19. Declan

NINETEEN

DECLAN

I'm covered in paint, but it's proof of the last 24 hours spent holed up in my studio. But it's done. Not the canvas that's been haunting me for weeks, mocking me with every stroke until I finally wrangled it into something I'm actually proud of. No, this is smaller—much smaller—but no less important. Maybe even more important.

This one's for Savvy. And I hope he'll like it.

As soon as I've carefully placed the final dab of paint, I step back, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, careful not to smudge any of the wet paint. The image in front of me feels like I've laid a piece of myself bare on the canvas. It's a risk, but one I'm willing to take. My heart is hammering in my chest as I try to imagine his reaction, his expression when he sees it. God, I hope he feels something—anything close to what I've poured into this.

As I clean off the brush, the phone in my pocket feels heavy. I dig it out, my fingers still streaked with color, and dial Savvy's number without thinking twice. He's been on my mind all day, and not just because of the painting. He draws me in, makes me crave his voice, his presence.

The line rings once… twice… I start to wonder if he's stuck in a late meeting at the museum. Then, just before I'm about to give up, his voice comes through, rich and warm. "Hey, Dec."

"Hey, Savvy, you busy?" My voice comes out casual, but my pulse quickens.

"Not really, I'm just at home reading," he replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

I grin, picturing him curled up with a book, glasses probably sliding down his nose. "Of course you are." His soft chuckle filters through the line, and I can almost see that dimple in his right cheek, the one that shows when he laughs.

"Would you like to come over to my place?" My heart is pounding harder now. "I've got something to show you."

There's a pause. I can almost feel him narrowing his eyes, skeptical but curious. "Not in my pants," I add quickly, laughing when I hear his snort—his adorable, uncontrollable snort.

"You sure?" he teases, voice light but laced with warmth.

"I'll be on my best behavior, I promise." I lower my tone, making it sound like a vow. "But seriously, I think you'll like it."

"Alright then," he says, and I can hear the shift in his tone, a mix of interest and affection. "I'll come over."

"I'll come get you," I blurt out. "First time you're coming here and all."

"You don't have to." His voice is steady, but I know Savion—he's independent to the core. I know he appreciates the gesture, but I also know when to challenge him.

"But I want to." I swallow hard, feeling the weight of how much I care about him, maybe too much, too fast. It makes me protective—hell, maybe a little too protective. I need to let him breathe, give him space to be his own person. But the thought of him out there...

"I'll be fine, Dash." His voice brings me back, more calm and assured than usual. "Plus, it'd give me an excuse to actually drive. Send me your location."

I hesitate for a second, fighting the urge to push. But I don't. "I'll do that."

"Promise I'll be fine."

"I hope so," I murmur, my fingers gripping the phone a little tighter. Shaking off the ridiculous sense of unease, I force a smile, even though he can't see it. "See you soon, Savvy."

"Muah!" His playful air-kiss echoes in my ear before the line clicks dead.

I pull up my address and shoot it over to Savion, then head upstairs to get everything ready. A charcuterie board seems like a good idea, something simple but thoughtful, so I slice up some cheese and arrange it with crackers and cold cuts. Pour a glass of wine for him, sparkling water for me. Might as well lean into the whole art-gallery-opening vibe I'm going for. I even put on some smooth jazz, but it feels over the top. With a smirk, I switch to The Beatles instead.

Then, I head to the shower.

The hot water beats down my back, relaxing my muscles as I lather up. My mind drifts, unbidden, to that night —the night I went down on him. It hits me like the steam around me, almost dizzying.

I harden instantly, the memory vivid, as if it's playing out all over again. I hadn't planned it. Hell, I didn't even think about it. It just happened—like instinct. One minute, we were kissing, and the next, I was on my knees for him. My mouth on him. The feel of him heavy on my tongue.

If anyone had told me six weeks ago—shit, a month ago—that I'd have a man's dick in my mouth, I would've laughed in their face. Told them they were fucking lying.

But there I was, tasting him for the first time. Salty, musky, and completely intoxicating. The kind of thing I should've been scared of, uncertain about, but in that moment? I wasn't. It felt right . The sounds he made, low and guttural, spurred me on. It wasn't just about getting him off—it was about the connection, about making him feel the way he'd been making me feel since the start. Raw. Exposed.

And then he came. God, I wasn't ready for it. Didn't expect to want it the way I did. His warmth flooding my mouth, the taste of him... it was almost overwhelming. But I swallowed it down like it was nothing, like I'd been doing it my whole life. It should've felt weird. Alien. But it didn't.

If someone had told me I'd like it... that it'd turn me on more than anything I've ever done with anyone else? I'd call them crazy. But here I am, rock-hard just thinking about it. Thinking about him.

My hand hovers near my length, tempted. I could... I could finish this now, work out some of this tension. But no. Savion's on his way. He could be here any minute.

I curse under my breath and rinse off the soap, forcing myself to focus on the shower. The last thing I need is to be jacking off when he walks in.

Stepping out, I dry off quickly, my mind still replaying flashes of that night. I throw on a clean pair of jeans and a shirt, something casual but not too sloppy.

Then I start pacing.

My nerves hit all at once. Not about the sex—no, that feels right. But the painting. What if he hates it? What if he doesn't get it?

I glance at the covered canvas, biting my lip.

The truth is, I'm nervous. It's been years since I've shown anyone my paintings. Even the guys in the band haven't seen any since I was in my twenties, and no matter how cocky I might act, deep down I'm always worried my work isn't good enough.

Thankfully, it isn't long before I hear the soft hum of an engine pulling into the driveway. My heart picks up speed. I buzz him through the gate and then I make my way to the door, anticipation threading through my veins. As soon as I open it, there he is—Savion, standing on my doorstep, eyes bright and lips curved into that shy smile that always does something to me.

I pull him close, kissing him hard. Lips, teeth, tongue—a desperate tangle of everything I've been holding back since the moment he picked up my call. My arms wrap around him, locking him in. His body melts into mine, like it belongs there.

"Come inside, beautiful," I murmur, barely pulling away from the kiss.

Savion freezes. His breath catches audibly in his throat, his body going rigid for just a second.

Shit, did I mess that up?

His eyes widen, flicking up to meet mine, searching, like he's trying to figure out if I'm serious. "You... you called me beautiful," he says softly, like the idea is so foreign, he can barely hold onto the words.

There it is— that vulnerability he hides so well. I see it now, clear as day. The cracks in his armor, the parts of him he's buried under years of self-doubt and those scars he tries to pretend don't matter. But they do. To me, everything about him matters. He's not just beautiful; he's perfect .

My hand twitches, wanting to reach out, to trace the lines of his jaw, the rough texture of his scars, to show him I see all of him. But I won't—not without his permission. "Because you are," I say, my voice steady.

Savion's breath shudders as he exhales, something soft and unspoken passing between us. His eyes flicker, almost as if he's testing the waters of believing me. Slowly, a cautious smile tugs at his lips, warming his features, and there it is—that dimple I love so much.

For a second, the air between us is heavy, charged with everything unsaid, and then, just like that, the moment shifts.

Savion breaks into a grin. "Holy smokes, your house is cool!" he bursts out, filled with wonder as he steps past me and rushes toward one of the windows. He presses his hands to the glass, taking in the view. "The scenery, Declan—it's breathtaking!"

He's breathtaking.

His excitement, that boyish enthusiasm—it's contagious, and it breaks the tension with ease.

I watch him as he stands in front of the window, bathed in the glow of the setting sun filtering through the glass. There's a softness in his expression that almost makes me ache. His wide grin, that damn dimple—it all hits me at once.

"C'mere, Savvy." My voice comes out rough, laden with a need I can't quite explain. I open my arms, unable to keep the yearning from spilling out. I don't just want to hold him. I need to hold him.

He turns, and before I know it, he's there, fitting against me like he was made for this moment. Made for me . His head rests beneath my chin, and I can't help but inhale deeply, the familiar scent of coconut and vanilla filling my senses. I let my hand trail down his back, feeling the way his body molds into mine, the warmth of him seeping into my skin.

He tilts his head up, his lips brushing against my neck, soft and teasing. My breath hitches. For a moment, my heart races out of control, thudding wildly in my chest before it finally settles, syncing with the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

I don't know how long we stay like that, wrapped up in each other, but it feels like forever. Like this could be forever.

What was he saying before? Right—the house. I step back, before I yield to the temptation to kiss his irresistible dimple, and look at him.

"I love it. John Lennon used to live here," I say, unable to hide the excitement in my voice. It's not like I brag about this often, but the truth is, it still blows my mind that I own this place.

Savion's eyes light up, his smile widening even more. He looks at me like I've just handed him the world. "You're kidding me! Lennon? That's amazing!"

"Would you like me to take you on the grand tour?" I ask, trying to keep my cool, but the way he's looking at me—like I'm gifting him the keys to all the world's treasures… and that feeling... it's everything.

"I'm glad you asked," he replies, his voice full of anticipation.

And in that moment, I can't help but think: I want to give this man everything.

I reach out, offering my hand. He smirks, giving me a playful shove before his fingers slide into mine, warm and familiar. Our fingers lace together effortlessly, like they were always meant to fit this way.

"I don't know much about architecture, but this is definitely a treehouse-inspired house," Savvy says.

"Yes,it was built in 1961, so that makes it, what?" I do some quick calculations in my head. "Over sixty years old." I take him to one of the several wooden decks, which are surrounded by trees. "Rumor has it that some of John Lennon's songs were written right here while sitting and enjoying the cityscape. Can you imagine that?" I stress the word "imagine."

Savvy chuckles. "I might not have been born when John Lennon was alive, but I totally understand the pun. Since my parents are Beatles fans, you can bet your guitar that I know all their songs."

I'm always thrilled to hear Savvy talk about his parents. Any time he mentions them, I can hear the affection he has for them in his voice. Once he told me that when they retired they'd gone on a Caribbean cruise and fell in love with the place. Antigua was now their home. Not that I'm envious of him and the life he's had with his parents, but when I hear him speak about them, it makes me realize how much I missed growing up. My home life was chaotic and even at forty-two, I'm still trying to deal with my childhood traumas.

The tugging of my hand jolts me out of my thoughts. It's so like this man to recognize when I'm too much inside my head. "Are you going to let me climb the grand hillside staircase?" There's a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"I sure will." I gesture for him to follow me. "Rumor has it that many, many celebrities have also climbed these stairs."

"Well, I definitely feel honored to be here."

I show him the rest of my home. The outdoor deck with a view into the main living room and the bathroom with bamboo accent wallpaper totally fascinate him. Then, we move to one of the decks.

"Skye told me that Lennon's parents were also Beatles fans and named all their kids after the band members."

"Yep." I reply, "You've already met Lennon, and then there's Harrison, Ringo, and McCartney. They're all great guys."

"And I still can't believe John Lennon wrote his songs right here. That's insane," Savvy says, grabbing a slice of cheese and some cold cuts. I follow his lead, grabbing a few for myself.

"You'd think that'd inspire me, right? But honestly, for the last few years, I've felt completely blocked," I admit as we settle onto the couch, the floor-to-ceiling windows showing off the city below. "It sucked, honestly."

Savvy turns to me, his expression softening. He doesn't even realize how much I need him to hear this. "But then someone came along and changed that," I say, keeping my gaze steady on him.

"Who's that?" he asks, brow furrowing in curiosity. Then, as I let my eyes wander over him, realization hits. "Oh… me?"

"You're clever, Savvy," I say with a smirk, "but you have no idea when someone's paying you a compliment."

He rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm just not used to guys throwing cheesy pickup lines at me."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Please, we're way past cheesy lines. I'm serious. You make me feel like creating again, like I've got something worth sharing."

He bites his lip, glancing down for a second before catching himself. His eyes dart back up to mine, cheeks flushed. "So… what is it you wanted to show me?"

The corner of my mouth twitches into a grin—I saw that quick look, and I know exactly where his mind went.

"Not that," I tease, still grinning. "It's downstairs. Are you ready?"

"I guess?"

"Come on." I stand up and hold out my hand for him to take. "I promise you're going to love it."

Well, I hope he does.

I lead Savvy downstairs to my studio, and the moment he steps inside, he gasps, eyes wide as he takes in the paintings, easels, and palettes around the room. "Wow… wow, Declan. This is incredible," he breathes, his awe so genuine it makes me pause.

A small smile pulls at my lips as I watch his reaction. This room is my sanctuary, the place where I pour out everything I'm afraid to show anyone else. "I don't really let people in here," I admit, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Half the time, I don't even know if what I paint is any good or if people are just being nice."

Savvy shakes his head, wandering through the room with reverence. "No way. This is good—like, really good. You've got something special, Declan. The way you capture people… you're painting their souls." He stops in front of a portrait and studies it carefully. "You could open a gallery."

I chuckle softly, trying to play it down. "That might be a bit of a stretch."

He points at a particular painting, and my breath catches in my throat. It's a portrait of my mother—her face looking so alive, so full of the warmth I'll never forget. "Who's this?" he asks, and something about him being drawn to her stirs something deep inside me.

"That's my mom," I say quietly. "Photos never did her justice, so I tried to paint her. I don't know if I did her justice either, but… I gave it everything I had."

Savvy doesn't respond right away. He just stares at the painting with a quiet intensity. "She looks like she had much more life left to live," he says softly, and for some reason, those words hit me harder than I expected. I feel a lump in my throat, and I have to blink back the moisture gathering in my eyes.

I nod. "Yeah… she did." We stand there for a moment, looking at her together, and the weight of loss hangs between us. But there's comfort in sharing it with him.

Eventually, I clear my throat, needing to shift the mood. "Anyway, that's not what I brought you down here to see." I lead him over to a canvas that's hidden beneath a velvet cover.

"Ooh, a big reveal," Savvy says, rubbing his hands together with playful anticipation.

I grin, teasing him. "Nothing but the best for my favorite paleontologist. Remember how you wouldn't let me bid on anything at your charity auction?"

"Uh-huh…" He eyes me suspiciously.

"Well, I'd like to donate this," I say, pulling the velvet cover off with a flourish. The look on his face as he takes in the painting makes all the hours I spent on it worth it.

His eyes go wide. "Declan… it's a Gigantoraptor."

I laugh softly. "Glad you recognize it." I move behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his head as he stares at the painting in awe. "I thought you might like it. It's for your auction, if you think it'll sell."

His silence speaks volumes, and when he finally looks up at me, his green eyes are wide, his expression open in a way I've never seen before. "You did this for me?" His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Of course I did," I murmur, holding him a little tighter. "I know dinosaurs aren't exactly fine art, but my signature is on it. Maybe it'll fetch a decent price." I pause, studying his face. "But I didn't do it just for the auction, Savvy. I did it for you."

He looks like he's about to say something but stops himself. Instead, he presses a kiss to my lips, soft and tentative at first, but full of gratitude. Before things can heat up, he pulls away, eyes catching another large canvas draped in a paint-splattered sheet. "And what's this one? Can I take a peek?"

I chuckle, pulling him back gently. "That's a work in progress. You'll have to wait."

He grins, clearly intrigued, but doesn't push it. As we head back upstairs, he teases, "You know, I'm still wrapping my head around the fact that I'm dating a rockstar, and now you confirmed you're a talented artist too? What's next? Are you secretly a superhero?"

I laugh, pulling him closer as we reach the top of the stairs. "You have no idea," I whisper, my voice low, laced with heat as I press him against the wall. The way he responds to my touch, the way his body melts into mine—it drives me crazy.

I pin his wrists above his head, kissing him deeply, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him. He releases one of his hands from my grip and slides it under my shirt, and I lose myself in the sensation for a moment. But then, with all the strength I have, I pull back, resting my forehead against his.

"We can keep going if you want," I say, breathless. "Just say the word."

Savvy's eyes darken, and he hesitates for a moment. "I want to… but?—"

"No buts, beautiful," I interrupt. "We'll go at your pace. I'll wait as long as you need." I pull him close. "I want you to trust me completely. That's what matters."

He exhales shakily, and I feel him relax in my arms. "Thank you," he whispers.

"Come on, let's watch the sunset."

"And then maybe…" he trails off, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I could suck your dick?"

I nearly trip over my own feet as my breath hitches, desire flaring hot and fast. "Oh, absolutely."