“Not if you’re a tortoise. Or a giant sequoia. Or one of those glass sponges in the East China Sea that can live to be like ten thousand. But in human years, you’re already more than half dead.”
He laughs. “We just made love, and you’re telling me I’m more than half dead? And you accuse me of not being romantic.”
Made love.
Not f****d or had s*x or any of the other less charming options. Made love.
I won’t name this emotion. I doubt there’s a word for it, anyway.
Declan removes my handcuffs long enough to dress me in one of his white button-down shirts, then recuffs me and drags on a pair of black jeans. Barefoot and bare chested, he leads me into the kitchen. He sets me on a stool at the huge marble island and kisses my forehead.
Then he sets about rummaging through his huge refrige
