He stands, lifting me with him effortlessly. My breath catches as my legs tighten around him. He sets me gently onto the mattress, following me down, his body braced over mine. He kisses me again—slow and delicious.
Declan’s descent was a slow, deliberate tease. He eased back, sliding the length of his body down mine, a trail of sweat-slicked skin replacing the heavy heat of his weight. The air was thick with the scent of sex and anticipation. My breath hitched as his mouth found its target, the shock of his cool breath instantly replaced by the hot, slick press of his tongue.
A sharp, involuntary gasp tore from my throat, and I fisted my hands deep in the soft cotton of the sheets, pulling the mattress up on either side of my head. He was an artist, his movements precise and purposeful. The tip of his tongue traced the delicate, hypersensitive peak of my clit, a light, teasing caress that drew a whine from my chest. Then, without warning, he dragged his thumb across the throbbing nub with firm, staggering pressure. The sudden shift in sensation—from feather-light to intensely grounding—was too much. My hips bucked, a desperate, instinctual movement to chase the feeling.
“Declan,” I managed to choke out, the sound ragged and unrecognizable. The word was a plea, a command, a shattered fragment of my control.
He pulled back, the movement slight, just enough to tilt his head and look up at my face. His eyes, dark as midnight and intensely focused, were alight with a deep, primal hunger. A low, gravelly sound vibrated in his chest as he spoke. “Not yet, baby. I need you completely loose for me. Completely undone.” His words were a promise and a threat, binding me to the pleasure he controlled.
He didn't wait for my response. His hand moved, a slow, mesmerizing slide up my inner thigh. Two long, strong fingers parted the slick folds of my pussy and sank deep inside me. His thumb, meanwhile, returned to the aching, demanding center of my need. He worked them in tandem—circling, pressing, then stroking with a relentless, building rhythm. The deep penetration of his fingers stretched me, while the focused pressure of his thumb began to wind a thick, heavy coil of tension low in my belly. My body answered the unspoken command, arching violently off the bed, meeting the powerful thrust of his fingers with every frantic, straining movement.
The world narrowed to the pulse point under his thumb and the relentless rhythm of his hand. It took only a few frantic, breathless seconds for the pressure to become unbearable. A delicious, agonizing wave of tension crested, sharp and dizzying, and then I shattered. The climax was a convulsive shockwave that stole my vision and my breath. My muscles clamped down, tightening uncontrollably around his fingers as my body shook with the force of the release.
I collapsed back onto the mattress, boneless and breathless, my body thrumming with the aftershocks. A deep, heavy buzz resonated through my limbs, and I blinked slowly, my eyes hazy and unfocused, trying to orient myself in the aftermath.
Declan didn't move. He watched my face with an unwavering intensity, his gaze following the path of my ragged breath and the lingering tremors in my body. A slow, predatory smile—thelook of a man who had claimed his prize—spread across his mouth. He finally pulled his hand free, the slick withdrawal of his fingers drawing a final, shuddering sigh from my lips. Then, he slid up my body, settling his weight between my thighs, his gaze never leaving mine, ready to claim the rest of the night.
He rolls the condom on, then settles between my thighs.
He pauses there, hovering.
His forearms brace on either side of my head, taking his full weight. He is a wall of muscle and heat above me, blocking out the light, blocking out the room.
For a split second, a flicker of old panic sparks in my chest. The memory of weight that crushed. Hands that pinned. The suffocation of having no way out.
But Declan doesn’t crush.
He waits.
He watches my face, scanning my eyes with that goalie intensity, looking for the flinch.
“You with me?” he rasps.
I look at his hands. They aren’t pinning my wrists; they’re buried in the mattress, grounding him so he doesn’t put an ounce of pressure on me that I don’t ask for.
This weight isn’t a cage. It’s a shelter.
The panic dissolves, replaced by a rush of safety so potent it makes my eyes sting. My muscles unlock, sinking into the bed instead of fighting it.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m with you.”
He nods, jaw clenched tight, and pushes forward.
When the head of his cock presses against my entrance, I gasp. He’s big—thick and hard and stretching me in a way that feels impossible and perfect all at once.
He sinks in slowly, inch by excruciating inch, letting my body adjust to him.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders.
His forehead drops to mine, breath hot and uneven.
“Talia,” he groans, the sound dragged out of him. “You feel… incredible. So tight.”
He withdraws almost all the way, then pushes back in, a long, smooth glide that hits every nerve ending I have.
My hips lift instinctively, meeting him.
“Just like that,” he murmurs, his voice dark and praise-heavy.
