He leans in, his breath ghosting over my skin, and I arch slightly, my body instinctively seeking his touch. His thumb grazes one nipple, circling it gently and sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I gasp, my body tensing as he repeats the motion, teasing the other peak until it’s achingly hard. His touch is slow, deliberate, as if he’s savoring every moment, every reaction.
“You’re so responsive,” he says, his voice a whisper, and my pulse jumps. I moan softly, my body arching into his touch, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
He smiles, a rare, devastating curve of his lips, and my heart skips a beat.
He leans down, his lips brushing against my nipple, a soft, feather-light touch that makes me shiver. He kisses it, his tongue flicking out, and I moan, my hands gripping the table padding beneath me.
His mouth is warm, his tongue skilled, and I melt into the table, my body surrendering to his touch. He switches to the other nipple, his lips and tongue working in tandem, sending jolts of pleasure through me. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps, my body lifting toward him, my back pressing into the table.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and eases them down, slow. His eyes never leave mine. My panties follow, and I’m exposed, flushed under his gaze.
“Fuck, Charlie,” he growls, voice thick with need. “You’re so beautiful.”
The words hit like a shiver down my spine. I arch slightly, thighs parting in a silent invitation. I feel powerless under him in the best way.
Declan’s hands are everywhere—gentle, demanding, reverent. I cry out as he lowers between my thighs, one hand bracing my legas he leans in. His tongue traces from my thigh to the center of me, slow and deliberate, and I gasp—sharp, helpless.
My hands tangle in his hair as he sucks on my clit like he has all the time in the world. “Declan,” I moan, hips lifting toward him. “Please.”
He chuckles, dark and low, and the vibration sends sparks straight through me. “Not yet,” he murmurs, and then his mouth closes over me—hot, relentless. His tongue flicks with steady precision, and my back arches off the table, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.
“I’m so close,” I plead, breathless.
His fingers slide inside me, his thumb pressing against my clit, and I shatter, my body convulsing.
“Oh God, yes,” I cry out, my body trembling with pleasure. Declan’s mouth continues to work its magic, his tongue and fingers sending aftershocks through me, until I’m boneless, completely breathless.
Only then does he lift his head, a slow, satisfied look in his eyes. “Good,” he murmurs. “But I’m not done with you yet.”
He pulls back with a smirk that makes my stomach flip. His lips are swollen and shining when he rises. He reaches down, peels the Velcro loose, and slides the brace off. Then he unzips his joggers and frees himself, thick and hard, and my mouth goes dry at the sight.
I reach out and wrap my hand around him, stroking slowly. “You’re so hard,” I murmur, my thumb brushing the tip.
“All for you,” he growls.
Goosebumps prickle my body as he steps in between my thighs. He grips my hips and positions himself at my entrance, eyes locked on mine.
“Ready?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.
“Yes,” I breathe. My body quivers with anticipation.
He pushes in—slow, deep—filling me completely. A sound rips out of me, half moan, half gasp. My nails dig into the table padding as he starts to move, setting a steady rhythm that turns my thoughts to static. The table creaks and he steadies it with his palm.
“Fuck, Charlie. You feel so good,” he moans, eyes locked on mine as his grip tightens at my hips.
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him deeper, need sharpening into something feral.
“Harder,” I moan, voice wrecked.
He obliges.
His thrusts turn relentless, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. Pleasure builds fast—too fast—until it swallows me whole. I cry out his name, body shaking, the world narrowing to nothing but him and the thunder inside me.
Declan follows with a hoarse sound, his grip digging into my hips as he shudders, shaking, breath breaking. He stays close, hands braced on the table on either side of me, chest heaving as he rides out the tremor.
For a few moments, we just catch our breath—him still between my thighs, hands planted on the table.
He murmurs, “You okay?”
