Then I step closer anyway, slow and careful, like I’m giving her every chance to stop me.
“Tell me to leave,” I murmur. “Or tell me it’s okay.”
Her breath catches. Her eyes stay on mine—open, unguarded.
“It’s okay,” she whispers.
I hold her gaze for one last second, like I’m making sure she means it. She nods— certain.
That’s all it takes. The restraint I’ve been holding for weeks snaps tight and then gives way, quiet but undeniable.
I pull her closer. The crutch crashes to the floor, forgotten. My good leg takes the weight, and I press her against the wall, her body warm and solid against mine.
She gasps, but her hands slide up my chest, nails scraping through the fabric of my shirt, and I moan, low and needy.
Then my lips crash into hers and my hand slides down her back, moving her tighter.
I pull her shirt up and over her head, tossing it aside without a second thought. Her bra follows, and I pause, just for a moment, to take her in.
She’s beautiful. Her skin is pale and flushed, her breasts full and soft, her nipples already hard from the cool air, or maybe from the way I’m looking at her. I cup one in my hand, thumb brushing over the peak, and she arches into the touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“Declan,” she murmurs, hands tugging at my shirt. I pull it off, letting it drop to the floor, and her fingers roam over my chest, nails scraping skin.
I hitch her leg around my waist, and she wraps herself around me. I’m hard, achingly so, and she rocks against me. I moan, mouth moving to her neck.
I guide her back to the bed, careful of my knee, and she pulls me down with her. I kiss my way down her body, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch. Her breath hitches when my mouth closes over her breast, tongue swirling, teeth grazing.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her leggings and pull them down, taking her underwear with them. The sight of her like this makes my cock throb. I moan as I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh.
Then my mouth is on her, tongue pressing, sucking, and she cries out, fingers tangling in my hair. Her thighs tremble around my head, her hips lifting, chasing my mouth. I grip her hips, holding her still as I work her, my tongue flicking over her clit before diving deeper with my tongue.
As I kiss my way back up her body, her hands are already reaching for my joggers, pulling them down, freeing my cock. Her fingers wrap around me, tight and sure, and I sigh, head falling back.
She guides me to her. I thrust into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely, and we both gasp at the sensation. She’s perfect, and I have to stop for a second just to feel her, to memorize her.
Then I move.
Slow at first, then faster, harder, our bodies slamming together and the bed creaking beneath us.
“Declan,” she breathes, hands gripping my shoulders. “I’m close.”
“Look at me,” I breathe, holding her steady.
Her back arches, a broken whisper of my name on her lips, and I lose the last of my control with her.
I collapse on top of her, careful of my weight, forehead pressing to hers. Our breaths mingle, slow and steady, and I smile, soft and real.
She smiles back, just as soft, and tangles her fingers with mine.
Afterward, the silence isn’t awkward. It’s the kind that hums. The kind that feels like an exhale after holding your breath too long.
She’s curled against me, her head on my shoulder, the glow of the bedside lamp throwing soft light across her face.
I trace a slow line down her back. “You okay?”
Her smile is tired, tender. “Yeah.”
We both know it’s temporary. Dangerous.
