Happily Ever After (Timeless Love Book 2)

by KL Donn

  Wrapping my arms around her, I pay no attention to the noise around us and lean down to kiss her. Devour her emotions. Our tongues meet, and she wilts in my arms like a rose heavy with rain.

  Pulling her as close to me as possible, I whisper in her ear, “You’re my fucking queen, don’t ever forget that.”

  A throat clearing has us pulling apart, and a blush crawls up her neck and cheeks. Burying her face in my chest, she hums in what I hope is pleasure.

  My own grip doesn’t loosen on her as her father walks over to her.

  “How you doing, kiddo?” he asks, placing his hand on her head, freezing when she flinches. Pain crosses his features, and for a moment, I feel bad. I don’t doubt her parents love for her, but their lack of understanding has jaded how she feels about it.

  Ashley

  * * *

  I stand in the kitchen for what feels like forever as I wait for Declan to come in. It takes so long, that for a brief moment, I wonder if Landon and Dad might have scared him off. So, I watch as Mom and Cec get things ready for brunch. Jealousy courses through me every so often at the easy way my mom interacts with her. I want that. We’ve never cooked together, never planned a meal. Nothing.

  Of course, as soon as the jealousy hits, shame follows close on its heels because it’s on me for why we never bonded that way. I was always too busy causing more problems than anything. I forced myself to be happy because even though I wanted to join in, I knew Cecilia loved having a mom again after losing hers the way she did.

  Standing in Declan’s arms now, having him call me his queen, that soft yet blistering kiss has me feeling almost whole again.

  Flinching as my father tries to touch me, I can see the flash of pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I cry out to him. Tears clog my throat. I am sorry. They’ll never know just how much so.

  When he opens his arms, I soar into his embrace. The warmth from his love envelopes me in a tight hold, and I can’t contain my emotions any longer. Silent tears slide down my cheeks as he whispers his own apologies in my ear.

  “I’m sorry too, kiddo. We should have been more aware, more involved. There’s no excuse good enough for how we’ve all failed each other.” His words are a balm to my soul. Declan was right, I fucked up in a huge way, but maybe it wouldn’t have started if they had been more involved in my upbringing. We would never know. We could only move forward.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Landon scowl. He hates me.

  “Ash,” he murmurs quietly. “I want to forgive you. I really do.” I nod in understanding as he looks to Cec.

  “Landon.” Cecilia’s horrified murmur is like a whip cracking in the silent room.

  “No, sweets, I get it. You’re a better person than me. You’ve forgiven her; I haven’t, I don’t know how.”

  The anger in his voice has my body trembling. I feel Declan’s hand reach for mine. Shaking off both him and my father, I step towards Landon, wanting to clear the air once and for all.

  “Tell me,” I command in a stronger voice than I thought I had.

  His eyes dart to mine, and I know we’re about to have a come to Jesus moment. “You fucked up,” he growls.

  “In a huge way,” I confirm.

  “You keep screwing up.”

  Keep? I’m confused by that. I’ve made my bed, and I have to lie in it, I know this, but I don’t believe I’ve done anything since being arrested to warrant a present tense term. “Keep? How?”

  His eyes narrow on me. “You’re hiding something. Frankly, until you can be up front about however you’re fucking up now, you shouldn’t be forgiven. I need you to be honest with us, Ash.” The coldness in his gaze makes me suck in a sharp breath to hide my hurt. I can see he wants to let the worry through, he wants to try and bridge his gap between us.

  “I warned you,” Declan snarls at him.

  Looking at the man who wants to own every piece of my soul, I finally conclude that this isn’t for me.

  Happiness.

  Love.

  Life.

  It’s not mine, it never was.

  “It’s fine, Declan,” I murmur, and I can tell he isn’t happy, but he’ll give me the chance to stick up for myself. “I know I was an accident. I never should have happened, and my actions in the past, especially in the last few years have shown the type of person I am. You hate her, I get that, I hate her too. She’s a damn bitch.” Taking a breath, I look back to my parents and smile sadly at them. Cecilia has tears in her eyes. “I never deserved the things I was given; didn’t want them either. Do you know what I dreamed of, Landon? More than a fancy car that I know you financed or more than designer clothes?”

  “What?” he asks.

  “To be like you.” His eyebrows draw together in confusion. “To be a success. All on my own, I’m nothing. I’m a nobody, and I’ve known that for a long time. So I tried to mimic everything you’d ever done. I studied hard, joined the cheer team because sports weren’t something I was good at. I tried so hard to be someone to be proud of. It never happened, of course, and that’s okay. I see it now. I was never meant to be anything.”

  My words are met with Cecilia’s sniffing, but Mom and Dad’s silence confirms what I already know. It’s time to leave. Declan grabs my hand before I even have to say anything. The look on his face screams murder and mayhem, and I know I don’t deserve him. I’m either pissing him off or running from him.

  Before we take a step, Landon grabs my arm. “You were never a fucking accident,” he soothes, looking me in the eye. More emotion than I’ve ever seen is in my big brother’s gaze, and I wish I could believe him. I so do.

  A quick glance to my parents, and I reply, “It’s too bad they don’t share the same sentiment.” His glare shoots to our still quiet parents. Maybe they’re shocked, maybe they don’t want to lie. Either way, I’m on emotional overload and I know it’s time to leave. My flesh is itching to the point that I almost can’t contain the need to scratch the skin away.

  “Ashley,” my mom finally speaks up a bit timidly.

  Glancing back to her, I give her a sad smile and say, “Sometimes, we have to realize who we are and what we’re meant for in ways we won’t always understand. I was never supposed to be.”

  Letting go of Declan’s hand, I walk straight out the front door. I can hear him as I sit on the back of his bike, closing my eyes, awaiting the abandon of a long, hard ride or release.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you people? She isn’t even asking for forgiveness. She’s asking for acceptance.” Someone says something, probably Dad, but I can’t hear it. “You should have fucking told her that!”

  I hear the front door slam shut, his angry stride rushes towards me, and then for a moment, I feel like I’m flying free from my body. I hear nothing, see nothing. There isn’t anything more important in this split second than the freedom I feel.

  I don’t comprehend Landon walking up to Declan and telling him, “I’ve seen that look, man. Watch her. She’s lost in another universe. She used to do that when she was a kid. Her eyes go blank. She’ll seem high when she comes back from wherever her mind has taken her to protect her from pain.”

  “Your family is fucked up, man. You can inform them that until further notice, any contact you all want with her will go through me first. This… It ain’t fucking happening again.” I feel Declan’s anger boil over the edge and it brings me back down from my freefall.

  My body feels light, my head is spinning, and I can feel the blood flow through my veins. Declan’s hands are on my shoulders as he searches my eyes, makes me smile. He frowns, and it fades. “Fuck!” His curse has me confused.

  As he climbs on in front of me, I see Landon backing away as I melt into Declan’s back. My eyes close automatically, and I’m encased in his musky scent. The motorcycle’s start-up pulsations lull me into a state of oblivion. I feel nothing but the freedom of the road. No borders to hold me in, no restrictions. Nothing.

  I’m free.

&nb
sp; Declan

  * * *

  Fuck, fuck, fuck! I shouldn’t have let her do this. I knew she was in a fragile state, and I think I might have had a hand in it. I’ve been trying to make her step out of her comfort zone to find out who she is again, and in doing so, I’ve made her vulnerable.

  Her body molds to mine as we fly through the streets, around cars, and through alleys to skip red lights. If it weren’t for the fact that I know she isn’t doing drugs, I might think she were high after her little experience at her house. She has this absent look in her eyes that you only get when you’ve taken an illicit substance.

  Pulling up to her apartment, I shut the bike off, and before I can do anything, she’s kissing my cheek and telling me, “Thank you.”

  Stunned for a second, I hop off my bike in a rush to run up to her. Gripping her bicep, I spin her around and can tell whatever elation she felt moments ago is gone and in its place, is the pain-filled walls she’s erected that I’ve been trying to breach.

  “Don’t do that, cupcake,” I breathe into her ear as I step closer to her.

  “Do what?” she whispers back.

  “Build those walls up. I don’t want to have to break them down every time I want in. I require easy fucking access, Ashley, and you shutting down with every knock isn’t conducive to that.” She sucks in a sharp breath at my bluntness, making her breasts graze my chest.

  Licking her lips, she darts a quick look up to me. “And what if…” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “What if I don’t want you breaking them down?”

  There’s something to her tone of voice that pisses me off. As though she has already decided that’s what she wants. Backing her into the corner of her stoop, I cage her in between my arms, lowering my body, my turbulent gaze meeting hers. “You have no choice.” Each word is laced with rage at her imagining she can make that decision.

  I hear her gulp before responding, “But I do.” Looking around us, she quickly says, “I don’t want this. Relationships aren’t for me.”

  I snap, losing control. I wrap one hand around her neck and the other in her hair. “You are mine,” I hiss. My grip on her throat flexes, her pupils dilate, and I know I have my in. Pushing her further into the wall, my grip tightens again, and I growl into her ear, “You want more?” When she doesn’t answer, I give her a little shake. “Fucking answer me.”

  “Yessss,” she moans on a whimper.

  “Good.” I let go of her throat, but my fingers remain tangled in her hair, pushing her forward. “Let’s go.”

  As we walk into her building, I’m damn near dragging her by her silky locks, my cock harder than I’ve ever felt and ready to be as deeply buried inside her as humanly possible. Approaching her door, I pin her against the wood as she tries to unlock it.

  A startled gasp behind us has me turning to see a middle-aged woman walking into the hall, her face a mask of horror. I know she likely thinks I’m hurting my woman, so I set out to prove her wrong.

  Ash has no clue this other woman is here as I force my free hand down the front of her pants to find her soaking wet with desire. Touching her engorged clit, I lightly rub it with my thumb as I search out her warmth.

  Her pleasure-filled gasp can be heard throughout the building. Lowering my lips to her ear again, my eyes never leave the stunned woman’s as I whisper only loud enough for Ashley to hear me, “Who’s your daddy, baby?”

  “You,” she gasps as I pinch her hardened nub.

  “Louder,” I command.

  Her breathing increases as I rub her more firmly. “Oh, daddy,” she moans loud enough for the other woman to hear, “you are.”

  A look filled with renewed horror and disgust crosses the woman’s face, and I smirk as I say, “That’s right, cupcake, I’m your fucking daddy.”

  I watch in amusement as she skitters off, just as Ashley finally gets her door open. We nearly fall through, slamming it behind me. I say one word. “Strip.”

  Chapter 6

  Ashley

  Lost in pleasure I almost do as he commands, and then I remember my body is a mess. Fresh cuts, old cuts, unfinished cuts. I have them all. Disgrace washes over me as I stand frozen.

  “I. Said. Strip.” Each of his labored words resonates through me. I feel compelled to do as he says, except I can’t.

  Tears pool in my eyes as I look to him. “I can’t,” I cry out softly, unmoving.

  “Why?” His eyes narrow on me. “What are you hiding that’s so bad?”

  “I can’t,” I repeat, sounding like a broken record. “We can’t.” His sharp inhale makes me think he might give up on me. I wouldn’t blame him.

  “Strip. Right. Fucking. Now,” he demands again, and my fingers twitch to do his bidding. My body, mind, and heart are waging war inside me, and I don’t know which direction to follow.

  My heart screams he’ll understand.

  My body is dying for the pleasure only he seems able to give me.

  My mind, however, is beating the other two back and telling me he’ll reject me, and I can’t face that response from him, as well.

  I watch him considering me with narrowed eyes, and I see a fight in them. He’s engaged in his own battle. Storming towards me, his hand finds it’s much-loved spot in my hair and tightens his grip. His free hand goes to the neck of my shirt, and before I know what’s happening, there’s a loud ripping sound echoing in the room.

  My eyes slam shut.

  My heart stutters.

  My body vibrates with the pain of his feared contempt.

  “What the fuck is this?” he snarls.

  I’m frozen in shock; I can’t respond. What would I say if I could? So I stare at the wall and wait. For what I’m not totally sure, but I know it’s not going to be pretty.

  “Why?” he whispers, horrified.

  I give my head a slight shake. Words are crowding in my throat, and I can’t force a single one out.

  His hand goes to trail the newest and deepest cut on my stomach from last night, and I flinch, not from fear or pain, but from humiliation. I have disfigured my body, and now he knows.

  “Look at me!” Fury seethes behind his words.

  My eyes meet his, and what I see has tears streaming down my face. “I told you I can’t do this,” I falter, mortified that I’m the cause of the pain I see.

  “Fuck that. That’s a fucking cop-out, and you know it.”

  I flinch at the harshness in his tone. His own feelings are compounding mine, and I feel the tell-tale itch. My fingers twitch, my body tenses, and my eyes drop so he doesn’t see the desire I feel to add yet another blemish to my once perfect skin.

  “You cut yourself,” he says, more to himself than me. “Why?” The direct question throws me off guard. I think long and hard about how to answer that, so he understands my pain. “Is this punishment for what you did?” He pulls my hair, so I’m forced to look at him.

  “Partly.” I realize it is.

  “What else?”

  “To purge.”

  Disgust colors his eyes, and I feel I’ve lost anything we might have had.

  “Purge,” he repeats. “Purge what?”

  “The fear and pain.” More tears leak from eyes as I confess this. I know honesty is my only option now.

  “Fear and pain of what? Of who?”

  “Everything,” I say hoarsely. My throat is horribly tight and I must force the words through.

  “Explain it, Ashley,” he growls, his anger reigning forefront.

  I struggle to find the right words. “I feel so much, and yet not enough. I need to see the evidence of those emotions.”

  “Strip,” he commands in a dark voice again.

  I’m filled with dread. My arms. My thighs. He’ll see.

  “Now.”

  The struggle to comply is shattering my mind. His hand remains in my hair, so the yank and sharp intake of his breath are expected when I drop my tattered shirt on the floor.

  “Fuck!” He curses, but I can’t tell if it�
�s in anger or disgust. Perhaps a mix of both.

  Gazing into his eyes, tears continue to pool in my own as I tell him, “It hurts.”

  Confusion crosses his face as he asks, “What hurts?”

  “The itch.”

  Understanding seems to dawn on him, and he knows I’m fighting my own battle not to run away and drive a blade as deeply into my skin as possible.

  “Show me,” he requests, and I’m stunned. Shock doesn’t cover what he’s asking me to do. Walking on trembling legs to the bathroom, I look back to see his penetrating gaze on me. Nothing but confidence radiates off of him. He knows what he’s asking me for, and it could very well be freeing.

  Reaching into the back of the toilet, I grab the bag with the few razors I have. Turning, I find him standing there, strong arms braced on the door frame. At some point, he removed his shirt, and I’m nearly drooling and side-tracked from what he’s asked of me. His muscles are chiseled from the most beautiful granite. A sprinkling of hair covers him from collarbone to hip and everywhere in between. Both of his nipples are pierced and adorned with barbells.

  I can see his heartbeat fluttering behind his powerful chest, his pulse beating a staccato in his neck. His jaw holds firm with anger, and arms flexed, readying himself for a battle I’m afraid he’s going to win.

  “Show me,” he snaps again when I remain rooted to my spot.

  My hands shake as I open the zipped bag and retrieve the razor I had used and washed last night. My grip is slick as I bring it to my stomach, locating a clean piece of skin. I can hear the bag crinkle as my grip tightens further, and my arms shake.

  I close my eyes just before putting the blade to my skin, so I don’t have to see the repulsion in his cold, hard gaze. Just before the razor pierces my skin, his hand shoots out to grab mine in a constricting clutch. His grasp is so fierce I’m forced to drop the blade. He gaze follows the decent until it clatters to the ground.