Page 69

“Declan, please…” The mewing whimper shaped around his name is a voice I recognize. One I haven’t heard in years. I shift in his hands, trying to take his fingers in deeper. I need him inside me. It’s been too long. I can’t wait anymore.
“I know, baby...” He whispers it against my neck, groaning softly when I work my hips in his hand, grinding myself against his fingers. “I know...” Lifting me higher, Declan licks his way across my collarbone. Along the swell of my breast, to draw the swollen tip of it into his mouth. Sucking and nipping my nipple with his teeth until I’m moaning and writhing in his hands.
Turning, he takes the few steps between the door and the bed. “I’m going to take care of you.” Setting me down gently, he stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at me, his dark blue eyes raking over me, his gaze so hot and heavy it feels like he’s touching me everywhere at once. I let out another whimper, opening my legs in invitation. “Declan, please…” I say it again because I don’t know what he’s waiting for. Why he isn’t as naked as I am. Why he isn’t fucking me the way I need him to. “I need—”
“Shhh...” He drops to his knees and reaches for me. Wraps his massive hands around my thighs and drags me across the bed until my ass is hanging off the edge of it.
I dig my heels into the mattress, trying to twist out of his grip but rough fingers dig into the soft flesh of my inner thighs. Pinning me in place. Holding me open. I groan in frustration. “You said—”
“I know what I said,” he growls, leaning in close enough that I can feel his warm breath skate across the throbbing center of me. It’s too much, having him so close to where I need him without feeling him move inside me. “I said I’d take care of you…” He runs his tongue up the middle of me, giving me a slow, soft circle with the tip of it when he reaches my clit. “I didn’t say how.”
Before I can take another breath, his hands are around my waist, his forearms under my ass, lifting me to meet the desperate heat of his mouth. The hard strokes and deep thrusts of his tongue.
He lifts his head, pinning me in place with a look, his dark blue gaze heavy-lidded and dull. “Fuck my mouth, Tesla.” He runs the tip of his tongue along the edge of my pussy lip, nipping it with his teeth before drawing it into his mouth for a slow, hard suck. “Let me take care of you…” He licks me deep, pushing past my entrance, fucking me with his tongue. Urging me to take what I want. To fuck him back.
“Ohmygod…” I dig my heels into the bed again, fighting the urge to give in. To give him what he wants. To give myself to him completely.
I did that once.
More than once.
I gave Declan things I never meant to. Things I was too stupid to realize could destroy me if I gave them to someone like him.
I gave him everything.
I can’t do it again.
I can’t.
“Stop.”
His hands tighten around my waist, almost like a reflex, when I say it. Declan lifts his head, pinning me with another look, this one so hot and sharp I feel my heart stutter in my chest. For a split second, I think he’s going to tell me no.
For a split second, I want him to.
And then he loosens his grip enough for me to break away. Sits back and watches me scramble across the bed until I’m standing on the other side of it, staring at him.
He’s sitting on the floor, shoulders leaned against the pony wall that separates his bedroom area from the rest of the studio. Knee drawn up, forearm braced against it. Hair tousled. Gaze heavy-lidded and more than a little dangerous. Chest pumping fast and steady, like he’s trying to catch his breath. Mouth slightly parted, lips soft and glistening from where they’d been locked around my pussy only moments before.
I’m so wet, I can feel it practically dripping down my leg.
“Top drawer,” he says, the hand hanging off his knee clenches into a fist. “Left-hand side.”
I tear my gaze away from his to cast it around until it lands on a dresser a few feet away. Reaching for the drawer he indicated I pull it open.
A pair of jeans I haven’t seen in ages. The Sox T-shirt he bought me when he took me to a playoff game. The pair of panties Con hid in a desk drawer at the bar a year ago to fuck with him. There’s more. A few of my old bandanas. A few worn tank tops. A couple pairs of the thick black socks I wear to work.
The entire drawer is filled with my stuff.
“You stole my clothes?” I know I’m supposed to be mad. Creeped out. I’m supposed to tell him he’s sick. To leave me alone. Stay away from me.
But I can’t say any of those things because I wouldn’t mean a word of it.
He’d know I was lying, the second I opened my mouth.
“Old habits die hard.”
When I look up, he’s exactly where I left him. Still sitting on the floor, watching me. His heavy gaze reminding me that I’m standing here naked while he’s still fully clothed.