Sheer Luck (9 page)

I showed her no mercy, since she gave me
none. I bit, licked, hummed. She thrashed, moaned, trembled. When
she went rigid like she always did right before climax, I rose over
her. I crisscrossed my arms between her and the mattress, palming
her breasts, and covered her body with mine. One shift of my hips
and I sunk deep into her tight, willing body.

I gave us both a moment to adjust, and then
slowly rolled my hips.

“Declan.
Declan, Declan,
Declan
...”

Her breathy moan and chanting almost made me
forget to take my time. I wanted to pound, to chase my orgasm
inside her like we’d always done. But not this time. I eased out of
her, inch by excruciating inch, as her walls clenched like she
hated the withdrawal. When only my tip remained, I pushed back in
gradually, until a sheen of sweat coated my brow and I was shaking
with need. Fuck. Nothing on earth felt better than her.

“Oh, God. Declan.”

I wasn’t going to last. Not for long. My
spine was already tingling and my balls pinched. My arms still
beneath her, I cupped her jaw with one hand and her mound with the
other, adding pressure to her clit with the heel of my palm. My
fingers spread to where we were joined, my cock slick with her
arousal.

My groan came from such a place deep within,
I was sure releasing it left me partially empty. Keeping my hand
right where it was, so I could feel myself thrusting and pleasure
her at the same time, I moved, giving her shallow strokes. She was
so close I didn’t think she was breathing. I increased my rhythm,
going as deep as the positioned allowed. I nipped her shoulder.
Buried my face in her neck. Rocked into her faster.

We came at the same time, an explosion of
light and resonance and utter everything. It was devastating and
infinite and cataclysmic. The sounds...the primal, destructive
sounds I made didn’t begin to encompass my suffering, my...bliss.
Breaths soughing, I trapped her beneath me, grasped desperately at
her arms, hips, neck—too much to hold onto and not enough time.

Frustrated, throat tight, I rolled to my
back, reached my arm out, and pulled her to my side. She fit her
head in the crook of my shoulder and sighed contentedly. I, on the
other hand, was not content. Tonight was our last night, and I was
pretty certain I’d sell my soul if it meant not letting her go.

She must’ve sensed my restlessness, because
she murmured quiet phrases in French and stroked my chest. Touches
meant to tame the feral. After awhile, my heart stopped cracking my
ribs and her motions slowed.

Setting her chin on my pec, she smiled at
me. “I’m not going to be able to walk at work.”

I laughed, damn her, and ran my hand down
her hair. “I’ll make us something quick to eat. Fuel.” I kissed her
forehead and got up to step into a pair of jeans. She moved to her
back, sheet twisted around her legs, perky breasts thrust forward
with her arms over her head. I sighed, leaned over the bed, and
kissed her again. “You’re beautiful,
mo grá.
”

I was halfway to the door when she asked,
“What does that phrase mean?”

Shaking my head, I smiled and left the room.
I started a pot of coffee while she showered. The eggs were almost
done when she emerged, fully dressed in a pencil skirt, blue blouse
and...reading glasses.

I groaned and pushed her plate across the
counter toward her. “Librarian. Fantasy.”

She smiled knowingly and sat on a barstool
facing the counter. We ate in silence, and she left for work after
kissing my cheek goodbye.

I must’ve stood a good twenty minutes in a
numb state before I kicked myself into gear. Since this was our
last night, I figured I’d make dinner. I wasn’t great in the
kitchen, but I knew a few dishes. I tried to keep myself busy, but
the day dragged.

Six days and I’d become addicted. Not just
with the physical aspect of us, but everything. The way she
absently played with my hair. The calming presence she brought to
my life. How she appreciated food and art. Her maternal instincts,
even though she was shown none growing up. The witty comebacks and
brilliant mind. She wasn’t afraid to learn new things, but she
steeped herself in tradition.

The beef roast was finished cooking by the
time she strolled in after work. She paused a beat to take in the
set table, the flowers in a vase, and the candles. Yeah, I’d turned
into a sap. What did I care? It was our last night.

She eyed me as I drew closer. “It smells
good in here.”

I kissed her until her fingers clutched my
tee and she had difficulty standing. “Dinner’s done. Have a seat.
I’ll bring it out.”

She hummed and made her way to the
table.

We ate, the conversation flowing like the
wine I’d bought. She laughed at my holiday stories and I grinned at
her tales from work. Every second that passed made me miss her
already. I had my family, a good group of friends, but there was no
one like her in my life. Around her, I didn’t need a filter. It
made me wonder, again, who was her support system.

Pushing the plates aside, I reached across
the table and linked our fingers. “How often do you get to see your
sister?”

Her lips parted, but her gaze dropped to our
hands. The grief I often caught in her eyes returned, and my
stomach clenched before she even started to speak. “She died last
year.”

I said nothing—what was there to say?--and
absorbed her loss like it was my own. She was alone. Utterly alone
in this world. Perhaps she had a myriad of friends and, no doubt
friends could fill a void, but it wasn’t the same. My throat
closed, my chest aching for her. A woman like her should be
surrounded by love. If I were in the position to do something about
that, I’d give her a litter of kids and sic my family on her until
she could only pray for silence.

Her lips pressed together as if trying not
to say more, but when our gazes collided, tenderness warmed all the
ice in that blue. “We kept in touch growing up, but her foster
families weren’t as kind as mine. When she aged out of the system,
she lived on the streets, got involved with drugs. I think she was
just chasing that euphoric feeling they first gave her.” She
cleared her throat. “She was in and out of rehab a few times, but
it never stuck. She committed suicide last summer.”

Fuck me. Her voice cracked and I flew out of
my seat. Wrapping my arms around her, I carried her into the living
room, sat on the couch, and set her in my lap. She curled into me,
and though I knew she was crying, the tears didn’t break her or
turn into sobs.

Helpless, I smoothed her hair and let her
be. To lose her parents at such a young age, and then her sister to
suicide, had to have created an empty void. And a fault complex in
the form of survivor’s guilt.

Everyone in her life had walked. Her life
had been a series of shitstorms, and I was just another high wind
creating chaos.

She sighed. “Iris and I made an interesting
pair. She was all out, skated the edge and wasn’t afraid to take
chances. And I was scared of everything. Nothing but the straight
and narrow for me, to the point I only existed in the books I
read.”

Her sudden decision to live a little made
sense now. “So you are venturing out of your bubble.”

“Yeah.” She adjusted her position and skirt
to straddle me, our faces inches apart. Even with red, swollen
eyes, she was fucking beautiful. “I came to the conclusion I needed
a happy middle. Live, but not recklessly.” She laughed. “I got the
tattoo first. For...luck.”

Oh, the irony. I smiled anyway, loving the
shamrock on her nape. “Very sexy. What else?”

She shrugged as if shy. How endearing. “I
bought the motorcycle and a new wardrobe.” Her teeth sunk into her
lower lip as her gaze wandered my face. “I took Aiden up on his
offer to visit the pub. Before Iris died, I pretty much went to
work and back home. I’ve been trying to get out more.”

Her gaze met mine and she sighed, world
weary. “Not exactly living on the edge, but I’ve mapped out a few
places I’d like to travel. Made some changes.”

I tucked her hair behind her ears and let my
fingers linger in the soft, dark strands. “You’re doing great. It
takes a lot of courage to do what you did. I’m just sorry you lost
your sister that way.” I paused, but to hell with it. “Do you want
a big family? Kids someday?”

She nodded, but the gesture seemed
distracted. “It won’t make up for all I’ve lost, but a husband and
children of my own would be a perfect way to build a new family.”
She shook her head as if to clear it and smiled. “What about you?
What do you want? A room at the Playboy mansion? A yacht in
Cozumel?”

Though her distraction technique was cute,
and her smile always pulled one from me, I couldn’t do it. I
couldn’t pretend.

She appeared to recognize my struggle right
away, her smile gradually slipping and her eyes sad. Cupping my
jaw, she held my face in her hands as if
I
was the treasure.
“If there was no curse, if you had nothing holding you back, what
would you want?”

“You.” I’d throw away every cent in my bank
account, do whatever it took. But that wouldn’t matter because her
and I could never be more than the best seven days of my life.

If she was surprised by my response, and she
shouldn’t have been, it didn’t register in her expression.
“Why?”

My head fell back to the couch. It wasn’t as
if I didn’t know the answer, but her wanting one shocked me.
Honesty at all times. That was one of my stipulations. At this
point, what was one more heap of oh-shit to the pile?

I drew a shallow breath, looking at her and
keeping my expression open. “Because I didn’t believe in love at
first sight until I saw you sitting on a park bench. It’s not the
basis for a relationship, but you proved to me that feeling can be
built upon. You’re brave and kind and funny and smart. You don’t
let the world bring you down and you have an uncanny ability to see
beauty in even the ugliest of things. You have an open mind and an
even more open heart. That’s why.”

The regret in her eyes hurt me to the bone.
Long, aching minutes, we stared. Somewhere in those ticks of the
clock, I’d stopped breathing. Her, too, it seemed. We were at a
stalemate and both knew it. The end was here. If I were a more
selfish bastard, I’d erase that haunted, hopeful look in her eyes
with a promise to keep her, take her all over the world to fill
that beautiful mind. But she’d changed something in me, and I
couldn’t risk her not having the full, wonderful life she deserved.
My family’s curse would break her. Would, in turn, break me.

Her throat worked a swallow. “We didn’t
follow the rules.”
We,
not
you
.

I shook my head. “No, we didn’t.” And I
regretted not one second. Come tomorrow, I’d be sorry as hell, miss
her like oxygen underwater, but never regret. She could never be my
happy ending, but she would be the only memory of happy.

Determined not to make our last hours
together sheer misery, I leaned forward and kissed her. I could
take her right here on the couch, against the wall, or bent over
the table. We’d completed her fantasy list and mine, had sex in
every imaginable position but one. Missionary. It was the way her
other lovers had been with her, the reason why she agreed to my
offer in the first place. Call me sentimental, but I didn’t want
the last time we made love to be about position.

Carrying her to the bedroom, I set her on
her feet and undressed her slowly, taking the time to kiss every
inch of skin I exposed. She did the same for me with lingering
touches and gentle caresses, then lay on the bed. I covered her
with my body, kissing her for what seemed like hours, days, telling
her with my lips what I couldn’t say aloud.

And when I entered her, when we came
together with gazes locked and hearts pounding in sync, I knew it
would be the last time.

I
didn’t want to
open my eyes. If I did, any remnants of Lily ever having been in my
apartment would be gone. Not just because she had to go to work,
but because she would’ve thought a clean break would be the
easiest. Her things would not be where they’d been the past week.
Her toothbrush next to mine in the bathroom, her clothes hanging on
my closet door, her shoes in the foyer. Even her scent on my sheets
would fade.

Fuck. Moisture burned behind my lids. My
throat was raked raw with unshed tears. A black, crushing weight
resided where my heart used to be. I could only imagine how my
grandfather, my dad, or Aiden had felt after losing their loves.
I’d only had mine a week and I couldn’t open my eyes to face her
absence.

Last night, I’d fought sleep. I’d stared at
her long lashes fanning her cheeks, her pouty lips, her dark hair
on my pillow, and tried to commit every detail of her features to
memory. As if by any stretch I’d forget her. Eventually, I’d
succumbed to exhaustion and had fallen asleep with my arm banded
around her. If I imagined hard enough, she’d still be there, tucked
to my side.