms wrapped around my frame.

We didn’t have sex last night. Oddly enough, after the initial attempt, neither of us considered it. We talked for hours, almost until the sun came up. We laughed, we cried, and we rebuilt the bridges we’ve spent far too much time burning to ash. We did it with our bare hands. The pain was worth it.

I stretch outward. Declan groans, not letting me get too far. He pulls me back completely to his chest, burying his face in my hair.

“Say something so I know this is real,” I whisper.

I feel like for the last year or so, we’ve been on opposite sides of a battlefield, and we’ve both finally waved our white flags. We’ve finally found peace, and it doesn’t feel real .

“It’s real,” he grumbles, his voice husky with sleep. His lips find my cheek. “And I’m still in love with you.”

My heart takes off hearing those words. Every time he says them, my heart starts racing like those three words are the most terrifying, but beautiful words in the English language. In a way, they are. They hold a lot of power.

But I know this is where I’m supposed to be. I will learn not to fear that power.

“It’s early,” Dec whispers, his hands sliding across my stomach. Instinctively, I arch back into him. His hand snaps to my hip, stilling me. “I meant for you to go back to bed.”

I roll over, turning into his chest to look at him. Sweet god. His wavy, dark hair is messy and in front of his half-shut eyes. Those full lips pull upward in the corners when he looks at me. “I don’t want to sleep. I want you.”

“I know,” he mumbles, pressing his lips to mine. It's just a peck, so I try not to think about morning breath. “I want you too, Lucky. But not yet.”

“Why wait?” I whisper. His hand slides up my side, his arrogant smile growing at my impatience. “You’ve seen and touched every part of me. It’s nothing new.”

He reaches upward to pinch my chin with his thumb and finger. He tilts my head up to his, and I lose myself in those hazel eyes. They’re a pretty place to get lost.

“Because we’re doing it right this time,” he says in that same gravelly voice.

I hate this idea. I want his hands on me again, his lips trailing kisses down my skin. I want to feel full of him, to feel like he knows me better than anyone else ever has. It’ll be different now and I think we both know that. Neither of us are going anywhere when we come down from that high. I want to know what that feels like with him.

I want to stay .

I’m trying not to feel that typical fear of him pulling away. I’m trying not to be scared that he’ll change his mind. I trust him when he says he’ll be here, fighting for us. I trust that he loves me.

That’s why even though I want to slide down his torso and convince him that rushing it is the way to go, I don’t. If he wants to wait, we can wait. Instead of feeding my most carnal instincts, I wind my arms around his neck and pull myself flat to his chest, throwing my bare leg around his hip.

His big hands slide up my back, up the fabric of his shirt on my body.

“We got this, P.”

I shut my eyes, nodding.

We do.

He presses kisses to my temple.

This is it for me. If this doesn’t work out, I don’t think I’ll ever try to replicate this feeling. My heart has been taken—it’s been given, willingly. I don’t want any other pair of hands to hold it but his, even if he crushes it.

“Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” I mumble, pulling away just enough to peer at his handsome face. I brush his hair from his eyes, gliding my fingers into the swoop of it behind his ear. He looks at me like I am wondrous, and I adore it. “I remember you saying you’d have a cinnamon bun and a coffee waiting for me this morning.”

Declan’s lip twitches upward, his eyes closed. “Why am I not surprised that this is what you’re thinking about first thing in the morning?”

“And the WAG jackets.”

He lets out a sleepy laugh. “And the WAG jackets.”

“You wouldn’t break the first promise you made me, would you?” I stick out my bottom lip for good measure.

He rests his head against his pillow, eyes slowly cracking open to study every inch of my face. His hand is under my shirt now, laying still on my waist. I hope the temptation is killing him because it’s suffocating me.

He sighs, shutting his eyes and dropping his hand. “It was delivered earlier. It’s already downstairs. My housekeeper brought it in about thirty minutes ago.”

I fly upward, making him jump just a bit—eyes widening. We’ll revisit the fact that he has a housekeeper later.

“It’s getting cold.”

“It’s not. Go back to sleep.”

My eyes narrow at him, and he smirks, nuzzling deeper into the pillows.

Clearly, he’s an amateur, because nobody chooses to drink reheated coffee.

“Can I eat breakfast in your bed?”

He nods without pause, reaching up to rub the sleep from his eyes. “I do not dare to deprive you of your two favourite things in life. Go on. Grab them.”

“Will you lick the icing from my fingers?” I ask, cocking a brow.

His eyes snap open. “I’m trying very hard to keep my hands off you. Keep talking and you’ll eat it downstairs. Alone.”

I shrug a shoulder and hop off the bed. Before he can say anything else, I am sprinting full force back down the stairs to the kitchen.

“We’re going to talk about how you didn’t disagree that you prefer coffees and pastries over me!” he shouts after me.

“Sorry, our connection is bad. I’m in an elevator! I can’t hear you!” I call back.

I hear his laughter following me down each step.

I relish in it.