18. Savion

EIGHTEEN

SAVION

I sprawl across the couch, one leg thrown over the armrest while Kelly sits opposite, her legs tucked beneath her. The setting sun filters through the blinds of my apartment.

"Declan's just... different, you know?" I tug at the hem of my shirt, fingers curling and uncurling the fabric. The nervous energy crackles through me, and it's the only way I can keep from bursting at the seams.

Kelly tilts her head, narrowing her eyes in that "spill the tea" kind of way. "Different good or different 'girl, you need a restraining order'?"

"Good. Definitely good." I grin like an idiot, thinking about him—the way his laugh sounds, how he looked at me last night when we finally said it… the way he looked when he came after I'd jerked off for him. The memory makes my heart skip. "But you know, it's complicated. The fame, the scrutiny, all that comes with him."

She gasps, dramatically clutching her chest. "Complicated? Please. Since when is your life not a season of some reality show? Plus, you bagged a rockstar. That's some serious bragging rights." Her eyes widen as if I've just won the lottery. "Wait—" She leans in, lowering her voice to a scandalous whisper. "You two finally did the deed, didn't you?"

My cheeks flame instantly. "Kelly?—"

"Oh my God, you did!" She practically leaps off the couch, her excitement turning her into a blur of movement. "Why didn't you text me immediately?! This is—this is monumental!"

I groan, burying my face in my hands. "Because I wasn't gonna give you live updates like a play-by-play commentary!"

She slams back onto the couch and laughs, smacking a hand on the cushion between us. "Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend? The real Savion would've never dared to give hooking up a try. Wait—" She grabs her phone, fingers flying across the screen. "There's this new emoji for exactly what you've been up to."

"Kelly, stop!" I'm laughing now, but God, this is so typical of her. I throw a pillow at her, trying to stop the inevitable embarrassment. She dodges it with a smirk.

"So," she says, eyes gleaming with mischief, "was it like fireworks? Or... you know, did it take a few tries to, uh, find the groove?"

I stare at her, flustered, but then I burst into laughter because this is Kelly—unfiltered, chaotic, and exactly what I need right now. "It's not just about that. We're… together."

Kelly freezes, mouth slightly open. Then her expression twists into this ridiculously exaggerated gasp. "Wait. You're serious? Like, 'we're Facebook official' serious?"

"It's not like that," I say, trying to suppress a smile, "but yeah. We're together."

She shrieks, throwing her arms up in victory. "YES! I knew it! Oh my God, you're dating again… and a rockstar to boot! This is insane! Think of all the free concert tickets! And the groupies you'll get to fight off—I can see it now—Savion, wielding a broom, chasing off those desperate girls, guys and thems with 'Find your own rockstar!'"

I roll my eyes, but her infectious energy has me laughing again. She pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, her voice suddenly soft in my ear. "I'm so proud of you. I knew you'd find someone who gets you."

I swallow the lump in my throat, squeezing her back. "Thanks, Kells."

She pulls away, shaking her head. "I always thought you'd end up with someone either super hot or super complicated. You managed to land both. Now don't screw it up, okay?"

"I'll try not to—" The knock cuts me off, sharp and sudden.

"Must be your prince charming," Kelly teases, releasing me with a knowing smirk, her eyes glittering with mischief.

I shoot her a mock glare, but my heart hammers as I cross to the door, fingers trembling slightly as I reach for the handle. I try to look casual, but the anticipation surges through me like wildfire. When I open the door, the air shifts. Declan. His presence floods the room, washing over me in an instant. I take him in, the sight of him making my pulse quicken.

He's wearing a leather jacket, the kind that looks soft to the touch, worn just enough to cling perfectly to his frame. His jeans, dark and snug, mold to his legs, and his boots—black, scuffed, and sturdy—are unmistakably rockstar. But it's his eyes that trap me. Those deep blue eyes, so intense they make my knees weak, fix on me like I'm the only thing that matters in this moment.

"Hey," I breathe, voice shaky, caught between excitement and disbelief that he's here right now. I didn't expect to see him for a few more days.

"Hi, Declan! Bye, Declan!" Kelly calls, already gathering her bag as she heads toward the exit, her departure swift and filled with dramatic flair. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" she sings, winking as she breezes past us.

"See you, Kells," I say, but it comes out like a whisper. She's gone before I even register her leaving. Now, it's just us. The quiet between me and Declan feels charged, crackling with electricity. My entire body hums with it.

The door clicks shut, sealing us in. Declan's eyes are locked onto mine, his gaze heavy, deliberate, and I can't look away. My heart thunders in my chest as he takes a step closer. Then another. The space between us evaporates. His hand finds my waist, fingers brushing against the fabric of my shirt, and the warmth of his touch sends a shiver racing down my spine.

Without another word, his lips meet mine.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, like he's savoring every second. The world tilts, narrowing to just the two of us. His lips are soft but firm, moving against mine with a patience that sends sparks dancing along my skin. I taste him, feel him, and it's like every nerve in my body lights up. The scent of leather and something distinctly him fills my senses, grounding me even as my head spins.

My hands, almost of their own accord, find the front of his jacket, fingers curling into the material as if anchoring myself. But the kiss deepens. It becomes something more—fierce, hungry. His hand slides from my waist to my back, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. The heat of his body seeps into mine, and I can't help but surrender to the rush of it all.

A soft sound escapes me, a mix between a gasp and a moan as his tongue sweeps over mine. It feels like fire, and I'm lost in it. Every touch, every shift of his lips against mine, sends a new wave of heat coursing through me. The world outside dissolves. There's only him—his kiss, his warmth, his breath mingling with mine.

We part for air, but the moment feels suspended, like time itself has stopped for us. His breath is warm against my cheek, mingling with my own in the narrow space between us. I can still taste him, still feel the press of his lips, and I'm desperate for more. My chest heaves, trying to keep pace with the wild beating of my heart.

I glance up, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes. "I thought you said Orion Skye had that gig in Denver this weekend?" I ask, my voice breathless, barely holding onto the teasing tone.

His grin is slow, playful, and incredibly sexy. "Turns out there's a storm that grounded all flights." He shrugs, but there's something more in his gaze. "But honestly," he leans in closer, his breath brushing my ear, making me shudder, "I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My pulse quickens again, heat blooming low in my stomach. "Missed me, huh?" I manage to say, though my voice is soft, almost disbelieving.

"Terribly," he admits, his voice low, thick with honesty. There's something in the way he looks at me that tugs at the deepest parts of me. His vulnerability is laid bare, and in that moment, it feels like I'm seeing a side of him no one else ever has.

I swallow hard, my throat tight with emotion. "Good." The word barely escapes my lips before my hand finds its way to the back of his neck, pulling him down into another kiss.

This one is different. It's not tentative. It's desperate, a need neither of us can fight. His hands roam, exploring, claiming, and I melt into him. There's nothing tentative about it now. Every sensation crashes into me—his hands, his mouth, the way he feels pressed against me. It's all-consuming, breathtaking.

The air between us thickens, so charged I can almost hear it crackle. My fingers linger longer than necessary, tracing the line of Declan's jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath my touch before drifting to the nape of his neck. His skin is warm, alive, and the pulse beneath my fingertips quickens, mirroring my own. His touch on my back is firmer now, bold but still careful, like he's holding something precious, something breakable. Me.

God, I want him.

Our lips meet again, and everything else fades away. His kiss is slow, deliberate, tasting me, exploring me. I memorize the way his lips move, the way they press and release, like he's trying to remember this exact moment, too. Each kiss sinks deeper into me, and I'm losing track of where I end and he begins. My heart races, thudding so loud I wonder if he can hear it.

"Come with me," I murmur against his mouth, my words muffled and desperate. There's a heat building inside me, something raw and urgent that's been simmering for too long. My hand finds his, our fingers locking together. His grip is steady, sure, and I guide him through the shadowed living room. Each step feels like it's taking us closer to something inevitable.

The moonlight spills through the curtains, casting silver slashes across the floor. The soft glow bathes us in quiet intimacy, and suddenly, my space feels different—more vulnerable, more exposed. He's seeing a side of me no one else has. A flicker of nerves tightens my chest, so sharp and sudden it takes my breath away.

Declan reaches for the light switch, and my heart stutters. "Let's keep it like this," I rush out, the words tumbling before I can second-guess them. "Off." I don't want the light. I don't want to see everything too clearly. This—whatever this is—feels like it belongs in the dark, where it's safer, where I don't have to confront everything just yet.

Declan doesn't argue. He doesn't need to. "Okay," he says softly, and it's the calm in his voice that steadies me. He gets it. He always does.

We sink onto the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping beneath our weight, and I can feel the warmth of him next to me, can smell the faint scent of leather and soap clinging to him. It's intoxicating. I want more. But there's a lump in my throat, something I need to say before we go any further.

"I've only ever been with Haley… my ex." The name feels foreign, like it belongs to a different life. My voice cracks a little, and I hate it, hate that I'm bringing this into the room with us. "It's been… since the attack." The words hang there, heavy.

Declan doesn't flinch. He just nods, absorbing it all with a patience that soothes something jagged inside me. His hand moves slowly, tracing patterns on my forearm, his touch light but deliberate. Each stroke sends shivers up my spine, little sparks of electricity dancing along my skin.

"I haven't been with anyone in several weeks," he says quietly, his voice a low rumble that settles deep in my chest. His fingers keep moving, grazing my collarbone now, making my breath catch. "And I'm negative. Got tested not long ago." His openness, the way he just says it, calms some of the anxiety coiling tight inside me. He's giving me space to breathe, to let this be whatever it needs to be.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his touch melt into me. "Me too," I manage, and it's not about the tests, not about the physical. I mean me too —I'm trying to be ready for this. For him. With Declan, everything feels stripped down, reduced to just this moment, just these touches that are saying so much more than we could with words.

"Good," he murmurs, and the way he says it—so soft, so full of promise—it feels like a caress all on its own. We're so close now, our breaths mingling, and I can feel the heat radiating off him, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with mine. His forehead rests gently against mine, and for a second, all I can hear is the sound of our breathing, shallow and uneven, filling the space between us.

I press my lips to his again, and this time, there's no hesitation. It's everything I've been holding back. His hands find their way into my hair, tugging just enough to send a jolt of pleasure shooting through me. My own hands roam, exploring the firmness of his chest, the dip of his waist. He's solid beneath my touch, strong and real and here.

"Really good," he whispers against my mouth, and I can taste the words, feel the truth of them. I pull him closer, desperate for more, needing to lose myself in him. Because right now, with Declan, everything else falls away. The past, the hurt, the fear—it all dissolves, leaving just this moment. Just us.

"I want to take off your clothes." The request is soft but charged. Falling unexpectedly falls from my lips. A thrill sprints up my spine, my fingers tingle with the need to touch Declan.

They work the buttons of his jacket; my lips trail behind, pressing gratitude into every inch of skin revealed. His breath catches, somewhere between a laugh and a moan—I can't tell which—and it doesn't matter. It's a sound I want to hear again and again. The fabric slips away and I step back, taking in the sight of him under the sliver of moonlight coming through the curtains: a beautiful contradiction of vulnerability and strength laid bare before me.

I reach out, my fingertips finding his skin, tracing the contours of his muscular body. I map the texture of his shoulders, the solid lines of his deltoids, the dip of his obliques. Each touch sends shivers through him, his body reacting to my every movement.

He lifts his hands to the hem of my t-shirt. "My turn?" he whispers, his voice tinged with hope.

A shiver runs through me, not from his touch but from the fear curling in my chest. I want him to strip me of my shirt, to let passion guide us past everything else. But I also don't want him to—because once my shirt is gone, he'll see the truth. The scars that go beyond my face, that marr my neck and chest, winding across my skin like reminders of a past I've tried to forget.

For a heartbeat, I'm frozen, caught between desire and dread. Declan's hands hover, his eyes searching mine for permission. The moment stretches, a tension building between us, thick and heavy.

Then I see it—the flicker in his eyes as realization dawns. His fingers tremble, and he looks away, hurt blooming on his face. He takes a step back, the warmth between us dissipating as he retreats into himself, a flash of embarrassment crossing his features. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, his voice barely audible, as if he's unsure of what he's done wrong.

I reach out, my hand catching his wrist before he can pull away completely. I'm not ready for him to see me—not all of me—but I can't bear the distance his retreat creates. I squeeze his wrist gently, grounding both of us in this moment. The words stick in my throat, unspoken, but I guide his hand down to my side, letting him know I need him close, even if I can't let him see everything just yet.

Without a word, I release his hand and move my own to the waistband of my sweats. I push them down, along with my boxer briefs, and kick them aside, exposing myself in a different way. It's not the same as baring my scars, but it's a step closer, a silent admission that I want this—that I want him.

Declan's eyes follow my movements, the hurt still lingering but now mixed with something deeper, something more intense. He swallows hard, his gaze lingering on my body, and I can see the battle raging within him—between the desire to touch me, to take this further, and the respect for the boundaries I've silently set.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us hums with unspoken words, with the weight of what we're both feeling but can't fully express. Declan's eyes roam over me, taking in the sight of my dick, hard and leaking. I take a step closer, closing the distance between us once more, and he mirrors my movement, his hands tentative as they find my skin again, this time lower, where I've allowed him access.

His hand reaches out to touch my hip, a touch that is gentle, reverent even, as if he's afraid of breaking me. But I'm not broken—I'm just not ready to be fully seen. Not yet. Maybe, he understands that.

I close my eyes, leaning into the warmth of his palm. His other hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone, and I feel a lump rise in my throat, emotion welling up inside me.

"Savion…" he whispers, my name on his lips sending a shiver down my spine. He presses his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling, and for a moment, we just stand there, holding each other.

I let out a shaky breath, my hands coming up to rest on his waist, pulling him closer until there's no space left between us. The feel of his skin against mine, the warmth of his body, his cock, the steady beat of his heart—it's grounding, calming, and I let myself sink into the moment, letting go of the fear, the doubt.

His lips find mine again, softer this time, and I lose myself in the kiss, in the way he feels, tastes, sounds.

Declan sinks to his knees, the sight of him there enough to make my heart stutter. His lips close around me, the angle just so gooood , and I can't help but let out a sigh of satisfaction. His mouth moves slow and steady on me. Haley never sucked my dick. Never gave it such tender, loving care.

These thoughts of her —the woman who left me shattered—shouldn't have been given any room to breathe, so I push them down, focusing instead on Declan. The man who is slowly piecing me back together again.

My fingers thread through his hair, luxuriating in its soft thickness. A shiver courses through me at the sensation. His lips work over me in an alternating rhythm of firm and soft, keeping me guessing and wanting more.

His eyes lock onto mine as he changes pace yet again. There's something incredibly intimate about this shared gaze that makes my pulse quicken. Then he brings his hands into play, starting from the tip and working his way down with a twist that has my breath hitching in surprise.

Has Declan done this before? I shouldn't give those thoughts room to breathe either.

It doesn't matter how many lovers he's had before me; he's damn good at working my dick. More than good—amazing even.

He pays attention to every part of me; massaging gently here, tugging lightly there, using his tongue in ways that have heat pooling low in my stomach. The tension builds steadily at the base of my spine until I'm clutching at his curls for dear life.

"Feels so good," I manage to gasp out between ragged breaths.

His response is a hummed affirmation against my skin that sends vibrations skittering up my spine and pulls an involuntary groan from deep within me.

His touch is electric; every stroke sending sparks flying behind my eyelids. Every shift of his lips has my heart pounding harder against my ribcage until I'm sure he can hear it too.

I've never felt this way before; this vulnerable, this open, this alive. And it's all because of Declan.

His lips part, stretching wide before descending onto me, probably for the hundredth time. A slight choke escapes him as he takes me in fully, his mouth meeting the base of my arousal. I can't help but thread my fingers through his hair again and again and again, holding him close. The gentle push against him isn't meant to startle, merely a test of boundaries.

"This okay?" The question slips out instinctively and he responds with a nod against me. His hand tightens on my thigh in response, a silent assurance that it's okay.

With his affirmation, I move again, pushing deeper this time. It's like my hips take on a life of their own—thrusting into the warmth and wetness of his mouth. Each motion sends waves of pleasure coursing through me, building pressure at a pace I know I won't be able to maintain for long.

"I'm… going to come," the words escape in a low moan, yet Declan doesn't pull away. Instead, he continues working his magic on me—sucking harder, his head bobbing rhythmically.

And then it happens.

A surge of ecstasy ripples through me as ribbons of release spill. My voice echoes around us in a cry, raw emotions pouring out with every note. The sound of Declan swallowing is almost too much—it's sinful and decadent all at once.

He rises then—standing tall before me—wiping away traces from the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. "Was it okay?" His eyes meet mine with an uncertain glint.

"No," I reply without missing a beat while catching my breath back slowly, "it was perfect."

Declan's hand closes around his arousal, the movements of his fingers deliberate and slow. I rise on my toes, pressing a kiss to his lips, my tongue tracing the seam of his mouth. The taste of myself lingers there—a heady mix of musk and sweetness.

"You're delicious," Declan murmurs against my lips, the heat in his words sending a shiver down my spine. My own arousal throbs in response.

With a playful swat, I knock his hand away from himself and replace it with mine. I wrap my fingers around him, matching the rhythm he set earlier. His head dips forward as our bodies align in perfect harmony, our breaths mingling in the air between us. His lips trace a path from my neck up to meet mine again, each press of his mouth setting off fireworks under my skin.

"I'm close," he whispers into our shared space. His body tenses against mine, muscles coiling with anticipation.

I respond by quickening the pace of my strokes on him. "Then let go."

His release comes moments later—hot and sticky over my knuckles and down his length as he stifles a moan against my shoulder. The intensity in his eyes mirrors what I feel coursing through me—pure satisfaction.

There's no need for words now; we communicate through touch and taste alone. Every gasp, every shudder is an affirmation that we've found something beautiful here together—something that neither of us anticipated but both desperately needed.

As Declan's breathing begins to even out again, I can't help but smile at him—at us—basking in the afterglow of our pleasure.