"We won't do anything you're not ready for. Just let me touch you the way you deserve to be touched." His green eyes search mine. "Let me show your body how to feel."
The words make desire well up in me.
"Will you let me?"
I should say no. Should maintain some semblance of control, some boundary between practice and reality.
But I whisper, "Yes."
We walk to Declan's bedroom, holding each other's hands. A massive bed dominates the space with charcoal gray sheets.There are more windows and more city views. On the left is a door that most likely leads to the bathroom.
Declan guides me to the bed with gentle hands, his eyes dark with want.
"Lie down on your stomach," he murmurs.
I obey, my heart racing so fast I'm surprised it doesn't burst from my chest. The sheets are soft and cool against my warm skin. The bed dips as he joins me, straddling my thighs.
I tense automatically.
"Relax." His warm hands settle on my shoulders. "I've got you. Just breathe."
"What are you doing?"
"Shh. Let me take care of you."
He starts massaging my shoulders, his strong fingers working into the knots I didn't realize were there.
The pressure is firm enough to work out tension but gentle enough not to hurt. He works methodically, moving from my shoulders to my upper back, finding every tight muscle and coaxing it to release.
"Wow,' I breathe. "That feels amazing."
"Yeah?" His voice is rough, affected. "Good. That's the point."
His hands slide lower, spanning my waist, thumbs pressing into the muscle along my spine. Each touch sends heat pooling low in my belly. My breathing quickens.
This isn't just massage.
It's seduction in its purest form.
"Can I take off your shirt?" he asks, hands stilling at the hem. "I want to feel your skin."
I nod against the pillow, not trusting my voice.
He lifts the fabric slowly, gently, then unclasps my bra. But I'm not sure I want to be careful, rational Ivy. I barely force my hands to stay still or I'll yank the shirt and bra off myself.
I want this. Want him.
The air feels cool against my bare back. His hands return, skin to skin, and the sensation makes me draw a ragged breath. He touches my spine in a feather-light manner with his fingers, making me shiver.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "So beautiful."
His hands run down my back, mapping it like he's memorizing territory, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me arch into his touch. When his thumbs press into the dimples at the base of my spine, I moan involuntarily.
"That's it." His voice is pure gravel now. "Don't hold back. I want to hear you."
He continues the massage, but it's different now. More sensual. His hand slips beneath me, palms skimming my sides, thumbs brushing the outer curves of my breasts.
Another moan escapes my lips as I writhe from side to side.
