Page 50 of Craving the Edge

Without waiting for an answer, I took her hand, pulling her out from behind the desk. She stumbled forward, her other hand landing on my chest to steady herself.

“Declan, what are you doing?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. I just kept pulling her, leading her to the men’s change room. I needed to have her. Now.

I shoved the change room door open and hauled her inside, letting it swing shut behind us.

Char stumbled, her eyes darting around the empty rows of battered grey lockers. “Declan, someone will see.”

“No one will.” I backed her against the cold, white-tiled wall, caging her in with my body. My free hand found the wall beside her head. “Trust me.”

The only thing that mattered was her. Her and the wild need coiling in my gut. I crashed my mouth down on hers again, a punishing kiss that was more about claiming than tenderness. Her hands fisted in the front of my shirt, pulling me closer.

I broke the kiss, dragging my mouth along her jaw as my hand slid down her stomach. I pushed my palm flat against the waistband of her black leggings, then slid my hand underneath, finding my way under the flimsy fabric of her underwear.

My fingers found her slick heat and I pushed one inside her. A low groan rumbled in my chest. She was soaking wet.

A sharp gasp broke from her lips. Her head fell back against the tiles, her eyes fluttering shut. I watched her face, the pure, unguarded pleasure that twisted her features. I found a rhythm, pushing in, curling my finger against that spot that made her breath hitch and her hips start to rock against my hand.

I stayed right there. My palm circled her clit, adding to the pressure, her leggings keeping my hand right where it needed to be. She began to pant as the tension in her body built. I felt it in the tight clench of her muscles around my finger, then she came with a choked cry, her whole body tightening as she bucked hard against my hand.

I kept my finger inside her as she came down, teasing with my palm, before finally slipping my hand free.

I kept my forehead pressed to hers as her breath came in ragged little pants, her body still trembling against mine. Looking at her like this, undone and open… Fuck.

A desperate need to claim every part of her, to brand myself on her, overcame me.

“I don’t want this to stop when I go to Sydney,” I rasped. “I know it’s a mess. I know my life’s a fucking circus, but I want this. Us. I’ll make it work.” I couldn’t be without her. Not now. Not after I knew what it felt like to have her.

She went completely still. Her head tilted back from mine, just enough for her to look me in the eye. The haze was gone…and in its place was hurt.

“Did you get the results back from the scan on your hand?”

I nodded.

Her eyes narrowed. “When did you find out?”

“The Sydney bout is on,” I said. “I’m fighting.”

The last of the pleasure drained from her face, leaving behind a panicked confusion. “When are you leaving?”

I flinched. For a split second—a fatal, gut-wrenching pause—I hesitated.

I saw the moment the realisation hit her and knew I’d fucked up. Her eyes went cold. She saw my lie of omission. She saw the secret I’d kept while my hands and mouth were on her body.

She shoved me, both hands flat against my chest, the force of it catching me off guard. I stumbled back a step.

“You piece of shit,” she snarled. “You absolute fucking liar.”

The accusation ripped through me.

“You knew,” she spat. “You knew you were leaving and you said nothing. You let me… You let me think…” She couldn’t finish, her breath catching on a sob of pure rage. “It was just a fuck to you, wasn’t it? You said all that stuff just to get me…”

“Char, no. It’s not like that.” I took a step toward her, my hands raised in a useless gesture of peace.

“Don’t you dare.”

Her walls were back in full force, and I knew that by trying to protect her from this exact moment, I’d confirmed everything she’d believed about me on the first day I’d walked into Fighter’s Edge.