"You're shivering," he says, draping the towel around my shoulders.
"Not from cold," I admit.
Something flashes in his eyes. Hunger, triumph, tenderness all mixed together. He lifts a hand to my face, his touch surprisingly gentle for such a large man. His thumb traces my lower lip, and I can't help but part my lips, drawing the tip of it into my mouth.
A sound escapes him, something between a groan and a growl. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asks, voice dropping to a register that vibrates through my body. "How long I've wanted this? Wanted you?"
"Show me," I whisper.
His control visibly fractures. He reaches for the straps of my swimsuit, sliding them down my shoulders with agonizing slowness. The wet fabric clings to my skin as he peels it down, exposing my breasts to the air, to his gaze.
"Perfect," he murmurs, and the reverence in his voice makes me feel more beautiful than any photographer's lighting or designer's clothes ever have.
I stand before him, allowing him to pull the swimsuit down my hips, my thighs, until it pools at my feet and I'm completely naked. I expect to feel vulnerable, exposed, but there's only power in the way his eyes darken as they take in every inch of me.
"Your turn," I say, reaching for the waistband of his swim shorts.
He lets me push them down his muscular thighs, stepping out of them with a grace that belies his size. And then he's naked too, magnificent in his entirety. My eyes travel over him, taking in the full canvas of his tattoos, the map of scars that tell stories I long to hear. And lower, where his arousal makes it clear just how much he wants me.
"You're gorgeous," I tell him, honest in my awe.
A rueful smile touches his lips. "Damaged goods," he corrects.
I shake my head, stepping closer to place my palm against his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath my touch. "Beautiful," I insist. "Every mark. Every scar. They're part of you."
Something shifts in his expression, vulnerability breaking through the desire. But before I can decipher it, he's lifting me again, depositing me in the center of his bed. He follows me down, his body a delicious weight abovemine, careful not to crush me but present enough that I feel surrounded by him.
His mouth finds mine again, but this kiss is different. Deeper, slower, a savoring rather than a devouring. When we break apart, both breathless, he trails his lips down my neck, my collarbone, lower still to the swell of my breast.
"I've fantasized about this," he confesses, his breath hot against my skin. "About how you'd taste. How you'd sound when I made you come."
Declan, always so stoic, so contained, now whispering filth against my skin. The shock alone could make me come.
His eyes meet mine, a wicked gleam in their depths. "I've imagined you spread out for me, just like this," he says, his voice a rough caress. "Imagined how your pretty little pussy would feel around my fingers, my tongue, my cock."
Each word is punctuated by a kiss, moving lower down my body. "Imagined how you'd clench around me when you came. How you'd scream my name."
He looks up at me from between my legs, a question in his eyes despite the confidence of his words. "Yes," I breathe, answering before he can ask. "Please, Declan."
His smile is pure sin. "Since you beg so nicely..."
The first touch of his tongue against me tears a cry from my throat. He's relentless, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on my clit. His large hands grip my thighs, keeping me open for him as I writhe beneath his mouth.
"Fuck, you taste like heaven," he groans against me. "Sweet. Wet. Mine," he murmurs, the vibration of his words adding to the sensation. "Could do this for hours. Make you come over and over until you can't remember your own name."
His mouth is relentless, licking, sucking, teasing. Each filthy word a match to gasoline. I'm unraveling fast.
My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging as he sucks harder, faster, until the pressure builds so high I'm shaking.
The combination of his skilled mouth and filthy words pushes me closer to the edge with astonishing speed. When he slides two thick fingers inside me, curling them to find that spot that makes me see stars, I shatter completely.
The orgasm hits like a wave breaking over stone, violent and unrelenting. My back arches, fists twist the sheets. He doesn't stop until I'm gasping, trembling, wrecked.
Only then does he pull away, pressing a final kiss to my inner thigh before moving back up my body. His mouth finds mine, and I taste myself on his lips, musky and intimate.
"That's one," he says, satisfaction evident in his voice. "I want more."
I laugh breathlessly. "Ambitious."
