It took me less than 72 hours withi

It took me less than 72 hours within meeting Declan Whitmore to break my two month long “look, don’t touch” policy. If I wasn’t so disappointed with myself, I’d actually be sort of proud. That’s probably the longest I’ve ever gone before letting someone get into my pants. And I was sober, too.
Yay, for me! I’m only “kind of” a whore now.
My eyes close as I hang my head in shame. 
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret it—at least not like I normally would. I don’t feel dirty or worse than before, but it still shouldn’t have happened. 
Declan’s my boss. I’m staying with him. If this continues, I’ll end up unemployed and out on my ass when things end, and they will end. They always do. I can’t afford to be impulsive with him and any way I look at it, a sexual relationship spells disaster. 
End of story.
Sighing, I set aside the last folded towel. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let this happen. What the hell was I thinking?
I just wish it hadn’t been so good. Then I could at least tell myself I’m not missing anything special when he gives me that searing, weak-in-the-vag look that screams, “Any time you want it, it’s yours.”
But nope. It was exactly as mind-blowing and earth-shattering as I’d anticipated. And now, every time I see him, I know exactly what I’m missing: the chance to meet God.
After turning out the lights and grabbing my keys from the office, I head out the back door, pausing to make sure it self-locked when it closed, like Declan showed me. Satisfied, I turn around to head upstairs, but halt when I see a crumpled body at the foot of the concrete steps.
My stomach drops to my knees. I clutch my keys in my hand as I look around the deserted parking lot. Is this some drunk or druggie who’d just passed out in the wrong place or . . . worse?
I bite my lip, my heart thrumming in my chest as I grip the longest key like a knife. His back is to me, and I can’t make out much in the piss-poor lighting from the lone lamplight on the street. “Are you okay?”
He groans and shifts. In the dim light, I catch sight of the markings on his arms that I’d recognize anywhere. 
“Declan.”
His name leaves me on a breath and I run over to him, dropping to my knees as panic races through me. “Oh my god.” He’s been severely beaten and his blood litters his clothes. 
My frantic hands don’t know where to touch him. Any place I try, he groans. 
His breathing’s strained and wheezy. He winces, and the movement tears open the cut on his bottom lip that looks like it was trying to clot. 
Jesus, how long has he been out here like this?
Guilt weighs heavily on me for taking so long to come out, and I fight to breathe as I push it away. It’s not my fault. I didn’t know.
“Don’t move.” I pat his pockets, praying whoever did this hasn’t robbed him of his phone. The one time I leave mine upstairs. . .
I sob in relief when I feel the thin rectangle through his jeans and pull it out. The screen’s cracked but still usable. My blood-smeared fingers fumble with accessing the phone app. His list of missed calls pops up, and my heart squeezes when I read “Kitten” near the top. I back out of that and dial 911, the numbers blurring as I absently feel hot tears roll down my cheeks. 
“No,” Declan groans, wincing as he tries to take the phone out of my hands. “No hospitals.”
“Are you insane?” I push his hand away. “You need help!”
“Please,” he chokes out. His hand grips my forearm with more strength than I thought he’d have in this condition. “Call Blake.” He grimaces, hissing in a breath between clenched and blood-stained teeth.
I’m torn. A huge part of me feels like I should get him the medical help he so obviously needs, but another, smaller part feels like if he’s aware enough to tell me “no,” maybe I should listen.
Every second that passes weighs on me until I think I might break. I have to do something, and I have to do it now. 
“Goddamn it,” I mutter, exiting the number pad and going into his contacts. Scrolling through, I find Blake’s number and double-tap it, then hold the phone up to my ear.
It rings twice, and the horrifying realization dawns on me that he might not answer. He could be busy or— 
Before I can get too carried away, the line clicks and a deep voice says, “What up?”
Relief floods me, and I exhale a shaky breath. “Blake, it’s Savannah.”
“What’s wrong?” He’s instantly on edge. 
“It’s Declan.” I choke on his name. “Someone beat the hell out of him and he won’t let me call nine-one-one. He told me to call you.” 
Blake curses and says, “Try to get him upstairs. I’m on my way.” 
The line goes dead, and I have half a second to realize he’s validated my choice before I’m shoving Declan’s phone in my pocket. I stand and grab him under his arms. “Can you stand?”
He nods, and when I try to lift, hisses out a breath. I keep pulling and God bless him, he tries to help, but every groan and wince breaks my heart. He weighs a ton and a half, and I use every ounce of strength I have to get him on his feet.
We hobble over to the foot of the stairs, and as I glance up at the impossible height, I wonder how the hell we’re going to make it all the way up.
You can do this.
I make Declan grab the railing for support, and to steady him on his wobbly feet. One agonizing step at a time, we ascend until we reach the top.
Leaning him against the tiny balcony’s railing, I pull out my keys and unlock the door, pushing it open before slinging his arm around my neck again. We stumble into the living room, where he has nothing to hold onto but me, and I almost buckle under his dead weight. 
“Shit,” I mutter, staggering to the hallway. 
His hand shoots out and braces himself against the wall as we shuffle toward his room. It’s dark inside, but the light pouring in from the hallway is enough to see by, and I lead him over to his bed, gingerly trying to set him down. 
It’s about as easy as trying to set down an anvil.
He groans as he hits the mattress, and I have to stop him from trying to lie on his back. “I need you to sit up,” I say, wedging myself between his legs dangling over the edge. “I need to take your clothes off.” They’re covered in blood and if we aren’t careful, it’ll get all over his sheets. 
My fingers snake under the hem of his shirt and pull it up, exposing giant, fist-sized bruises covering his stomach and sides. I falter briefly, horrified anew that someone would do this to him. Pain twists his face as he lifts his arms and allows me to pull his shirt over his head. As I toss it aside, my eyes roam over the ugly purple splotches dotting his beautiful body. I hope whoever did this to him gets what’s coming to them. 
Times ten.
He flops onto his back as soon as his shirt’s gone, and then I pull off his shoes and socks one by one. Now for the pants.
The waistband of his boxers peeks out from his jeans, lying flush against the tautest skin I’ve ever seen. It’s all smooth, sculpted muscle. He even has those little veins popping out near his hip bones that disappear into his boxers. I don’t know why, but some inherent part of me wants to lick them. I swallow and tentatively undo his fly, then push the denim down his hips. 
“I always imagined the first time you took off my pants would go a little differently than this.”
Declan’s hoarse voice has my hands faltering, and I look up to see his eyes closed with a faint smile tugging on his lips. I laugh despite myself and continue trying to tug off his jeans without removing his boxers as well. It’s not easy.
Just as I get them off, the front door opens, and I run through the apartment still holding them. The door slams behind Blake, his face paling as he takes in my bloody, disheveled appearance. 
“Jesus,” he breathes.
“He’s back here,” I say, turning to lead the way.
I flip on the light switch, and Declan groans as brightness floods the room. Blake looks him over while I pick up his discarded shirt from the floor and he says, “There’s a first-aid kit under the bathroom sink. I need that and a damp washcloth.”
Hurrying into the bathroom, I drop his bloody clothes on the floor and grab the items Blake needs, then rush back to the bedroom. “Is there anything else I can do?” I ask, watching him crack open the giant briefcase-like kit.
Pulling out a roll of gauze, some tape, and what appears to be a needle and thread, Blake shakes his head. “I’ve got it from here.”
 
Blake emerges from Declan’s room an hour later, looking weary as he quietly closes the door behind him. I stand from my spot on the couch, where I’d anxiously waited for him to finish. 
“How is he?” My arms wrap around myself, like I can physically hold myself together if I just try. 
Blake frowns and rubs his forehead. He looks so much like Declan in that moment that I wonder how I haven’t seen it before.
“He’s fine, best I can tell. Probably has some broken ribs and he’ll feel like shit for a week or two, but that’s it.”
“Are you a doctor?” I don’t think he is, but you never know.
His eyes lift, glancing at me coldly, and I know I have my answer.
“Then how can you stand there and tell me he’ll be okay? He could have brain swelling, or internal bleeding, or—”
“He’d be a lot worse off if that was the case, don’t you think?” He brushes past me and heads into the kitchen. “He’s awake. He’s talking. That’s the most we can hope for.”
“The most we can hope for? Are you serious?” I follow him into the kitchen, watching him grab a beer from the fridge. “We need to take him to a hospital. He needs real medical attention, not a bunch of fucking Band-Aids!”
I shake my head, angry and pissed off at myself. How could I let them talk me into something so stupid?
Blake takes a long swig and sets the bottle on the counter. “I’m telling you, he’s fine.” The rolled up sleeves of his plaid button-up show off his thick, corded arms as he crosses them. His unmarred skin is so unlike his brother’s,

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Butuh waktu kurang dari 72 jam dalam pertemuan Declan Whitmore untuk istirahat saya dua bulan lama "Lihat, jangan sentuh" kebijakan. Jika saya tidak begitu kecewa dengan diriku sendiri, aku benar-benar akan semacam bangga. Itulah mungkin terpanjang aku sudah pernah sebelum membiarkan seseorang masuk ke celana saya. Dan aku sadar, terlalu.YAY, bagi saya! Saya hanya "semacam" pelacur sekarang.Mataku tutup seperti saya menggantung kepalaku dalam rasa malu. Jangan salah, saya tidak menyesal-setidaknya tidak seperti saya biasanya akan. Saya tidak merasa kotor atau lebih buruk dari sebelumnya, tapi itu masih tidak boleh terjadi. Declan's bos saya. Saya tinggal bersamanya. Jika hal ini terus berlanjut, aku akan berakhir sampai menganggur dan keluar di pantatku ketika hal-hal akhir, dan mereka akan berakhir. Mereka selalu lakukan. Saya tidak mampu menjadi impulsif dengannya dan cara saya melihat itu, hubungan seksual mantra bencana. Akhir cerita.Mendesah, aku menyisihkan handuk dilipat terakhir. Aku tidak percaya aku cukup bodoh untuk membiarkan hal ini terjadi. Apa sih yang kupikirkan?Aku hanya berharap itu belum pernah begitu baik. Maka saya bisa setidaknya memberitahu diriku sendiri aku tidak kehilangan sesuatu yang istimewa ketika dia memberi saya yang membakar, lemah-di-the-vag terlihat yang berteriak, "setiap saat Anda inginkan, itu adalah milik Anda."Tetapi tidak. Itu persis seperti memusingkan dan menghancurkan bumi seperti yang saya telah diantisipasi. Dan sekarang, setiap kali aku melihatnya, aku tahu persis apa yang saya hilang: kesempatan untuk bertemu dengan Jahweh.Setelah mematikan lampu dan menyambar saya kunci dari kantor, aku keluar dari pintu belakang, berhenti untuk memastikan itu sendiri terkunci ketika itu tertutup, seperti Declan menunjukkan kepada saya. Puas, aku berbalik untuk kepala ke atas, tetapi menghentikan ketika saya melihat tubuh yang kusut di kaki langkah konkret.Perutku tetes berlutut. Saya kopling kunci saya di tangan saya ketika saya melihat di sekitar tempat parkir yang sepi. Apakah ini beberapa mabuk atau druggie yang baru saja lulus keluar di tempat yang salah atau... lebih buruk?Menggigit bibir saya, hati saya petikan dalam dadaku, seperti aku pegangan kunci terpanjang seperti pisau. Punggungnya adalah kepadaku, dan aku tidak bisa keluar banyak kencing-miskin pencahayaan dari cahaya lampu yang sendirian di jalan. "Apakah Anda baik-baik saja?"Dia erangan dan bergeser. Dalam cahaya yang suram, saya menangkap pemandangan tanda-tanda tangannya yang saya akan mengenali di mana saja. "Declan."Namanya meninggalkan saya pada napas dan saya menjalankan kepadanya, dan menjatuhkan ke lutut saya sebagai panik ras melalui saya. "Oh Tuhan." Ia adalah telah dipukuli dan darahNya litters pakaiannya. Tanganku panik tidak tahu ke mana harus menyentuhnya. Setiap tempat saya mencoba, ia erangan. Pernapasan nya yang tegang dan wheezy. Dia winces, dan gerakan air mata membuka luka pada bibir bawah nya yang terlihat seperti itu mencoba untuk membeku. Yesus, berapa lama ia telah di sini seperti ini?Rasa bersalah beratnya berat pada saya untuk mengambil waktu begitu lama untuk keluar, dan aku berjuang untuk bernapas sebagaimana aku mendorongnya pergi. Hal ini tidak salahku. Aku tidak tahu."Jangan bergerak." Saya menepuk saku, berdoa Barangsiapa melakukan ini belum merampas telepon. Satu kali aku yang meninggalkan saya atas...Saya sob lega ketika saya merasa persegi tipis melalui jeans-nya dan menariknya keluar. Layar retak tetapi masih dapat digunakan. Jari-jari saya diolesi darah meraba-raba dengan mengakses aplikasi telepon. Muncul dalam daftar panggilan tidak terjawab, dan meremas hati saya ketika saya membaca "Kucing" di dekat bagian atas. Saya kembali dari itu dan dial 911, angka-angka yang kabur ketika aku sambil lalu merasa panas air mata yang bergulir di pipiku. "Tidak," Declan mengerang, mengernyit ketika ia mencoba untuk mengambil telepon itu dari tangan saya. "Tidak ada rumah sakit.""Apakah Anda gila?" Saya mendorong pergi tangan-Nya. "Anda perlu bantuan!""Please," dia tersedak keluar. Tangannya mencengkeram lengan saya dengan lebih banyak kekuatan daripada yang saya pikir ia harus dalam kondisi ini. "Panggil Blake." Ia grimaces, mendesis dalam napas antara gigi terkatup dan bernoda darah.Saya robek. Sebagian besar dari saya merasa seperti saya harus mendapatkan bantuan medis yang dia begitu jelas perlu, tetapi bagian lain, lebih kecil terasa seperti jika ia cukup sadar untuk mengatakan "tidak," mungkin aku harus mendengarkan.Setiap detik yang melewati berat pada saya sampai saya pikir saya mungkin istirahat. Saya harus melakukan sesuatu, dan aku harus lakukan sekarang. "Goddamn," Aku bergumam, keluar nomor pad dan pergi ke kontak. Bergulir melalui, saya menemukan Blake's nomor dan double-tap itu, kemudian pegang telepon ke telingaku.Ini cincin dua kali, dan fajar realisasi mengerikan pada saya bahwa ia mungkin tidak menjawab. Ia bisa menjadi sibuk atau — Sebelum aku bisa terlalu terbawa, klik baris dan suara dalam mengatakan, "Bagaimana up?"Bantuan banjir saya, dan saya menghembuskan nafas goyah. "Blake, itu adalah Savannah.""Apa salah?" Ia terletak langsung di tepi. "Itu adalah Declan." Aku tersedak pada namanya. "Seseorang mengalahkan neraka keluar dari dia dan ia tidak akan membiarkan saya memanggil sembilan-satu-satu. Ia menyuruh saya untuk menelepon Anda." Blake mengutuk dan berkata, "mencoba untuk mendapatkan lantai atas. Saya dalam perjalanan." Garis pergi mati, dan saya memiliki setengah detik untuk menyadari dia telah divalidasi pilihan saya sebelum saya sedang mendorong Declan's telepon di saku. Aku berdiri dan menangkapnya di bawah tangannya. "Dapat Anda berdiri?"Dia mengangguk, dan ketika saya mencoba untuk mengangkat, hisses keluar napas. Saya tetap menarik dan Tuhan memberkati dia, ia mencoba untuk membantu, tetapi setiap mengerang dan wince istirahat hatiku. Dia beratnya setengah ton, dan saya menggunakan setiap ons kekuatan saya harus mendapatkan dia di kakinya.Kami hobble atas ke kaki tangga, dan ketika aku melirik ke ketinggian mustahil, aku bertanya-tanya bagaimana kita akan membuat itu semua jalan.Anda dapat melakukan ini.Aku membuat Declan ambil pagar untuk dukungan, dan mantap dia di kakinya goyah. Menyiksa satu langkah pada satu waktu, kita naik sampai kami mencapai puncak.Bersandar padanya balkon kecil pagar, saya mengeluarkan saya kunci dan membuka pintu, mendorong terbuka sebelum melempar tangannya di leher saya lagi. Kami tersandung ke dalam ruang tamu, di mana dia tidak ada untuk memegang tetapi saya, dan saya hampir gesper di bawah nya bobot mati. "Sialan," Aku bergumam, mengejutkan untuk lorong. Tangannya tunas keluar dan kawat gigi sendiri terhadap dinding seperti kita shuffle menuju kamar. Gelap di dalam, tapi cahaya mengalir dari lorong yang cukup untuk melihat, dan aku membawanya ke ke tempat tidurnya, hati-hati mencoba untuk menetapkan dia turun. Ini sekitar semudah mencoba untuk meletakkan landasan.Dia mengerang seperti dia hits kasur, dan saya harus menghentikannya dari mencoba untuk berbaring di punggungnya. "Saya perlu Anda untuk duduk," Aku berkata, wedging sendiri antara kakinya menjuntai ke tepi. "Saya perlu melepas pakaian Anda." Mereka sedang berlumuran darah dan jika kita tidak berhati-hati, itu akan mendapatkan seluruh lembar nya. Jari-jari saya ular di bawah hem kemejanya dan menariknya up, mengekspos raksasa, berukuran kepalan tangan memar meliputi perut dan sisi-nya. Saya goyah sebentar, ngeri lagi bahwa seseorang akan melakukan ini kepadanya. Sakit twists wajahnya ketika ia mengangkat tangannya dan memungkinkan saya untuk menarik kemejanya atas kepalanya. Seperti aku melemparkannya ke samping, mataku berkeliaran atas bercak-bercak ungu jelek dotting tubuhnya yang indah. Saya berharap Barangsiapa melakukan ini dia mendapat apa yang akan terjadi kepada mereka. Kali sepuluh.Ia jepit ke punggungnya segera kemeja anak sudah pergi, dan kemudian saya melepas sepatu dan kaus kaki satu-nya. Sekarang untuk Celana.The waistband of his boxers peeks out from his jeans, lying flush against the tautest skin I’ve ever seen. It’s all smooth, sculpted muscle. He even has those little veins popping out near his hip bones that disappear into his boxers. I don’t know why, but some inherent part of me wants to lick them. I swallow and tentatively undo his fly, then push the denim down his hips. “I always imagined the first time you took off my pants would go a little differently than this.”
Declan’s hoarse voice has my hands faltering, and I look up to see his eyes closed with a faint smile tugging on his lips. I laugh despite myself and continue trying to tug off his jeans without removing his boxers as well. It’s not easy.
Just as I get them off, the front door opens, and I run through the apartment still holding them. The door slams behind Blake, his face paling as he takes in my bloody, disheveled appearance. 
“Jesus,” he breathes.
“He’s back here,” I say, turning to lead the way.
I flip on the light switch, and Declan groans as brightness floods the room. Blake looks him over while I pick up his discarded shirt from the floor and he says, “There’s a first-aid kit under the bathroom sink. I need that and a damp washcloth.”
Hurrying into the bathroom, I drop his bloody clothes on the floor and grab the items Blake needs, then rush back to the bedroom. “Is there anything else I can do?” I ask, watching him crack open the giant briefcase-like kit.
Pulling out a roll of gauze, some tape, and what appears to be a needle and thread, Blake shakes his head. “I’ve got it from here.”
 
Blake emerges from Declan’s room an hour later, looking weary as he quietly closes the door behind him. I stand from my spot on the couch, where I’d anxiously waited for him to finish. 
“How is he?” My arms wrap around myself, like I can physically hold myself together if I just try. 
Blake frowns and rubs his forehead. He looks so much like Declan in that moment that I wonder how I haven’t seen it before.
“He’s fine, best I can tell. Probably has some broken ribs and he’ll feel like shit for a week or two, but that’s it.”
“Are you a doctor?” I don’t think he is, but you never know.
His eyes lift, glancing at me coldly, and I know I have my answer.
“Then how can you stand there and tell me he’ll be okay? He could have brain swelling, or internal bleeding, or—”
“He’d be a lot worse off if that was the case, don’t you think?” He brushes past me and heads into the kitchen. “He’s awake. He’s talking. That’s the most we can hope for.”
“The most we can hope for? Are you serious?” I follow him into the kitchen, watching him grab a beer from the fridge. “We need to take him to a hospital. He needs real medical attention, not a bunch of fucking Band-Aids!”
I shake my head, angry and pissed off at myself. How could I let them talk me into something so stupid?
Blake takes a long swig and sets the bottle on the counter. “I’m telling you, he’s fine.” The rolled up sleeves of his plaid button-up show off his thick, corded arms as he crosses them. His unmarred skin is so unlike his brother’s,